Chapter 13
Devyn
I always thought coming back home would feel overwhelming, but honestly? It’s the opposite. I worried being around these people and the associated memories would cause some sort of cataclysmic explosion that’d knock the wind right out of me, but that’s not been the case at all.
I can finally breathe. And breathing, instead of suffocating for once, is much preferable. I inhale and fill my lungs with the smells of home.
Manure smells.
Farm smells.
Flower smells.
I tear open the guest room curtains, and I’m pleasantly greeted by the endless rows of wheat as far as the eye can see. The sun touches the tips of the grass horizon as dusk creeps in, and it charges me in a way. I’m refreshed, eager for what’s to come.
Springing onto the guest bed, I fumble through the notifications on my phone. I haven’t looked at this thing since I hung up with Shana on Mullins Road, and like, one-million-and-two people have sent me things.
After a couple of minutes sifting, it’s mostly just group chat messages from Channel Five that I forgot to remove myself from. I tap on the photo attachment and see it’s an announcement from Chad, an anchor I dated for a few months before leaving the station. He was nice to look at, but he was equally gropey and full of himself. He also checked his reflection more than I do, and that never would have worked for us long term.
I didn’t really grieve our breakup, so to speak. It was mutual. But I still stall when I read the cutesy pastel banner— Chad and Brittany’s Baby Shower!
They are getting married next month; they tell us in the text that follows.
Wonderful for them.
Not only is that just wonderful for them , I think as I gag myself, but it also means they were likely screwing around while I was with the jerk in question.
I twist onto my stomach and shoot Chad and Brittany a quick, “Congrats,” that’s not a lie, but also not sincere. What I should do is tell them I have syphilis or something. That would serve him right for sleeping around.
Upon further consideration—and self-reminders of the Bitch Program—maybe it’s best to remove myself from the group chat altogether. It’s annoying getting a million dings back-to-back about stupid stuff, anyway.
Distractions seem to come in bountiful amounts here in Pine Forest as it is, and my most recent one is still lingering in my mind.
God, he’s so much prettier to look at than Chad.
Hunter Isaac, the boy who threw sand at my face and pulled on my ponytail.
‘ Breathe, Ponygirl.’
Who knew he was going to be about eight thousand muscles hotter than he was when we were kids?
Newsflash—I did.
There’s an inside scoop for ya. I knew he’d be everything, and that’s why I stayed far away for all these years.
But not far enough away from his social media, apparently. Because before I realize what I’m doing, I’m typing in his name and scrolling through his posts.
Oh, my God, he’s fine . If he could just leave shirts off altogether, the entire female—and some of the male— population would be cured of depression. He’s a shot of dopamine in a tall, dark, smooth-talking son of a glass that I want to drink all the way up.
I tap on a video of him with an axe on his shoulder and roll my eyes. He would. Still, I snuggle down into the mattress as I watch him slowly move his hand down the handle. He caresses it like…like it’s my skin.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand is under the covers, fingers trailing up my thighs just like his move across the smooth wood of the handle. His fingertips brush the part of the axe where the metal wedge meets the wood, and with great precision, he takes his other hand and licks his fucking palm. His eyes never leave the camera, and I swear to God when he winks, it’s for my pleasure alone. I gasp when he slaps his hand down hard on the side of the wedge, and then he swings the axe above his head, giving a clear show of his triceps, ridges and all , before I hear the smack of the metal on the wood pile beneath it.
My hand snakes between my legs. But it is no longer my own.
It’s Hunter’s.
His arm muscles bulge as he slams the axe into the wood, splitting it in two. He pries the pieces open, inspecting the slit like I want him to inspect me. Between my legs. I whimper, hanging my head back. My eyes close, and I’m wholly given in to my fantasy as I pump my fingers inside myself, swirling slick circles over my clit—and it’s him—Hunter. He’s on top of me, his hand over my mouth with those piercing blue eyes of his, blazing into my very soul and embedding themselves there. As if they finally found their way back home. I gasp as he licks the shell of my ear and whispers in that deep, rumbling voice that haunts my fantasies, “Look how well you take me, babygirl.”
My legs tense, my core pulses, and before I know it, I’m breathing in quick gasps, as I come so hard, I swear I see stars. Stars and planets and entire galaxies. All for him.
I just did that, I think, staring at the ceiling fan and lying there with Hunter’s video on the mattress beside me. In my brother’s house. On a bed Hunter most definitely uses as a crash pad often, based on the decor around the room I’m just now taking in. Oh, my God…this was his room…when he lived here. His. Bed.
Shit.
A knock sounds at the door, and I know it’s Dustin. I scramble to get my dress tugged down and hop off the bed, closing out of Hunter’s TikTok and praying to God my brother didn’t hear and know I was watching one of them.
“Hey, Dev, want some chili?”
I pull open the door and smile awkwardly. “Sure, I’m starved.”
I make my way past him, but before I reach the stair railing, he grabs my wrist and twists me back around. His eyebrow rises, just the one, and I know he knows. “Are you catching feelings for Hunter again?”
“What? No!” I shove away from him and continue my walk to the kitchen so he can’t see my face. And the lies written all over it. “He was just helping with my car, and we’re doing this work competition thing now, so—”
“Then why are all of his videos getting liked by you back-to-back?” He holds up his phone.
