Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
AUSTIN
“Maddox, you’re driving me up the fucking wall.”
It’s been four days since the night my dad beat the shit out of me and three since I got to leave the hospital.
Maddox had decided on my behalf that I’d be staying with him—not in the Big House with my best friend, who’d recently come over and sobbed through apologizing for everything she said at the diner that day as if she didn’t have every right to say those things, but with him.
Granted, I don’t think Dr. Carson would’ve let me leave without confirmation I’d be staying with someone, considering the whole having-a-concussion thing, but still. Kenny would’ve been a fine babysitter.
Kenny probably wouldn’t have been nearly as far up my ass as Maddox has been, which is probably why he hadn’t even considered letting me stay there.
“Sorry for giving a shit,” he drones for the millionth time in three days in a voice that isn’t sorry at all. “Here. Take your medicine.”
I pull back, crossing my arms over my chest and trying the old cleavage trick. It doesn’t work, damn him. “I don’t need to, asshole. The doctor said ‘as needed’ and it isn’t needed.”
He sighs, putting the pill back into the orange bottle and setting both it and the fancy new water bottle he’d bought down next to me. “Baby,” he starts, setting his hands on the counter on either side of me.
“Don’t ‘baby’ me.”
“Tex,” he says instead, as if that’s any better. I wish I still hated that stupid fucking nickname. “Dr. Carson assured you over and over again that it wasn’t addictive.”
“Anything can be addictive if you let yourself rely on it.” Even him.
He tilts his head, getting those wrinkles by his eyes that he gets when he’s trying too hard to read me. I hate them. After a beat, he sighs, kissing the uninjured side of my forehead and pushing away from the counter.
“Fine,” he says, walking over to the hooks by the wall and putting on his hat. “But you promise you’ll take them if you need them?”
“Sure,” I placate him. I’m going to the bar as soon as he leaves. If I take that damn medicine, it’ll just make me too drowsy to drive. Honestly, I almost think that’s the effect he’s after, rather than the pain-dulling one.
Today’s the first day he’s agreed to go back to his chores on the ranch and he’s already starting later in the day than he ever would’ve allowed himself before I came into his life and set fire to his routine. I was really good at destroying things like that.
“I mean it, Tex.”
“Aware.” He can mean it all he wants but it doesn’t have any bearing on whether or not I’m going to do what he wants. It’s not like he’s going to spank me if I disobey him. He’s barely touched me since the hospital.
Maddox opens his mouth to say something else, and then apparently thinks better of it, shaking his head and opening the cabin door.
I can just barely see my pickup outside behind him.
Kenny brought it over when she and Jameson ransacked my house for me.
The boxes of my things were still lined up against the wall in Maddox’s bedroom, despite the closet space and four drawers he cleared for me.
I purposely left the box with my vibrators open, but Maddox hadn’t even noticed, as far as I could tell.
“Have a good day at work,” I mumble, feeling just a little bit bad for being so stubborn when it was clear he just wanted to help me.
He grunts in response, closing the door behind him.
I give it a bit, making sure he’s actually going to work today instead of coming back to check in every hour.
The bar opens at three and I don’t particularly want to be there when it opens unless I’m behind it serving drinks.
It’s not worth everyone seeing the colorful state of my face unless I can get pity tips for it.
Dale whistles when I walk into the bar, hobbling around it to pull me into a hug.
I’m not really a hug person, but I make an exception for Dale.
He’s gentler than he usually is and I can’t really return the gesture, considering one of my arms is in a sling, but I do my best with my working arm, knocking my wrist brace against his back.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he drawls.
I snort. “A sight, for sure. How’s my bar doing? Run it into the ground yet?”
“Almost,” he says, hands on his hips as he nods.
His eyes continue to flick over my face and the parts of my body he can see—a lot less than usual, granted.
Typically, my work uniform consists of short little denim shorts and graphic tees I’ve made into crop tops, but I’m bruised literally everywhere and when I tried on my normal attire this morning, it didn’t feel armor-like anymore.
“Not for lack of trying, I’m sure. Who’s on staff tonight?”
“Angie,” he says, in a way that makes it sound like Angie’s been on staff the past several days.
