CHAPTER 15
GRAYSON
“S o, Olivia, huh?” Killian asks with a smirk as he slides up next to me and my head snaps to him.
“What?” I feign nonchalance, tightening my grip on my beer bottle as I search for the woman in question amongst the people gathered in my parents’ backyard.
“According to my sister, you slept with Liv.” He raises a brow at me.
I take a long drink, biding my time before answering him. Sometimes, my brothers - Killian included - can be worse than women on the gossiping front, and if Kill knows; they all know.
As if he was summoned, Noah appears on my left. “How was she?” He asks, lifting his bottle to his lips in an attempt to hide his smile.
“I’m not talking about this with you two.” I grumble, keeping my expression neutral, my eyes facing forward. Once upon a time I may have indulged them. I’d have laughed and joked and clinked my bottle in cheers as I told them all about the events of the night before. But that was another life, and Liv isn’t just a random woman that I picked up in a bar on a Saturday night and am never gonna see again.
“Oh come on, man. It’s been months since you got laid. We’re happy for you.” Noah teases, his voice laced with humour.
Not sure how the fuck he’d know when I last got laid, but it’s definitely been longer than months. I haven’t been able to stand the feeling of another person’s hands on me for years now. In the first few months that followed Ruebens death, I lost myself in women and whiskey. I spent seventy percent of my time in a bar a few towns over and the other thirty percent balls deep in whatever random chick I picked up there.
Eventually, the distraction stopped working, and Hunter caught on to my drinking habits and kicked my ass into gear.
I wouldn’t say I had a problem with alcohol. I didn’t depend on it, but it helped quiet the noise in my head. The voice inside of me that blamed me for the bad shit that happened to my best friend. The image of his lifeless body that played on repeat every time I closed my eyes.
Now, I limit myself. I throw my all into my work on the ranch and allow myself five drinks maximum. The only time I ever exceed that is on Rueben’s birthday and anniversary.
With less alcohol in my system, the regret and disgust washed in. I used and was used by countless women, thinking it would take my pain away, even just for a few hours. It didn’t work. The minute the door closed behind each one, I felt dirty.
Until Olivia.
When I walked out of her house, I felt freer than I’ve felt in over four years. And I fucking hate that .
“You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?” Noah asks, his eyes twinkling with a sick sense of pride.
“Fuck off, Noah.” I throw my now empty bottle into the trash can and walk away, his booming laugh following me.
This is why I like to avoid the fuckers. I attend our monthly family barbecues to save face, but other than that I prefer to make myself scarce. Today, however, is our mom’s birthday, so I have no other choice but to be here and put up with my brothers’ shit.
I storm through the back door of my parent’s house and find the exact woman I was looking for, bent over, delectable ass that I had a handful of not twenty-four hours ago in the air, as she roots through the fridge.
“Looking for something?” I ask, and Olivia lets out a screech as she whirls on me, clutching a bottle of what I’m learning is her favourite wine in her hand, ready to launch it at the intruder.
“Fucks sake, Gray. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She places her weapon on the kitchen counter as she glares at me.
I let a rare chuckle escape me and I don’t miss the momentary surprise in her eyes. “Were you about to throw a glass bottle at me?”
She crosses her arms, eyes flicking to the side before landing back on me. “No. That’d be a waste of wine.”
I take a step towards her, cocking a brow. “Can’t have that, can we?”
Liv shakes her head and says nothing as she watches me approach her. “You know, I’ve been getting shit off my brothers about a little rumour they heard.”
“Hmm. You can thank your new sister-in-law for that.”
I place my hands on the counter either side of her, caging her in as I stare down into her sky-blue eyes. “And how does she know? ”
She holds my stare. “Call it a great sixth sense and a terrible inside voice.”
A dark chuckle leaves me before I sober my features. “I’d prefer it if the whole town didn’t know my business.”
Her eyes narrow as she straightens her shoulders defensively. “If you think I pranced around town announcing to everyone that I got the broody brother into bed, you’ve got the wrong girl. So, you can stop with the intimidation shit.” She waves a manicured nail at me. “I know what last night was. I used you just as much as you used me. Now, are we done? I’d like to get back to my friends.”
Her words stun me for a moment, and I just look at her, searching for something to tell me she’s lying, but I don’t find it. Instead, I see the way her expression changes from anger to closed off, and I nod once before stepping away, allowing her to shoulder past me and out the back door.
I stand there long after she leaves, the familiar disgust swimming in my gut as her words repeat in my head.
I used you just as much as you used me.
***
Since I was a boy, I’ve always found horses therapeutic. The way you can tell them anything without judgement or opinion. The horses I have rehabbed and trained over the years have been the only living being I’ve happily spent more than a few hours with.
Some of the more traumatised ones – the ones that need a gentler approach – remind me a lot of myself. As hard and unapproachable they may seem on the outside, on the inside they’re just… afraid.
The stallion in my training barn is one of the worst I’ve seen .
A lot of the time when a horse comes to me, it’s because they aren’t tame, lack training and the owner needs help. Nine times out of ten, ranchers, or farmers, will have their own horse trainer on site, but I’ve built a name for myself over the years. People usually come to me because I’m good at what I do. I have a way with the tougher horses that many lack.
It’s not often that I work with outside horses but it’s also not uncommon. There are rare occasions - like this one - when I get wind of abuse or neglect and take matters into my own hands with the help of law enforcement.
I collected this particular horse two weeks ago from a dog breeding farm a few towns over and have yet to earn his trust. The owner of the farm had no equine experience and left the horse tied to a fence for days with no food or water. He allowed his dogs to attack him and left all wounds untreated.
The sight that greeted me when I arrived at the farm had a foreign lump of emotion forming in the back of my throat. It took damn near everything inside of me not to pummel the prick right there. If the sheriff hadn’t been there with me, I probably would have.
The horse – that’s yet to be named – had to be sedated when he first arrived on the ranch in order for Doc to treat his wounds and rehydrate him intravenously. The only upside of the whole thing was he hadn’t contracted any infections in his wounds.
The majority of them had been dog bites and lash marks. I don’t know what the guy was using him for at the farm, but it was clear to see he’d done nothing to keep his feral dogs away from the horse.
I hold my hand open through the gap in the stall door, showing him the peppermint treats and wait. I remain as still as possible as he walks towards me on shaky legs. His nostrils twitch as he sniffs the air.
After several minutes, he takes the treats from my hand before shuffling back several steps to chew them. I repeat the process, and each time he closes the distance between us a little bit more.
Progress.