Chapter 33
Devyn
M y first reaction to what I see ahead is to snatch someone’s kid up and demand to know why he hit a girl. My breath left my lungs at the sight of Ellie’s blood smudged cheek and mussed up hair. But when I see the other kid—the one with the busted lip and two black eyes—I remember gender equality and all.
Ellie looks much better than the other guy. She might have even started it.
“What the hell happened here?” I whisper to Ellie. She’s standing oddly close to the boy who seemingly hit her. Unless she hit him? Maybe some other bully beat them both up, and—
“Jon-a-than,” she drawls out the syllables, a whip of her neck assigned to each, glaring at the kid through narrowed slits in her eyes, like she aims to cut him with the sound of his own name.
Savage .
But…no. It’s also wrong .
It’s something Bitchy-Devyn would have condoned , but that doesn’t make it okay. Even if I do feel a tiny streak of pride at her competitive nature. Instead, I scowl at her as she continues, a silent plea for her to take it down a notch.
She does not, of course, take it down any notches.
“His father is the reason! If he wasn’t a no-good, animal-hurtin’ son-of-a—”
“Stop sayin’ that!” He clenches his fists by his side then huffs incredulously at the moon. “Dang it, Ellie! I helped you free the calf, didn’t I? We’re even!”
My brain circles back to past conversations with Hunter, talk of Ellie getting into fights with a boy at school. It breaks my heart that she’s going through so much all at once. Custody, bullies. Kids can be downright mean.
I should call Hunter right away. I know I should.
A smarter person would.
But after what she trusted me with the other day, the bond we share is…well, it’s just that. It’s a bond. It’s fragile and it’s new. And I want to help her.
“You stole this cow?”
Neither of them answers, so I go for the weaker looking of the two. No offense to this kid over here, but he looks like the one who’d crack in an interrogation, and I know for a fact Ellie will be keeping her lips sealed as long as she feels she needs to.
Because Hunter and I would have done the same damn thing.
“Is this your dad’s cow, Jonathan?”
He nods reluctantly. But only after shooting a quick glance to Ellie and waiting for her nod, confirming what I’d suspected. She’s at the heart of this little heifer-heist.
“We’re going to call your papa after we walk Jonathan and his cow back home,” I tell her, patting the baby cow on the nose. He’s a cute little thing, but not worth throwing punches over.
Ellie huffs and puffs about the cow going back, but I hold up my hand.
“Whatever excuse you have, violence is never the answer.”
“How do you know he didn’t swing the first punch?” She arches a brow, testing me, but I’ve got her number. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.
“You look like you had a seasonal nosebleed, Ellie,” I say, turning my attention to Jonathan next, “and he looks like he barely survived the Hunger Games.” Jonathan scoffs, puffing his chest a bit higher to prove me wrong, but quickly pulling back in on a wince. Ellie scrunches her nose when she notices.
“I’m sorry I hit you,” she mumbles, kicking at the ground in front of her. He swings his head up to meet her eyes and she cringes, taking in his bloodied face. “…again, that is. I’m sorry I hit you again .”
“It’s okay. I haven’t said the nicest things to you at school. About your, uh…bio dad. I didn’t mean it when I said you’re just like him. You’re not.”
They stare at one another for a moment, a visible understanding forming between them, and it’s awkward as hell. It’s honestly more of an A and B conversation, but they’re still only children, so I’m just chillin’ in the background of Boy Meets Fist over here… chaperoning.
But I’m absolutely uncomfortable, and I really want to get this kid back home and call Hunter.
“Ehhhemmm,” I finally manage, deliberately loud.
They break their weird staring contest, and thank the lord, because I am not prepared for whatever level of parenting that is.
Jonathan bends down to wipe the mud off his jeans. I wonder how long Ellie had him pinned before he gave in. Maybe she should be in wrestling and not rodeos?
He wipes his bloodied lip on his sleeve, and Ellie offers him a handkerchief she slides from her beltloop.
“It’s fine.” He waves her off. “Gives my dad a reason to remember I exist.”
He whispers that last bit. So quietly I almost don’t hear it.
But I do.
This is why Hunter started his farm, isn’t it? To give these kids a safe space to exist, so someone is always there for them, even if home isn’t perfect.
I fall in love with him that much more, without even being in his presence. How could I not?
His influence is all around us. It’s present right now, before my very eyes, in this little girl. A daughter who wasn’t meant to be his but is in every sense of the word. I see it when I look into her matching blue eyes, yes, but I also see it right now, as she turns an enemy into a friend, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Believing in second chances.