“When was her last day off?”
“Hey, I’m not working her any harder than she’s asking to be worked!” he says defensively. “She’s off tomorrow night.”
“Who works tomorrow night?”
“I do.” He stands up straighter, proud. I roll my eyes. “I can handle my own damn bar.”
“Sure you can, Dale,” I tell him, walking around behind it.
The liquors are out of order—the rum on the left side of the tequila instead of the right.
I don’t see the ice scoop and I don’t go looking for it, knowing it’s inside the bin and knowing it’s only going to piss me off if I push open the bin and see ice in there from last night.
I open the fruit fridge and see already-prepped lemon and lime circles—not wedges.
I love Angie, but we have very different ways of doing things, and her ways irk the shit out of me.
“Why don’t you call Angie and see if she wants the weekend off?”
“Now why would I do that? The Dodgers play tonight.”
I roll my eyes at him. “The Dodgers play damn near every night from March through September. You’re telling me you don’t miss any games?”
“Not if I can help it,” he grumbles.
“You can still watch your stupid baseball game, old man. I’ll work this weekend.
” The fingers of my good hand—if either of them can be called that—twitch toward the liquor bottles, wanting to switch them.
If Angie doesn’t agree to taking the night off though, it’ll be pointless.
I’m not gonna fuck with another bartender’s set up, even if I disagree with it.
I can, however, prep her sani buckets, so I get to work on that. It takes a bit more finagling than I appreciate in my current state, something Dale notices quickly.
“Now how in the hell are you going to work the bar when one of your arms is in a sling and the other’s got a brace on it? Nope. Sorry, Charlie, it’s not happening.”
“Same way I drove here with one arm in a sling and the other in a brace. Carefully. Call Angie. We both know she’ll probably jump at the opportunity.
” She’s in the first trimester of her pregnancy and every time I see her, she inadvertently reminds me of one of the many reasons I chose to be sterilized.
To say it’s not agreeing with her would be an understatement.
Dale huffs. “Do the Whittakers know you’re here?”
“Getting really tired of everyone thinking the Whittakers own me or something,” I tell him, accidentally dropping the sanitizer tablet in the sink instead of in the bucket.
I curse under my breath, but deem it a loss since it starts dissolving immediately thanks to the stream of water I had running.
Normally, I turn it off just for that reason, but every step is taking twice as long as usual, so I was cutting corners where I could.
“I don’t think they own you, sweetheart, but I do think they practically own Cedar Creek, and god knows I don’t want to be on their bad side.
I’d bet this bar that Maddox Whittaker thinks you’re resting up somewhere on his property right now and has no clue you’ve managed to drive yourself up here. ”
The door opens behind him. “You’d lose that bet,” I mumble, catching the eyes of one pissed off cowboy headed our way.
Dale turns and grins, a gesture Maddox doesn’t return. “Great, you’re here. I was just trying to tell her to head back to your ranch.”
“Fucking narc.”
Maddox ignores both of us. “Kenny around here somewhere?” he asks me, hands on the edge of the bar.
“No? She’s at work, I think,” I say, confused. I thought I was about to get the reaming of my life, not questions about my best friend’s whereabouts. Unless… My stomach drops. “Why? Did something happen?”
“Tate? Bailey? One of the ranch hands? I know it wasn’t Jamie or Tyler.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who drove you here? Because I know for a damn fact you didn’t hop your pretty little ass behind the wheel of that pickup with one arm in a sling, so who drove?”
My jaw clenches. Dale excuses himself under his breath, disappearing down the hall. I have a feeling he’s not calling Angie.
“I’m waiting.”
“Wait til you’re blue in the face then. I’d offer you a drink but Angie’s got everything all mixed up back here.”
I drop a new sanitizer tablet into the bucket and try to lift it out of the sink, but it’s an embarrassing struggle, my wrist unwilling to cooperate. I leave it there. Angie will put it under the bar when she gets here.
“Why do you insist on fighting me?” he asks quietly. It takes everything in me not to look up at him. I know what I’ll see and I don’t want to see it. There are a lot of things Maddox Whittaker is good at, but a poker face isn’t one of them.
