19. Hailey
Hailey
B reakfast is torture.
The tension around the table could be cut with a knife. It's our fault—all of us—but mostly mine. Reed sits in brooding silence, Dean won't even glance at me, and Lennon casts quiet, watchful looks that seem to say I told you so.
I attempt a half-hearted comment about the weather, but it dies on my lips. No one replies. I focus on my steak and eggs, but each bite feels like chewing regret.
Does Reed know? Can he see it written across my face—the guilt, the shame, the memory of Dean's mouth on me? I glance at him and nearly choke on my orange juice.
Jesus. What was I thinking? I wasn't thinking, that's the truth.
When I let Dean slide my jeans down and press me onto his desk, I wasn't thinking about consequences.
Just like I hadn't been thinking when I let Reed kiss me.
Both of them light me up in different ways—Dean's forceful certainty, Reed's teasing charm.
And then there's Lennon: unreadable, intense. Watching. Waiting.
I'd had a dream last night—too vivid to shake.
I was in the stables, arms full of fresh hay, when Lennon appeared, silent and still.
He watched me until I approached him and asked what he wanted.
Without a word, he lifted me, effortless and gentle—reverent, even—and laid me down on a pile of hay.
I didn't even notice my clothes were gone until I felt the weight of his body above mine, shielding me like armor.
He kissed my face—forehead, eyelids, lips—soft at first, then deeper.
I moaned and shifted onto my side... into Reed.
He was already there, naked, playful. He kissed my neck, my shoulders, my spine.
Then Dean appeared, his hands sliding around me, lifting me like an offering, his mouth at my ear. I gasped as he lowered me onto him, and the entire world narrowed to that moment—sensation, sound, surrender—until I came, hard, shaking.
I woke up alone. Sweaty. My injured thigh aching. Breathing like I'd run five miles.
So yes—breakfast is awkward.
Reed catches my eye and gives a faint smile, but it doesn't reach his bruised eye. I try to return it, but mine falls equally flat. Whatever we had, it now feels broken. Whatever was building with Dean feels even worse—like a bridge, burned before it was fully built.
A whimper draws my attention to Grace, frowning at her breakfast from Lennon's lap.
"Come on, honey," Lennon coaxes, offering a forkful of egg. "A couple more bites."
"No!" she yells, squirming. "I hate eggs!"
"I know, but they're good for you," he says wearily. She turns her head away, stubborn resistance written on every line of her face.
"What about sausages?" he tries. "You like sausages."
She shakes her head, lips pressed tight, tears welling. Lennon looks totally lost.
I lean closer. "Hey, Grace? Do you like cupcakes?"
She pauses. Nods.
"If you eat a few bites of your eggs now, I'll bake cupcakes with you later. Cookies too. Something extra special."
Her eyes brighten. "Frosted lollies too?"
Whatever that is, I nod. "Alright."
She eyes the eggs warily, then opens her mouth. Lennon feeds her, throwing me a grateful look. I wink in reply.
After three more bites, she's done. Lennon takes her to get ready for pre-school, and I start clearing dishes—still avoiding Dean and Reed's gazes—until a sharp knock on the front door breaks the silence.
"I'll get it," I say, stepping toward the door.
Dean intercepts me with a shake of his head. Reed rises and walks over instead.
He opens the door to reveal the sheriff, looking smug. "Ah, Reed. Just the guy I'm looking for. You're under arrest. Soliciting a minor. Assault with a deadly weapon."
Dean and I both look up in horror-filled surprise.
Reed stares at him. "Assault with a deadly weapon? That's complete bull?—"
"One of the boys you beat up needed stitches," the sheriff interrupts. "Claims you hit him with your pistol."
Reed's voice is tight. "BS. I tossed my gun onto the seat of my truck before the fight. On purpose. Ask anyone at the bar."
"I did. And nobody's contradicting their story."
"Yeah, well, they're all his friends. That doesn't make it true. And it's also bullshit about 'soliciting a minor'. I never did any such thing".