The wind whips around us, the goose bumps spreading across my bare arms reminding me it’s getting late. Lemon and Shana, who have been searching for a first aid kit in Lemon’s mess of a truck, end up finding only one of those crack and pop ice packs, which I obviously offer up to Jonathan, seeing as how Million Dollar Baby over there barely has a scratch.
They agree to stay parked while I walk the kids…and cow…back, the headlights from the truck illuminating the path ahead.
“Should I call Katie?” Lemon shouts as we’re starting up the hill, but I shake my head.
“I imagine Hunter will want to deal with this himself.” Without the involvement of Ellie’s social worker . Whether she’s Lemon’s cousin or not, she’s still someone standing between Hunter and Ellie’s permanency, isn’t she? “Besides, it sounds like they’ve worked out their differences. Right, you two?”
The kids share a look before nodding.
“Good. We’ll walk you home, and then, Ellie, you can ride home with us. You have a lot of explaining to do later. Don’t even think I’m covering for all that.” I gesture to the mess that is poor Jonathan’s face.
He smirks, looking up at Ellie every so often. “You know, I’d rather beat your barrel time than your face.”
Ellie snorts. “Dream on, Pres. You’ll never beat my time. Not with the way you flop around going into the turns.”
“I don’t flop.”
“Yes, you do. And your horse is scared to death you’ll fall off. Why do you think he sticks his nose up every time you go into your turns? He’s slowing down for you.” She rolls her eyes, chewing her bottom lip. If I had to guess, which I obviously do, I’d say it’s to force back the smile threatening to steal her face.
Pres. Not sure where the nickname came from, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Ellie likes this kid. And he likes her. And that honestly explains a hell of a lot where their fighting’s concerned. I wonder if Hunter has noticed this detail.
He wasn’t much older when he first called me Ponygirl.
It would certainly help him to understand things from her perspective. And what Jonathan said about her being like her bio dad? What Ellie had said about Jonathan’s dad abusing animals? There are some underlying issues here. And maybe it’s good we’re getting them to work it out.
I reach for my phone, but Ellie stops me.
“Wait, you can’t! Not yet. Papa will be furious about the fight, which isn’t even a problem anymore, and Porkloin will get lost in the mess of it all. And just look at him.” She motions to the admittedly emaciated calf who I guess is named Porkloin. “His dad’s got the poor thing chained up to a wall day in and day out. He’s not even feeding it the farm-grade stuff either. It’s a diet not even fit for raising veal, and they don’t offer permits for that in this zone, even if he wanted to!” She breathes in, exasperated, pleading at me with a light in her eyes that begs to let them do this. Let them take this cow back to our farm and treat it right. I can see very clearly that is all the world to her right now. Even Jonathan’s got his hands clasped together and swollen lip jutted out.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, earning dual looks of shock from Ocean’s Eleven and Under . “Give me a break. This mom stuff is new to me.” I sigh, but I realize about twenty seconds too late what it is that I just said.
Out loud.
To Ellie.
I suck in a quick breath, not because I want to take the words back, but because I truly mean them.
And there is no going back.
She stops walking and turns to face me.
“Mom stuff?”
Blue eyes that match the only other pair I’ve ever loved lock onto mine in question. I can profess my love to Hunter through and through, but this is the real moment when I decide on something I can’t run from. This isn’t just Hunter asking me to stay. Or me knowing inherently I’ve never stopped loving him.
It’s Ellie.
My chance to choose again.
I want this life with Hunter and Ellie.
I choose her.
I choose this.
“Silkie stuff,” I say, meeting her bright blue stare. And it happens, I watch the light fill her eyes as the tears fall from mine.
For happiness.
She beams, throwing her arms around me. Blood, snot, and tears fall from her face and coat my clothes, but I couldn’t care less about any of that.
She needs me, and I can be there for her.
Even if we didn’t get the chance with our own child, I’m being given a chance right now to be something to someone who desperately needs me back. More than one someone.
A family. My family.
Purpose bubbles from within, filling me with something I didn’t know I needed. I tried filling it with parties, sponsorships, and influencer banquets, with fancy dresses and designer heels. I even tried filling it with success, which only made me emptier somehow, but nothing compares to the feeling I get with this little family here in Pine Forest.
With love.
We march our way through the field, calf in tow and my checkbook in my purse, ready to bargain.
