Chapter 11
PRESENT
ROWE
The rattle of Tilly’s suitcase from where she’s looped it behind her is driving me insane.
I’m about two minutes from ripping it off and chucking it into the field.
She can tell, which makes it that much worse.
The smug curl of her mouth as she glances over and discreetly checks on me has me tightening my hold on the reins.
My gloves are going to be worn through by the time we get to her trailer.
The mare beneath her isn’t impressed with the added weight from her suitcase either. Every time it bounces, she flicks her tail, as if she’ll be able to whip it off her back. Diesel’s given them both a wide berth, for my benefit or his, I don’t know.
“You could have just taken the suitcase for me. Like a gentleman,” Tilly drawls, adjusting her posture in the saddle.
I refuse to take the bait. The moment I do, she’ll have the suitcase untied and flying through the air at me.
Keeping my eyes trained on the land in front of us, I give a soft tug on the reins and guide Diesel from the main road.
We’re far enough out now that the noise has died down, but for the first time in a long while, I wish it lingered.
Silence gives Tilly an opening to poke at me the way I know she’s itching to.
I quicken Diesel’s pace to try and keep ahead of her. She simply follows, the rattling growing louder. Rolling my jaw, I hopelessly prepare myself for whatever she’s going to say.
“You can’t run away from me. Ignore me, sure. But you know as well as I do that I’ll be able to catch you regardless of how fast Diesel goes.”
“Stop talking,” I bite.
She chuckles coolly. “So, you’d prefer I stab you instead, then? Typical.”
“I’d prefer you off the ranch.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both out of luck there. Suck it up, asshole.”
I wet my lips, nostrils flaring. “You’re pissing me off.”
“Oh, we don’t want that. Would you like an apology?”
Trapping my response behind clenched teeth, I let it go. An apology won’t do shit now. Not for her coming back here, and not for what kept her away. An I’m sorry wouldn’t make sense, anyway. It would only make shit worse.
I fixate on the grass beneath us. It’s thick and green, unbothered and untouched for the most part.
It’s not used for much of anything this far from the stables, which sums up most of the ranch.
Besides the training rings, arenas, and pens, Painted Sky is just something pretty to look at.
It’s what makes the rides so peaceful. The land is lush and never-ending.
You can saddle up and ride for hours—days even—without running into another person.
There are no roads that weren’t made by us, for us.
Mom wanted to expand a few years back and build a few rental cabins.
Dad refused. The business idea was good, but he’s old-fashioned.
He bristled at the thought of strangers on his ranch, regardless of how far they were kept from what actually matters here.
Until he dies, this place will stay the same.
That only ever started bothering me these last couple of years.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m back? Or are you still holding a grudge?” she asks, getting close enough that her suitcase threatens to smack Diesel’s ass when it starts slipping.
I ignore her first question. “Aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I what?”
“Holding a grudge. Or was threatening to stab me just how you say hello now?”
“You pissed me off. That wasn’t because of a grudge,” she smarts, drawing my eyes.
The quirk of her lips is frustrating enough to have my scowl burning.
She’s just as arrogant as she was in high school, but there’s more confidence to her now, and that makes it worse.
Back then, she was a hellcat in her own right, yet there was still a part of her that sought approval from those around her.
That part of her is nowhere to be found now.
“I only pissed you off because of your whatever’s buried in your ass.”
Her smirk vanishes in a blink, the edges of fading smugness sharpening. “I stopped caring about you the second you told me to. Don’t think me being here changes that.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I snap through my teeth.
“Good. We both know I didn’t mean what I said in that ridiculous letter, anyway.”
My muscles bunch so tightly they burn. Diesel twitches beneath me, feeling the shift in my energy. I glance at the sky, not bothering to shield my eyes from the sun. It burns into my vision before I glance away to where I can make out the blotchy shapes of the trailers up ahead.
My instincts demand I leave her here now that she can see where she’s going. I need to create some distance here before I lose it. Tilly knows the ways to piss me off to the point of madness, and she’ll use that to her advantage every chance she gets.
Still, I hesitate. Diesel carries forward, his pace slowing slightly, waiting for a command. Tilly’s light brown brows are arched expectantly when I look at her again. The angry beast in my chest snarls a warning.
“Maybe not. But I did,” I say, my tone skillfully empty. “Everything I did was for your brother. Never for you.”
She smiles, but it’s a mask for something I’ve seen a thousand times. Her bare hand taps her thigh as she shuffles in the saddle. The stirrups whine under the pressure of her movements, and I start a countdown in my head.
Five, four, three . . . two . . . one.
“Fuck you, Rowe. There’s nothing I regret in my past as much as writing you those ridiculous letters. I should have let you spend every night alone in that cell without a word from any of us until you realized just how much of a pathetic liar you are.”
“Yeah, you should have. It would have made my life a whole hell of a lot easier. You made everything worse for me.”
Her laugh is cruel. It cuts through the land, tearing every peaceful inch of it to shreds.
