Chapter 40
TILLY
I’d meant to go back to the campsite. And if I hadn’t been leaving my parents’ house at the same time Dad was returning, I would have.
“Take the truck,” he’d said before tossing me the keys and heading inside without a question as to why I was there or a look back.
Clearly, it was obvious to everyone, including myself, that something wasn’t quite right with me.
I needed something more than what I’d gotten from the letter.
After all these years, it should have been enough to read those words and run back into Rowe’s arms like I hadn’t left them in the first place. But it wasn’t, and I don’t know why.
That’s why I’m here, lurking in front of Rowe’s cabin on the ranch I once considered a second home with my heart battering in my throat.
His folded letter crinkles in my back pocket when I shift forward and give the door a try. It opens easily, unlocked. Pitch-black inside, the cabin beckons me through the threshold and into its familiar embrace. I flip the lights on and shut the door behind me.
It’s . . . overwhelming being here without him.
Rowe’s a private man, but I’m hoping I’m an exception to that.
If not, I’ll be giving him even more reason to be upset with me once he finds out I’m here.
That warning isn’t enough to have me turning around, though.
I don’t think there is one that could make me leave without at least searching for something to sate my restlessness.
Without taking my boots off, I cut through the living room.
The soft purple throw on the couch is still in the same place I had it last night when I fell asleep watching some auction show.
Rowe had been working late, and I thought I’d be able to stay up waiting for him to get home.
Instead, I woke in the bedroom this morning, and the sheets beside me were still warm despite being empty.
Fuck, that’s a domestic thought.
I flick the bedroom light on and stare at the bed I made this morning.
The curtains are drawn, and I fixate on the laundry bin tucked beside the dresser, noting for the first time how intertwined our clothes are.
I haven’t been to my trailer in days now.
Not since I grabbed fresh clothes and hauled all of my hygienic products to this cabin.
I’m not officially moved in, but I may as well be living here full-time.
The concept of sharing a space with a man isn’t new to me in the slightest, so why does it feel different this time?
Right. Because this isn’t a house purchased in both my husband’s and my names.
It isn’t in a cute little suburb with the white picket fence and the garden out back, and there sure as hell aren’t any nosey neighbours poking around.
Instead, it’s a two-bedroom cabin with the smallest bathroom I’ve ever seen and a kitchen with no dishwasher.
The coffee machine is the newest thing here, and that’s only because I snuck away to buy it this week.
There’s not enough closet space, even with the lack of men’s clothing inside it, and the dresser only has two available drawers.
Yet I feel more at home here than I ever did anywhere else.
With a tight exhale, I turn away from the bed and face the closet.
There’s a tug in my chest as I stare into the tiny space and slowly run my finger down the arm of a black dress shirt.
It’s the only one in here, tucked between sun-faded work shirts and the vest he wears when he competes.
The PS stitched onto every breast is an obvious claim.
I flick my eyes up to the shelf above the clothes and roll my lips.
There are a few hat boxes there that I’d bet store all of his championship buckles, and a pair of boots that look like they’ve never been worn.
I take the left one and bring it to my chest, taking a closer look at the intricate designs working from ankle to calf.
It feels like a waste to have these hidden away in the closet, but I’d bet he was gifted them, and Rowe has a terrible habit of not accepting gifts from anyone.
When I pull the second boot from the shelf, I pause, eyes stuck on the small box now visible.
It’s pressed up against the wall, and there’s duct tape wrapped all the way around the lid like that would ever be enough to keep anyone from peeking inside.
I huff a laugh and grab it, tucking it under my arm while shoving the boots back in place.
The moment my ass hits the bed, I’m ripping at the tape and dropping it on the floor.
I figure there’s no better way to do this than just whipping it open to see what’s inside.
If it’s a secret stash of porn, then I’ll even try and tape it shut again.
But if it’s something else . . . I just need to take a look.
“Oh,” I whisper.
The lid of the box is still pinched between my fingers as I stare at what he’s been keeping tucked away inside.
A red elastic band keeps a thick pile of letters held together.
My name is written on the corner in a cursive that I couldn’t even attempt to replicate after all these years.
It’s the sight of the prison address that has my chest breaking out in a blistering heat.
Slowly, I take the letters out and tug off the band around them.
They’re in chronological order, from the first one I sent right after he was sentenced to what I know will be my last-ever reply.
Emotion balls high in my throat as I pluck through each one, running my fingertips across the jagged slits in the sides of them.
Moisture clings to my lashes. The letters feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as I lower them to the mattress beside me. There are more, though. Ones that I don’t recognize the writing on until I look at the top corner and the name written there.
Otis.
My brows pull in as I take the first envelope and slide the letter through the opening.
Rowe,
How you doing, kid? You asked for updates, so that’s what you’re getting. Short and sweet.
Your girl’s here every day. She’s been busying herself with all the tasks none of these other fuckers want to do. It’s good for her soul. Don’t worry about her.
You’ve got my word that I’ll make sure she’s alright, even if that might include giving her jobs that include touching some nasty shit.
Keep your head in there,
Otis.
My palms are slick with sweat as I put that one aside and find another.
Rowe,
She got the job. Your father’s been on her ass, but she can handle him.
Never seen a horse’s eyes sparkle the way they do when she’s done with them. Diesel’s mane has been braided for a couple weeks now. He fucking likes it. If she tried, he’d let her put glitter designs on his ass. That’s your horse, kid.
