5. Drew
Drew
B y the time I finish filling Jace in on everything, the gym crowd is trickling in and I am running late.
I step through the doors of the physician’s building a few minutes past eight, the receptionist smiling and waving me through.
“She’s waiting on you, honey.”
“Thanks, Willa,” I mumble, hoping like hell she doesn’t have a clue about why I’m here.
I walk quickly down the brightly painted hallways to our usual meeting place.
The murals on the walls depicting cowboy and horse scenes bring forth memories I’d rather not think about.
I don’t pause to study them. No need to when I’ve walked past them a thousand times.
My petite, blonde-headed sister-in-law sits in a black swivel chair behind her oversize desk, feet kicked up and inadvertently showcasing her flamingo socks.
“Nice feet.”
Kristen jumps, those bright-pink flamingos quickly finding the floor. “Make noise, boy,” she says while brushing her hair out of her startlingly pale blue eyes. “About time you showed up, though. I was starting to think you’d flake out on me.”
Instinctively, my body tenses, going on the defensive.
“I’m fine, Kris,” I snap, tempted to turn around and leave, my brother’s threat be damned.
“I have roughly forty-five minutes before my first session. Come sit with me,” she says as she stands and walks to the picture window, taking a seat on the couch and crossing her feet underneath herself.
“I don’t need you to pick my brain.”
She lifts a brow. “Then why are you here?” When I don’t answer, she continues. “I’m not your therapist, and you aren’t my client. But you are my little brother for all intents and purposes. I just want to know where your head is and see if I can help.”
I fist and release my hands a few times, letting the short nails dig into my palms and relishing the bite as the fight slowly seeps from my muscles. I join Kristen on the couch. She sits quietly, letting me wrap my head around what I want to say.
“Where’s Hope?” I ask, referring to Kristen’s therapy dog. I could really go for some puppy snuggles.
“Declan took her to the barn today. She’s been getting into things at the house, so we decided to let her burn off some energy out there instead.”
Damn. I roll my shoulders, trying to exude the confidence that I definitely do not feel. “I can’t afford to do it again.”
“Do what?”
I cut my eyes at her. “Don’t act clueless, Kristen. It’s not a good look for you. I know my brother ran his mouth.”
A fire lights in her glacier-blue eyes at the slight toward her husband.
Awesome. I’m pushing buttons without even meaning to, today.
“Your brother may have a big mouth, but his heart is even bigger. He doesn’t know any more than what he saw.
And you don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. ”
I squeeze my eyes closed, my knee bouncing with nervous energy. After a few cleansing breaths, I open my eyes and exhale slowly. My gut says she already knows, but I need to judge her reaction for myself, to know that the people I love and trust purposely kept me in the dark.
“I have a daughter, and none of you bothered to tell me.”
“Your brother didn’t know she was yours until yesterday.”
I scoff, arms crossing over my chest as I look away.
“And I couldn’t have told you without violating—”
“—patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah.” Groaning, I push up and walk to the window, staring out at the barn. It’s tough to see from here, but I can just barely make out a few of the horses in the paddock by the arena. That’s where I’d rather be right now.
“I will admit to yesterday being a new low for me,” I finally say, eyes still trained outside. “I haven’t felt this pathetic in a long time. It shook me pretty good—all of it—but I’m tough.”
“Tough enough to handle Leila and a baby on your own, right?”
Shit.
“You can’t rush over there and bombard her with questions. You can’t demand she let you see a daughter you’ve never met.”
A terrifying thought crosses my mind. “How much does she know?”
Kristen’s eyes soften as she studies me, taking in my question.
“How much does she know, Kristen?”
“She knows everything.”
***
The old red barn is my favorite place in Havenwood. Hell, maybe in the whole world. I’ve never been farther than the Savannah coastline or the Blue Ridge mountains, so I wouldn’t really know.
With it being August, most of the horses are in their stalls under fans and quietly munching on hay. I slip down to the last stall on the right. It’s the largest one we have—three stalls opened into one—for the horse I ruined.
If anyone needs proof that I don’t deserve a chance with my daughter or a second chance with Leila, this little gelding is it. The sign on his stall warning everyone not to enter, the paddock entrance added to the backside of his stall.
But for some insane reason, the only human he wants near him is me. The asshat who tried to prove a point and failed. I cannot, in fact, break a colt while intoxicated. A stupid decision led to a freak accident that resulted in my broken body and his broken mind.
Stepping up to the stall and opening the hay door, I give a gentle click before whispering, “Hey, big guy.”
He takes a tentative step toward me. Then another until his nose rests against my open palm. He lips the skin before blowing into my hand.
I chuckle, reaching into my back pocket for the soft peppermint Havoc is searching for. He grumbles greedily as I undo the wrapper and present it to him.
“Such a goober,” I whisper to him, featherlight scratches on his face.
Spurs clank on the aisle seconds before a voice yells my name.
“Busted,” I sigh to Havoc, giving him a few pats on his jaw, his eye far too kind with me for the hell I put him through. Closing the hay door, I turn to face the newcomer. “Hey, Dad.”
“Son, can you run by the hardware store today and grab a few new gate latches? One of the farmhands had to jerry rig the main gate. It’s fine for now, but I’d like to get it fixed as soon as we can.”
“Sure thing. I have some errands to run, so I’ll add it to the list.”
“How’s old Havoc this morning?”
“Hell of a lot better than he ought to be.”
“Horses are resilient,” he says, a knowing gleam in his eye. “So are people.”
“What do you know, old man?” I ask, my lips quirking up at the sight of my dad in his usual boots, jeans, and T-shirt. The cowboy hat on his head is nearly as old as I am, dust and oil stains a constant battle for Mama since Dad won’t wear anything else.
He shrugs. “There’s a weight on your shoulders. Has been since October. You should share it.”
“What, you want to gossip, cry, and do each other’s makeup?”
“If that’s what’d make my son happy? Sure,” he says, completely ignoring the bitter sarcasm that slips through my lips.
“But I meant sharing it with the girl who’s responsible.
Shoot, even old Havoc there’d be happy to lend an ear.
” He pats my back in his way of fatherly affection before walking off. “Don’t forget those latches, kid.”