Chapter 9
He and Lydia had been sleeping at each other’s houses, back and forth, for four days now.
He had, he could admit, avoided a couple of calls from Matthew because talking to his friend made him feel uncomfortable.
As if Matthew would be able to see or hear the truth of the situation if they were to get on a voice or video call.
And there was no point having the discussion. He felt like a fool. Because sweet Lydia had given herself to him, and he found that every day he felt more like a feral dog she had taken in and fed. He didn’t want to leave. But he also couldn’t offer her anything. He just didn’t know how.
But he was spending so much time with her these days that it was difficult to imagine what his life would look like when this ended.
He didn’t want it to end. That was the honest truth. Little as he liked to admit it.
The day the horses arrived, Lydia was there with her hair in braids, a cowboy hat planted firmly on her head.
She was wearing her usual jeans and a T-shirt and grinning from ear to ear.
He had never seen her quite so excited. And he had done a pretty good job of exciting her during their nights together, if he said so himself.
The condition of the horses that were led out of the trailers shocked him.
Even though they had been given good care these last few weeks, they still looked rough beyond telling.
He remembered that a couple of the horses that had been taken from his father’s ranch couldn’t even be saved. That said a lot about the condition they must’ve been in.
It was amazing how easy it was to see his father’s cruelty when he was looking at animals.
And yet he had never really extended the same level of compassion to himself.
He had always felt as if in some regard maybe he hadn’t been a very good son. Hadn’t inspired his father to want to treat him well.
But these animals hadn’t asked to belong to Hunter Lane. They simply had.
Just as he had.
Same as Pascal hadn’t asked to be orphaned as a tiny raccoon, hadn’t asked to be turned into a domestic creature who couldn’t survive on his own.
He felt a surge of compassion rise up inside for his old self.
The boy he’d been.
But the truth was, it didn’t make him any more able to cope with the situation.
That was the saddest bit.
Feeling compassion, knowing something was wrong, didn’t fix things. It didn’t mean that everything could be put to rights as if it had never been wronged.
He was far too familiar with that truth.
But he had the horses now, and he would focus on them.
He got information about the special care and treatment they would need for a while as they continued to build up their strength, shook hands with the people from the rescue, and then he stood there, contemplating yet more evidence of his father’s general evil.
“You’re a good man,” Lydia said, patting his shoulder.
“I don’t know if that’s true. But I definitely feel that what happened to these creatures was unjust.”
Hank had perked up when the horses had arrived. Now he ran out into the field. The horses seemed to know him. Hank ran around them in circles, looking younger than he ever had in the time that Remy had had him.
“Look at that,” he said. “They’re friends.”
“I guess they were a soft place for each other. Even when the whole rest of life wasn’t soft.”
“I guess so.”
He cleared his throat. He wished . . . he wished for something. So fiercely, deep down, that he could barely breathe.
His whole life had changed in the past couple of weeks. Since Lydia had shown up with Hank. His house felt fuller. His life felt fuller.
He felt . . . he wanted to feel hopeful. But it was just so damned difficult.
“What are you thinking about?”
“That I can’t wait to go to bed tonight,” he said, looking at her, his chest expanding.
She blushed. Then stretched up on her toes and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. “This has been good,” he said.
It had been. He had never really had a relationship with a woman like this before. Never gotten to where he knew so much about her. Both naked and clothed. Had never shared space like this.
“I love you,” she said, her eyes never leaving his.
He felt as if she had punched him in the gut. “What?”
“I love you, Remy. But I thought that was pretty obvious.”
“No, it . . . It’s not.”
How the hell would he know what love looked like? No woman had ever looked at him and said that. No one had ever . . . No.
“I’m sorry. I thought that I could keep my feelings to myself. I thought that . . . I thought that I could just let this go on as it was. I know that’s what you want. And actually . . . I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t want you to turn me away.”
He didn’t know what to say. Because of course he had been about to throw up all kinds of reasons why she couldn’t love him. Why they couldn’t be together. Of course he had been.
“I don’t want you to tell me that I don’t love you. Because I do. I have since long before you moved into my parents’ house.”
“You like a stray.”
“I do,” she said. “But I also know that just because a creature is a stray, it doesn’t make them any less valuable.
If my having all this love to give to creatures who need it makes you believe my love for you is less real .
. . I feel sorry for you. Because look at men like your father.
Who take animals in and then treat them terribly.
He was bad to people, he was bad to animals.
Just because I like strays, that doesn’t make my love for you mean less. ”
“Lydia . . .”
“I told you. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear why you can’t be with me.
What I want is for you to sit with this.
I want you to think on it. Because I deserve that much consideration.
At least that’s what I think. I love you.
Like in love with you. I always have. When you moved into my parents’ house, it was the single most glorious and hideous thing ever.
Because I could be with my crush all the time, but also, you could see me in my pajamas.
But now, you see me naked. In my pajamas.
Looking a mess, looking good. We were already halfway there.
That’s why there hasn’t been anyone for me.
It’s always been you. I have never been able to imagine myself with somebody else. ”
“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. Because it was a damn shame that this sweet, wonderful woman had never been able to imagine herself with another man because she had imprinted on him like a baby chicken way back when.
She deserved more. More than him. A man who was scared to death of relationships of any kind. Hell.
“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want your regretful apologies. I don’t want your sad-eyed rejection. What I want is for you to sit with yourself and tell me the real reason you don’t think we can be together.”
“Your family . . .”
“Loves you.”
“Your brother is my best friend.”
“Yes. And he loves you. He knows what a good guy you are. He never stops talking about it. You don’t seem to understand that you gave something to us too. Do you have any idea how afraid Matthew was that his friends would reject him? Big tough guys that you all were. And some of them did.”
“Those guys didn’t matter. What kind of person gives a shit about who their friend loves?”
“A lot of people. But you don’t. To the point you don’t even understand why somebody would.
You don’t even understand that what you gave to him was real friendship.
That it mattered. You’re so stuck on the idea that you’re a charity case, and that we didn’t get anything from you.
But it isn’t true. We love you. All of us do.
And you have been a gift to us. So sit with that.
Don’t worry about what my family will think, other than the fact that they really, really care about you. And then . . . get over yourself.”
Then Lydia Clay turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with the animals that she had brought into his life, and an ache in his chest that hadn’t existed before.
She had broken up with him, kind of. The ball was in his court.
But he had no idea what to do with it next.