Chapter 7
Our little secret
Sophia
Freezing rain runs down the back of my neck, soaking into my sweatshirt under my jacket.
But I don’t move. All I can do is stare at the gravestones.
My nails dig into my palms in a failing effort to stave off the tears that threaten to join the rivulets pouring down my cheeks.
Grandma and Grandpa, forever lying together atop this hilltop view.
I wonder if I’ll be able to see the markers from my bedroom once it’s fixed? Maybe it will carry a little comfort knowing they’re watching over the ranch from up here.
God, I hate this so fucking much.
They should have never died. There shouldn’t have been a fire.
Someone set it, and we’re all suffering the loss from it.
Dad thinks it’s all tied to the rest of the shit that’s happened.
Cattle being stolen, harassed, killed.
Libby’s farm being attacked.
April being kidnapped.
Elena was forced to do heinous shit.
And now murder.
Strangely, the hardest part is seeing everyone having someone to comfort them.
Even Sawyer has Val.
He used to be who I’d rely on. When Mom died, we were inseparable.
Now, I just hug my arms tighter around my belly as we ride silently back down to Uncle Dixon’s house.
The quiet continues while we file indoors.
I need to change out of these drenched clothes.
Sniffling to myself, I manage to hold my shit together until I close the door behind me.
Then the pain, the ache, the true weight of the loss, crushes me into a crumpled pile on the floor.
How can they really be gone? It’s barely been three weeks, yet I swear at any minute Grandma is going to knock gently and offer to make me a hot chocolate to deal with this grief.
I would do anything to get rid of this strangling knot around my chest.
My thick hoodie is nearly impossible to peel off, but my t-shirt is easier.
They were nothing compared to trying to snake skin off my tight jeans.
I finally resort to rolling them down and stomping them off with my heels.
Practically naked, goosebumps erupt over my chilled body.
If only I had someone here who could warm me up.
Instead, I tug on a thick sweater and my fuzzy fleece sweats, then flop onto my bed to curl up under the blanket for a moment.
RacingQueen: Having a very shitty day. I need a distraction.
TheBigO: I’m at the scene in your pirate book where she’s being forced to marry the captain.
RacingQueen: Oh, I can’t wait to hear what you think about the next part!
TheBigO: Will that help get your mind off what’s happening?
RacingQueen: Only if you talk dirty to me at the same time.
I bite the inside of my cheek while I wait for his response.
One of these times I expect him to tell me to fuck off.
When I see the three little dots appear, I get a rush of adrenaline to see what he says.
TheBigO: I’ve seen what turns you on. I’d have to step up my game.
RacingQueen: Have you gotten to the part where the pirate captain takes her back to his ship?
TheBigO: Not yet.
RacingQueen: Then how would you know what I like?
TheBigO: I read a lot of detective novels.
I giggle into my pillow and pull my comforter up over my head. There’s no way he can be right?
RacingQueen: Give it your best shot.
There’s a long pause as he writes.
TheBigO: You strike me as someone who doesn’t want the tender caress or gentle strokes…but prefer a hand around your throat and teeth on your neck while you’re getting bent over a table and fucked hard enough to break the legs out from under it.
Fire races through me sending rays of heat into my belly and limbs.
I guess I was wrong, he nailed it.
RacingQueen: I give you a B plus.
TheBigO: What did I miss?
RacingQueen: The word ‘mine’ being growled in my ear at the same time.
That should really get him going.
It’s working for me. The agony of the funeral has faded, replaced with a feral need between my thighs.
Having talked to him for weeks, I don’t think he’s a creep.
He’s always been respectful, until I pushed him to cross this line.
But he did it in the best way possible.
TheBigO: Ah, so the queen is really a princess who wants to be owned?
RacingQueen: Shh. Our little secret. If you knew me in real life, you’d never believe it. Well, wanting to be treated like royalty tracks.
TheBigO: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to be spoiled by someone.
RacingQueen: Oh, see? Now you’re making me like you. I have to go be social. Keep me posted on the ship scene.
TheBigO: Aye Aye, Princess.
I should not be smiling this much. This is so dumb. I shouldn’t be feeling all squishy about some random guy who’s name I don’t even know.
Yet he makes me float as I go back into the kitchen where Val brought sandwiches for lunch.
What would happen if I ever met Biggie?
Would he be anything like I imagine him to be?