It occurs to me that we’re walking up a familiar bend. A ranch house with a clearing I remember from parties years ago. But who even owned this house back then, and who does now? An uneasiness churns in my gut as we reach the porch steps.
“Jonathan,” I call. He twists around, hand on the rail, and I take a moment under the glow of the porch light to really look at this kid. Blue eyes, tan skin, blond hair…
“Is your father—”
The door swings open, and I instinctively shove Jonathan behind me with Ellie and Porkloin. I feel oddly protective over all three of them right now, and I can’t explain that, but I’m rolling with my heart and my head these days, so here we go.
“Well, if it isn’t my own personal Highway Ho-Down,” Garrison Presley slurs, leaning on the doorframe. “Didn’t think pretty little buckle bunnies like you made house calls.”
He grins, but it isn’t a nice one. It’s a sloppy one. A drunk one. And as he peers behind me and takes in Jonathan’s and Ellie’s faces, and the livestock in tow, it morphs into something else entirely, and I wish I’d called Hunter after all.
He and Lemon tried to warn me about him, saying he’s changed since we were kids. He seemed normal enough to me in the safety of the publicly lit bar, but right now, he feels more like a stranger than the happy-go-lucky party boy I recall.
A drunk stranger, who sees his bloodied-up child, a stolen farm animal, and me in between.
Shit. This was not covered in fake wife OSHA training.
“Garrison, look, before this goes any further—”
His smile shifts as he takes in the scene, and I’m suddenly shoved to the side as he barrels down the front steps, kneeling before Jonathan and inspecting his face.
“What’s that little bitch done now?” he spits, whipping his head toward Ellie, who’s standing unashamedly proud in front of Porkloin. It’s a protective stance, and I wonder how she got to be so brave. Her papa would be proud of her, not limiting herself to cower in the presence of someone as toxic as Garrison Presley.
Ohhh, Pres.
“She’s a kid, Garrison. If you have something to say about her, you can speak with Hunter or me, the other adult here, instead of my—” I stutter to call her whatever she is to me, unsure of what she’d want, but also feeling a strong mama bear urge to claim her as my own. So, I just do.
“My child.”
“Your child?” He quirks his brow, entertained by this more than I’d like him to be, especially with how pungent the stench of whiskey is coming off his breath. Reminds me of my childhood, and I hate that for Jonathan. At least it doesn’t seem like Garrison wants him hurt. Or hurts him at all, for that matter.
From what Johnathan said, he just gets ignored.
I’m not sure if that’s any better. But I can guess the alcohol is part of it, because that look Jonathan has in his eyes, is one I know all too well.
I could crawl inside it and live through the same lenses without ever having left my own body at all. We’re the same, he and I.
He and Ellie.
And Hunter.
We’re wounded children in need of someone to guide us. Lost souls who find comfort in friends…and family in sacrifice. I’m only just now learning those things about myself.
Ellie steps forward, those glossy eyes burning like we both let them, refusing to let our tears be seen by anyone less than worthy. “That’s right! She married my papa, and that makes her my mother, too.”
“Oh, really?” Garrison coos, his voice sing-songy and unhinged, both menacing and mirthful, sending an uncomfortable prickle across my skin. His perfect lips stretch over his sinister face, and it’s devastating how handsome one can look when they are full of so much hate.
“You can tell your papa ,” he puts the word in air quotes, “that your real fuckin’ father cost me everything! Caught the whole thing on fire.” His eyes burn with terror as his memories take hold of his words, a mix of agony and slurs.
“He watched the love of my life burn, burn, burrrrn. Diddde ever tell you bou’that?” He looks Ellie in the eyes, but he says it right to me, piercing me, a sharp blade, pinning me in place as I listen and twisting deeper as he goes.
“Samuel wasn’t only a killer . He was a thief . And from the looks of it, so’s his flesh n’ blood.” He nods to Porkloin who cowers behind Jonathan, shaking, the mere sound of Garrison’s voice a threat to the creature’s sanity. My fists clench at my sides. I have had it with this asshole. I don’t know what the hell he’s spewing about Sam, but I’m over this.
These are kids.
This is a living, abused animal.
And he is fucking drunk.
I step forward, red waves pulsing across my vision, my fight or flight responses kicking fully into gear.
And I lose it.