We’ve still got her. Just focus on keeping your head on right in there.
Otis
He knew more than I thought he did. Every secret that I kept out of my letters, he must have known some way or another. I’d bet he even knew about the pink, studded hoof boots I’d gotten Diesel that winter. I treated him like my best friend, because there was a hole that needed filling.
There are dozens more letters, but I set them aside, not ready to read any more right now. It’s too much all at once. Now that I know they’re here, I’ll be coming back to them. Rowe doesn’t get to hide them away again.
I drop my eyes and stare at the photos that were hidden beneath all of these letters. Old Polaroids and blurry photos from the disposable camera I brought with me on my first trip to Nova Scotia.
They’re all of me. Of us.
The photos he said he was going to send back but never did. The ones I’d thought about all those nights when he’d creep into my thoughts. They’re here, in this box he’s hidden in his closet since the day he was released.
My heart feels like a battering ram in my chest when I pick up the one tucked beneath all the others.
I don’t know how he got it . . . but it’s here.
I’m in my wedding dress, standing all alone in front of the ocean.
The lighting was shit that day, and we’d had to postpone the ceremony for hours while we waited for a storm to pass.
I laugh, letting the noise colour the bedroom. The storm was a sign, after all. A warning not to go ahead with the wedding that I stubbornly ignored.
Releasing the photo, I stand from the bed.
It feels wrong to put the lid back on this box of memories, so I don’t.
Not even when I hear a low whinny from outside the cabin.
I’m done with hiding anything from this man.
If he wants me the way he says he does, then he can give me every tiny bit of who he is too.
Abandoning the bedroom, I step into the small hallway. My skin is hot and clammy, and I fuss with my hair, suddenly wishing I’d had a bit more time to fix my appearance. I know my eyes have to be swollen and my skin red and patchy by now.
The door swings open, and there he is.
Rowe turns his head from left to right, and the moment he sees me, he rolls his shoulders back. My lips remain pressed tightly together despite the words loaded on my tongue. I dig my heel into the floorboards, holding myself back from launching at him.
“You’re here,” he states tightly.
I swallow. “How did you know where I’d be?”
“You weren’t at your parents’ house. I knew there were only a few other places you’d have gone.”
“Did you talk to them?”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he’s trying to read the thoughts I’m keeping trapped inside my head. “Your dad answered the door.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I came right here.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring my statement.
I curl a hand around my hip, forcing myself not to give in to him already. “Tell me what my dad said to you.”
“Is there something he was supposed to say? What happened when you went there?”
“Stop asking me so many questions.”
His laugh is gruff, short. “Start answering the ones I’ve already asked, then.”
“You know why I’m here, Rowe.”
“Still want to hear you say it. Tell me why you’re in my cabin instead of at your parents’ place or your trailer.
There’s a reason you didn’t hop on Diesel’s back and take off to the far side of the ranch just to keep me away from you.
” He leaves his post at the front door and turns my way.
I count every step he takes in my direction.
“I want answers, hellcat. Don’t make me keep pushing for them. ”
I force my chin up, not ready to let him see just how weak I truly am for him. He deserves to know that I believe what he’s been telling me since I got back, but maybe I’m selfish, because I want him to work for that still. It’s half the fun of being with a man like Rowe.
His eyes flare with approval, then desire, confirming that I made the right call.
“What exactly did you tell me in the letter you wrote?”
He stills with only one leg past the couch. “Which?”
“The one you claim you sent after the last one I received.”
“I’m not claiming shit, Tilly. I did send it.
” He closes the rest of the space between us, and I retreat, forcing him to follow.
My back hits the wall, and then he’s bracketing his arms around me, biceps bulging by my cheeks.
Hot breath cascades over my jaw when he drops his voice and asks, “Is it exacts you want?”
“Yes.”
He wets his lips, and our closeness has the tip of his tongue gliding over my skin. I inhale deeply, my core tightening at the same time he wedges a knee between my thighs, spreading them.
“I’m not a good man. Beating that fuck until he heard God’s name in his ear was one of the more confident decisions I’ve ever made.
I saw a problem, and I fixed it the only way I knew how.
I wanted him to remember the look in my eyes every time he took a breath for the rest of his miserable life because of what he did to you.
And I’d have done it again the day I was released if it meant that I’d have protected you.
One thing you will never hear from me again is that I didn’t make that decision then because of who you were to me. That’s what I wrote in that letter.”
“That’s not all,” I whisper, gliding my hand up his chest. The top buttons of his shirt are open, but like I said, I’m selfish. I start undoing the rest. “Tell me the rest.”
He brings his lips to hover over mine as his eyes latch onto the blue beneath the heavy flutter of my lashes, searching. I raise my middle and press against his knee, softly rolling myself over it.
“When did you read it?” he asks, his tone gravelled.
“Read what?”
A grin spreads across my face when he digs his knee into my pussy and then grabs my throat.
I let my head fall back against the wall as he tightens his hold just enough for me to feel it but still breathe unrestricted.
Black ink swirls down his forearm to the back of the hand holding me in place.
It only serves to make me wet rather than intimidate me.
“When did you read my letter, hellcat? Tell me and I’ll let you rub that pretty cunt on my thigh until you come. Deny me again and you’ll spend the rest of the night throbbing with your hands behind your back.”
There’s no questioning it anymore.
I love this man, and I’m never stopping again.