I whip around to face him with my hands on my hips, not bothering to look at his phone of lies. “That is both none of your business and wildly untrue.”
“You’re into him,” he deadpans, towering over me at six feet and looking me in the eyes. “Just admit it so we can all avoid whatever shit show’s gonna happen when you don’t. And keep in mind, he’s had a whole life here without you in it. You may be surprised by what you find.”
“I’m still not catching feelings . And there wouldn’t be a shit show. You’re being dramatic.”
His eyes go wide, and he laughs. “Okay! Fine, don’t listen to me. I’m only the one person who knows the two of you better than either of you will ever know yourselves. And I’m the one person who knows you both never stopped obsessing over each other like dumb, lovesick puppies or some shit. It’s actually super gross, and you should fucking thank me for even caring because the last thing I wanna see is my best friend all over my sister, you know? But you’re both adults now, so honestly, I just want you both happy. And if you’re both gonna be around here all the time again, you’re going to need to talk through some shit with him first.”
I huff at that. “One of us is an adult, you mean. The other one gyrates to Luke Combs songs while he shovels horse shit, is what it looks like.”
My brother’s jaw sets. He doesn’t seem to like that, a wave of serious energy replacing our earlier banter as he looks to the sky, like he’s praying for help. And in this part of the world, that means someone’s only got but a few more fucks to give you, so you better listen.
“Sorry, go on.” I drop my shoulders, meeting his stare.
“ You need to admit you still have feelings for him, Dev. Hunter already has.”
I pause. I was prepared to listen to what he had to say, but that? That’s his grand piece of wisdom? That’s bullshit.
He wants me to admit it. Admit it? Admit that the one man I’ve always loved has been here getting hot as fuck and putting on little muscle shows for women on the Internet while I was off reinventing myself in a new school, a new city, with no friends, divorced parents, and made to dress, act, and behave like everyone’s pretty little princess—all while getting over fucking heartbreak? Let’s just throw in an eating disorder for good measure, but I’m supposed to just be okay with it all now because time has gone by and this cowboy with a Chippendales complex makes my hoo-hah tingle?
No .
“Whatever, Dustin. I can’t do this right now.” I walk away, but he stops me. He pulls me into a hug, and I hug back. I have to. It’s my brother . I know he just cares, even if he really doesn’t get it like he thinks he does. And he really does show it when he chews his bottom lip and sighs like he wishes he could fix it all for me. It’s a sigh I’ve grown to know over the years. Because he does love me. Dustin’s always been in my corner, even when things got seriously messy way back when.
“I know you haven’t had it easy. Trust me, I know. I was there, remember? I just want you to be happy. And Hunter’s my best friend,” he says, steering us to the breakfast nook. He pats the chair beside him, inviting me to sit. “He’s a good guy, you know? He’s changed a lot. He’s grown up, he even raises—”
“It’s fine, Dustin. Just stop.”
He listens.
And I don’t sit.
Until I do.
We eat our chili in silence for a few minutes, but what he said is itching at me. Catching feelings for Hunter is a horrible idea. Because when you love someone the way I love Hunter, you only end up torn and destroyed when it inevitably ends. And I’ve got to protect my heart this time.
Because I do love him. Not because I don’t.
And he should do the same.
We both need to focus on the competition. Which reminds me, I need to get hold of Clara’s number and see about getting involved in the pageant. I don’t seem to have a working number for her in my phone anymore, which is weird. I could have sworn it was a landline.
“Dustin, do you happen to have Miss Clara’s number?”
His eyes go wide like he’s seen a ghost.
Oh, no . My heart stills. She isn’t…
My brother scrubs his hand over his face and furrows his brow. It tells me the answer before he even voices it.
“Clara died five years ago, Dev. She was surrounded by her whole family, but you know, she was eighty-two.”
“Eighty-two? There’s no way.” I shake my head in disbelief. Tears are starting to pool in the corners of my eyes, but I hate crying in front of people. I won’t do it. I push them back until they sting, but I don’t let them fall.
“Yes, Dev. You’ve been gone ten years, you know?”
And that stings worse than the tears. It stabs me raw right in my gut, because while I’ve been off getting manicures and attending social events in the city, trying to make a name for myself that would shine so bright I’d forget how much I hate being me, trying to destroy Devyn Lynn so I didn’t even recognize her, Shana was hurting, Hunter was changing, people were dying, and I’ve not even been aware.
“What about the pageant?” I suddenly blurt through my anger and sadness. “Who runs it now?”
I know from the look he gives me that I’m not going to like his answer, and when he confirms my suspicions and says, “There is no program anymore,” that sadness and anger and excitement and confusion that have been swirling inside of me since Hunter Isaac spilled my stupid macchiato on that street corner come crashing together in the cataclysmic explosion I’d warned myself about.
Then it hits me.
Good luck with the pageant. I look forward to seeing how you pull it off.
Hunter Isaac isn’t playing by the rules. He’s playing dirty.
What he doesn’t realize, though, is that two can play at that game. And if he wants dirty, he hasn’t seen a thing yet.
This cowgirl’s about to get filthy.
Enemize.