I swing my arm, landing a punch square in Garrison’s jaw. He stumbles back up the porch, and I feel my knuckles pop… or his tooth? I’ve never actually hit someone before, so I don’t know the dynamics of it all, but God, that effing hurts. I pull back my own hand in shock, and Garrison uses that spare moment to grab my wrist and pull me up the steps, slamming my back against the wooden door, the cold metal of the door knocker digging into the back of my head.
“You like it rough?” he whispers, the sour tinge of alcohol invading my senses and making me retch. “Ah-ah,” he says, squeezing my cheeks, cradling my chin in a bruising grip. “I know they want that damn cow. I’ll let ‘em have it forrra’ price.” His hips press into my pelvis, keeping me immobile while he trails his free hand down my side.
“Dad, let her go!” Jonathan screams, moving to rush the steps, but Ellie is so much wiser than her papa gives her credit for. She throws her arm out in front of him and keeps him back. Good girl.
“Don’t,” she says. “You don’t know what he’ll do to you.”
“Why do you care?” he asks, and Garrison huffs a laugh at that, his eyes still roaming my body possessively, licking his foul-smelling lips. It’s disgusting . I knee him in the balls, and it gives me a split second to turn out of his hold, although he still has my wrist. I wince in pain as he digs his fingers deeper around my arm.
“I care because this town is crazy,” Ellie snaps at Jonathan, still holding him back, in a bear hug at this point, as he threatens to break through her hold. “We have to take care of each other, right?”
And it breaks my heart that she gets it too soon. That Jonathan gets it too soon. But I’m proud of her. Pride that seeps into me and coats me in an armor I need desperately right now, pushing me.
Yanking my arm free from Garrison’s grip, I march back toward him and use my new position to shove him to the wall while he’s still groaning about his ball sack. That’s the thing about ball sacks. Vaginas can take a literal pounding, but a single tap to the balls sends men to their knees in agony.
And like, let us not forget that God makes no mistakes and all. That was a design choice.
“Now, I’m buying your cow or I’m telling the cops you drunk assaulted me. You pick.”
“C’mon, Devyn, all I wanted wazaa lil’ of that sssweet sss-southern pie you flash all over the TV.” He licks his lips again, and I hate the sight of him, so I slap him once across the face, and I watch as the blood drips from his lip.
“Who assaulted who now?” He grins, pushing his weight back against me and striding ahead, backing me against the wall once more.
“Please, let’s calm down and talk,” I try, but he’s no longer fighting me with his weight. He’s falling against me, using me to hold his body up, and he’s shaking.
Is he crying?
He slumps against my body with most of his weight, and I struggle to hold him up. He pushes until we’re against the wall and he’s hugging me in a way that’s not sexual in the least. I’m more of an anchor for him right now.
“Gone. Sheeee’s gone,” he cries. Goosebumps prick my skin, and I lower us to the deck floor, resting atop the welcome mat as he hangs across my lap, heaving tears and gasping between gargled words.
Jonathan approaches from the left and kneels beside me, a sad look ghosts his face. “Let’s get you inside, Dad.”
He tries to pry his dad’s arms from my shoulders, but Garrison snaps back, almost feral, alcohol holding captive any semblance of lucidity. He slips in and out of the present as he grips me tighter.
“No, you can’tttttake ‘er from me!” My heart races, and I don’t know what to do. He’s clearly not the sexual predator he seemed a few minutes ago, but he’s something quite possibly worse now. It’s a kind of trauma-based hallucination.
He needs help. But he’s unpredictable.
I need to get the kids away, most importantly. Adrenaline pumps through me, and I pray to God for whatever strength he gives all those women who lift fallen trees off their babies on YouTube as I attempt to wiggle free.
Garrison tightens his hold, sobbing and combing his fingers through my hair, and as much as I try, I can’t overpower him.
“Get Lemon and Shana!” I shout to the kids, finally realizing I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone.
I crack, tears of frustration finally breaking over my eyes and rolling down my face. “I don’t want to do it alone!” I scream, shoving all my weight against Garrison’s drunken form, but it’s no use. He’s twice my size.
The kids take off down the drive, but they stop in their tracks and begin to wave and jump when a honk sounds in the distance and a bright pair of headlights come charging up the rolling hills.
Not Lemon’s truck. This one is a rusted, ugly, white Ford that I’ve never been happier to see.
Hunter launches himself from his truck, slamming the door. His eyes darken as he takes me in, pinned beneath Garrison, and his lip curls up, seething.
“Gary! Get the fuck off my wife!”