“‘Cause you insist on coddling me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it my whole life. If you hadn’t found me that night, I would’ve just gone straight home from the hospital and would’ve continued with my day-to-day. There’s no reason I can’t still do that.”
Just to look busy, I grab a rag and douse it in the sanitizer, wetting my brace in the process. Wringing the rag with one hand is… damn near impossible, so I pretend I hadn’t been trying to and leave it in the bucket as it is.
The truth hangs heavy between us. If he hadn’t found me that night, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital, much less made it out to go home. I should feel grateful, and I do, but a much larger part of me wonders if it was worth it.
“I know you can take care of yourself, baby,” Maddox finally says, thankfully not bringing up the elephant in the conversation. “And I know you’ve been doing it your whole life, but you don’t have to anymore, and I just need you to realize that.”
I snort, fidgeting with the picks. There’s nothing wrong with them, but I rearrange them anyway. “Why? Because you’re gonna do it? Come on, Maddie, let’s be real here.”
“Yeah, let’s,” he says, finally taking a seat on one of the stools and gently pulling my hand into his.
“I can safely say I’ve never had to deal with someone who refused my help so much, and there’s a big part of me that appreciates that about you—that you don’t ever take advantage of me, that you’re so capable and stubborn.
But right now, you’re hurt, Austin. And I don’t just mean the broken bones and the concussion. Let me take care of you, baby. Please.”
My eyes stay glued to our hands so I can avoid his face.
A lot of my hospital stay is blurry for me.
Between the pain and the medications and the repetitive questions, most of it has faded from my mind already, just like the actual beating itself.
The one part I remember clear as day though, is Maddox.
When they finally let him come back to see me, he stayed glued to my side with the exception of the social worker’s visit when she asked to question me alone. If he wasn’t holding my hand, he was touching me somewhere else—petting my hair, thumbing my cheek, palming my thigh.
It had been an anchor I’d relished in having, one I clung to. But like the medications, and like beer and drugs and gambling and the countless other things I didn’t allow myself to partake in, Maddox’s presence was addicting, and I was an addict by blood.
“I think…” I start, swallowing when my voice breaks. “I think maybe we’ve lost sight of what this is.”
“Don’t fucking start that shit again, Austin, I swear—”
“I’m leaving,” I cut him off. If Kenny knew without me telling her, there’s a high likelihood Maddox knows too. If he did, he seems to have forgotten because he rears back as if I’ve slapped him. “That’s always been the plan. And you’re… well, you’re stuck here, so…”
“Aus—”
I pull my hand out of his, don’t let myself relapse. “Look, I appreciate you getting me out of there that night and letting me crash with you, but let’s not make this into something it’s not, alright?”
“You’re the one trying to make it into something it isn’t,” he argues, his voice raising. He takes a breath to control himself and I love that he’s able to rein himself in like that. I sure as shit can’t.
“Why are you still planning on leaving? Your dad’s going to the prison in Deer Lodge and he’s not getting out any time soon. Fifteen, twenty years minimum. They slap new charges on him every day. You don’t have to run from him anymore, Austin.”
His voice is so goddamn hopeful, it guts me. I turn my back to him, slapping the tears off my cheeks. “I’m not running from him.” I can’t tell if that’s the truth or not anymore.
Originally, I was desperate to leave Cedar Creek because I wanted to be far, far away from him.
And then, as though he’d sensed it, he’d gotten worse and I started fearing for my life during every fight.
Leaving had become more about making it out alive, proving to my dead mother that I’d been able to do something she hadn’t. But now?
Leaving Cedar Creek had been the plan for so long, I was terrified to deviate from it.
I knew this town like the back of my hand—the people, the shortcuts, the quirks, the secrets.
Worse, this town knew me just as well. Here, I’d always be Austin Taylor—bitchy little bartender-turned-pornstar with daddy issues bigger than her single-wide.
I didn’t want to be her anymore.
“Then what are you running from? What’s your reason for leaving now?” Maddox asks. He knows the answer and wants to force me to say it.
I shrug, wincing at what it does to my shoulder, but at least my back’s to him so he doesn’t see. “No reason to stay’s a good reason to go.”