She focuses straight ahead and reaches behind her to grip the handle of her suitcase. I stare at the thin fingers clutching onto it for a beat too long, and then she’s moving, pushing the mare into a gallop. Diesel holds himself back, waiting for me to give him the go-ahead to follow.
I don’t.
We turn instead, heading back the way we came. Let her find which trailer is hers and which isn’t. At this point, I don’t fucking care. I haven’t cared.
It’s been over a decade since I sent her that specific letter. The one that shut down every single lie she had been feeding me out of what I assume to be pity. Or fuck, maybe some twisted definition of appreciation for what had me behind bars in the first place.
She can try and pretend like it was me who broke her heart, but we both know that isn’t true. If she had been honest about the words she wrote in those letters in the first place, she would have replied to the one I sent two months later.
Instead, she ran away, fell in love, and got married, leaving me convinced that I was nothing but a game to her. And for the last time, I’d let her win.
Ash’s face pales a shade when he sees me slam the truck door and head right for him.
The community centre stands behind him, its outdated exterior chipped and discoloured.
There’s a sprinkler running on the opposite side to where he stands, as if water will help grass that dead.
Only time will bring it back to life, but that’s Ash for you.
Desperately wishful when it comes to fixing things that don’t want to be fixed.
“Okay, so you’re not happy to have my sister working there,” he says, attempting to sound lighthearted.
I bury my fist in my pocket to avoid hitting him. “You couldn’t have given me a fucking heads-up?”
“She’s not going to bother you. You two despise each other enough that you’ll never even have to see one another much.”
“I could have pulled strings and got her a job somewhere else,” I argue sharply.
“She’s gotta stay close. Our mom’s so happy to have her home, I couldn’t send her somewhere else.” Ash glances back at the community centre, jabbing a thumb at the door. “Let’s go inside and talk.”
I don’t move. “How long is she staying?”
“You didn’t ask her?” he asks with a sigh.
“How long?”
“My best guess? However long she wants to. Honestly, what’s the big deal? It’s been years, Rowe.”
“You don’t get to decide how many years is enough for me.”
He winces, guilt pooling in his eyes. “You’re right. I didn’t think you still thought about that night much.”
His guilt becomes mine when I remind myself that he doesn’t know the whole story.
For good reason, I never blabbed about the letters, and clearly, Tilly didn’t either.
There was never reason to, considering nothing ever came from them unless you’re counting my desperate desire to make her pay for the rage and betrayal I felt when I got out of prison.
To everyone but us, the reason I don’t want to speak about her is because it reminds me of the night my life changed and I came one punch too close to committing murder.
“I’ll always think about it, Ash. I can’t forget,” I say tightly, my clothes suddenly too scratchy where they sit on my body.
“I’m sorry, alright? What do you want me to do?”
“Isn’t anything for you to do now. She’s already on the payroll.”
He pauses, tonguing his cheek. “It was your mother’s idea to have her live there. Nobody else wanted her to.”
My frustration depletes little by little.
Ash is the good twin. The calmness to Tilly’s rage and the kindness to the venom she coats her teeth in.
God fucking knows why we’re as close as we are or how we stayed like it over the years, but there’s no changing it by now.
We’re both too far into this friendship to let it go.
I know he didn’t get her a job at the ranch to piss me off.
“You got beer inside?”
He lets loose a long exhale. “Of course I do.”
I jerk my head in a nod and follow him across the wet dirt. It’s not quite mud, but close enough to have my boots sinking a bit. He ignores the squelch beneath his sneakers and then smacks them onto the sidewalk before tugging the door open.
Inside, I ignore the muggy scent of sweat and mildew. There’s nothing to write home about in here. No ice rink or swimming pool. The small gymnasium is tucked along the back beside his office and a front desk that almost always sits empty.
I don’t know how the place is still running or how he convinced the municipality to let him start a softball team last year. The baseball diamond out back is in even worse shape than this building is.
“For what it’s worth, I think having her here could be healing,” he says when we reach the door to his office.
My throat strains. “Healing for her, maybe.”
“You haven’t ever thought about what it would do for you? To see her back here after what happened now that you’re a free man?”
It feels too full in this small space with the both of us in here. My shoulders are tight, tucked in as I take a seat on the brown couch he’s got against the wall. He sits beside me, relaxed in a way I wish were possible for me.
“No,” I grunt.
He laughs softly. “I have. Things could go back to the way they were before everything went to shit, Rowe.”
“Nothing is the same. Not this place, or me, and definitely not your sister.”
“You’ve spoken to her that much?” he asks, turning his head so he can stare at me.
“No.”
“So, you don’t know how different she is, then. She might not be the same girl she was, but how could she be? Neither of you are. That doesn’t mean we can’t all learn to be friends again.”
It’s too hard to tell him he’s being a na?ve fool. Too much damage has been done at this point to even entertain the idea of going back and what? Rebuild what we all had?
I wouldn’t want to even if we could.
Nothing good came from the friendships we all had. If anything . . . they made it worse for me when I went away. The knowledge that I’d lost them only intensified the loneliness I felt in prison, and I made a promise to myself that I’d never let myself get to that point again.
Even if meant letting go of the people I once saw as family.