"We've got several eyewitnesses saw you talking to the younger sister of the guy you beat up. She's only sixteen you know, and that makes it 'soliciting a minor'. That's a felony. Carries four to twelve years jail sentence."
Reed's eyes flash in anger. "First off I never approached her—she approached me. Secondly, she was the one doing the soliciting. I told her I wasn't interested. Told her to get lost, in fact."
The sheriff shrugs. "So you say. Ain't what she's saying. Anyway, you can explain all of that in your statement down at the jail. Now…" he takes a step into the room, reaching for his cuffs as he says, "We can do this the easy way or?—"
"Do you have a warrant?" I cut in, my voice cool and steady.
The sheriff stops. "I've got probable cause."
"That's not a warrant," I say, holding his gaze. "So, unless you're arresting him for something that just happened, you can't take him anywhere. Not without the right paperwork, which it appears you do not have, Sheriff."
Reed's face that a moment ago looked more than a little concerned, brightens up considerably at this.
Dean steps up to stand beside Reed at the door in a show of support, making it that little bit harder for the Sheriff to try anything funny.
Even Lennon is on his feet, an ugly look on his face.
Dean speaks first. "In that case, Sheriff, why don't you go right ahead and leave?
Come back when you've got your warrant—if you can get a warrant. "
The sheriff ignores Dean and looks me up and down like he's memorizing my features for future reference.
"You're that Thompson girl, aren't you? I remember your folks coming up here when you were little.
You've got your mom's looks, I'll say that for you.
Shame you didn't inherit her common sense.
You got any idea what kind of trouble you're walking into, shacking up with this…
'crew'?" He pronounces 'crew' as if he's actually saying 'scum'.
I say nothing. Just stare him down.
He sighs. "Fine. But I'll be back. Don't say I didn't warn you, and next time I'll?—."
Dean shuts the door in his face, cutting off his final words.
Reed exhales. "I didn't use a weapon, and I didn't hit on an underage girl. That's all bullshit."
"We believe you," Dean says. "But they're not going to let this go. We're gonna need to stay sharp."
Reed heads off to his duties, muttering, "Guess I'm not getting a sick day, huh?"
Dean doesn't respond. I offer, "I've got a lawyer friend back in Aurora?—"
Dean cuts me off, politely. "Thanks. We'll let you know."
His voice is careful. Distant.
We wash dishes in silence.
Later that day, I spot Reed working near the cattle pens. I hesitate, then walk over.
"Hey. Can we talk?"
He turns, expression guarded. "Sure."
"I'm sorry. About everything."
"Don't be. The fight wasn't about you."
"It wasn't?"
He huffs. "Partly. I went there to forget about you. It didn't work, and I let myself get baited. That's on me, not you."
He nudges a rock with his boot. "I thought I was growing up. Getting smarter. But apparently I still take the bait."
I don't know what to say.
He looks at me. "None of them were you, Hailey. That's why it didn't work."
Before I can respond, someone calls his name. He nods once and jogs off.
Leaving me breathless, heart aching.
That afternoon, I hustle through my work so I can bake with Grace. I promised her cupcakes and 'frosted lollies'. I'm not even sure what those are—but we'll figure it out.
When Lennon's truck pulls in, I meet them at the veranda. Grace leaps into my arms.
"Are we making frosted lollies now?" she beams.
"You bet."
While Lennon gets her washed up, I google frosted lollies. A few candy lollipops come up, and a few treats with frosting appear in the listings. Nothing actually called 'frosted lollies' though. I sigh. I guess it'll have to be a team experiment.
Grace returns, clean and vanilla-scented from the hand soap. Lennon joins us in an apron. I decide to start with the cupcakes, since I know what I'm doing with them.
As I'm getting Grace to measure out the flour into the mixing bowl, Reed strolls in.
"Well, well, well. Y'all weren't gonna bake without me, were you?"
"You don't have an apron, Uncle Reed," Grace scolds. "You can't bake without an apron."
He nods gravely. "You're right, Grace darling. I'll go grab one. Can't break the baking code."
And just like that, the tension in my chest begins to ease.
For now.