Chapter 5
Fuck Christmas.
My words echo in my head, heartless, thoughtless, as I slam into my workshop behind the cabin.
It was an asshole thing to say. Bellamy looked like I had just told her I strangled a litter of kittens.
I didn’t mean it. I blame my bad temper on the debt we’re trying to get out from under.
In four days, we lose everything.
I start up the wood-burning stove, eyeing the slightly open door every few seconds, waiting for Zelda. She doesn’t show. Fucking perfect. My goddamn dog would rather be with Bellamy.
Tension tightens my neck. I roll out my shoulders, huffing in frustration, my breath a white cloud. I wish I’d grabbed my jacket, but I’d rather freeze to death than go back for it. I need some goddamn time away from Bellamy. Away from what she’s doing to me.
I want her. So goddamn bad it hurts.
I’ve spent so long thinking about taking this chance, and now that I have, now that I’m here, I feel like an idiot.
What the hell was I thinking coming here? I knew it was her weekend, and foolishly, I came anyway. And for what? Some harebrained notion that I could get her to stay? That I could tell her I miss her, I love her, I can’t live without her?
Instead, all we’ve done is bark and bite at each other.
My fault. I brought up the past, took my anger out on her. Hell, I told her I hate Christmas, even after I brought along all her favorite Christmas dishes.
I don’t hate Christmas.
I just miss her.
Miss her in a way that’s feral and greedy and damn near makes me insane. Knowing she’s on my ranch, back in our Christmas cabin, is torture. She’s here but she’s not mine. She’s close but I can’t touch her.
How many dreams have I woken from still tasting that perfect pussy, those breasts? With that giggly laugh echoing in my head? Those small hands running up my chest, her candy-apple-red mouth parting to say, “I love you, Hank.”
With a pained grunt, I shake my head, trying my damnedest to dislodge the memories.
Needing a task to keep me busy, I heft an old saddle from the rack and settle at the workbench. I get out a needle and thread and begin to stitch up a tear near the front of the seat.
I haven’t been the same since she left.
I could have rallied. Could have gotten my life together, seen my friends, moved on. Instead, I pulled away, shut down. I couldn’t forget her.
Because Bellamy Blue is still mine.
I stick myself with the needle, my hands too unsteady, and curse. Exhaling, I lift my head and focus on the painting hanging over my workbench.
One of Bellamy’s.
The gold leaf and silver flecks she used make it shine. Violent slashes of blues and greens and red streak across the canvas. But in those messy layers of paint, a lilac sunset slowly fading to gold, is a house. A ranch. She painted our cabin.
That first year after we were divorced, I flew to San Francisco, praying she’d hear me out. Praying she’d come home. It was the night of her big art show. I crossed the showroom floor, her ring in my pocket. But when I saw her, smiling bright and beaming, I stopped in my tracks.
I couldn’t do it. Not when she looked so damn happy.
I left without seeing her. Before she knew I was there.
But I had to have some part of her, so I bought her painting.
How different would my life be if I had just talked to her that day?
I’ll never know. But I could have walked across that showroom floor and kissed her.
Should have. Should have told her how proud I was of her.
Spilled my guts and told her I wanted her back.
That I was a fucking idiot who didn’t deserve her, but that I wanted to try again.
But I didn’t.
Just because I couldn’t live without her doesn’t mean she felt the same way.
The door cracks open slowly, and my heart stumbles. Breath held, I look over, hopeful it’s Bellamy. But it’s my dad, shuffling inside, flecks of snow blending with his white hair.
“Pops.” I sigh. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”
“I’m an old man, son.” He tips his hat at me as he settles into a chair next to the stove. “If I go out like Frosty the Snowman, so be it.”
“Jesus.” I set down the needle and thread. “You’re a morbid bastard, you know that?”
“Tell me somethin’, Hank.” He steeples his fingers in front of his face, a familiar gesture that tells me I’m in for a lecture. “You’re out here, Bellamy’s in there.”
I grimace at the reminder.
“You tell her about the farm yet?”
“Do I need to?”
His eyes narrow, seeing right through me. “She deserves to know.”
The silence lingers between us. My father looks older, more tired than he did a few months ago, and for damn good reason.
We’re in the shitter with the bank. The tree farm and the surrounding land, including the cabin, are scheduled to go to auction the week after Christmas. The only way to keep that from happening is to come up with back taxes.
Thinking about Bellamy inside the cabin, our cabin, makes me want to save it that much more.
But I don’t know how.
“She doesn’t deserve to know,” I mumble, looking away from him. “We’re divorced.”
My father’s bushy brows draw together. “Hell, I thought you came up here to keep her. To win her back.”
“I thought I could, but…” Bell’s words from last night come back to me. “It’s too hard,” I say quietly.
My dad looks at me like he did the time he found me smoking a cigarette and made me smoke the whole pack.
“Kid, you’ve never been a quitter. Not when your mama died.
Not when that roan got stuck in the river with a broken ankle.
Not when you met that girl and made it work, even though she lived a thousand miles away. ”
The ache in my chest flares. “Yeah, well, I’m quittin’ now.” I shove up from the workbench and pace, needing to move. “She doesn’t want me back, Pops. She’s made that pretty damn clear.”
“Then stop pining and get out there and date.”
I pull up short and give my father a sharp look. The smile twitching his lips tells me he knows what he’s doing. His words are a dare. One I’ll never take him up on.
I’ve been on a few miserable blind dates. I’ve gone out, looking for a girl to pick up. But the truth is, I haven’t been with a woman in three damn years.
Sure, I’m horny as hell, but not for just anyone. For Bellamy. My wife. We may have signed papers, but she’s still mine. My wife. My girl. My bluebell.
I love her so damn much.
Never stopped. Never will.
From the moment I saw her in that bar, I considered her mine.
The way she approached me, ballsy yet shy, bowled me over.
That feeling only grew as the night went on, as we connected over music, the deaths of our parents.
Over our love of Christmas. Her beautiful drawing, so hesitant, held so much hope.
Just like her. My best friend, Clint, teased me for dating a city girl.
I’d just grin and tell him she wouldn’t be one for long.
Swallowing hard, I look down, flexing my hand. Watch my wedding band catch the remaining light filtering in through the windows.
My father clears his throat and peers at me from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Christmas is a time for miracles.”
“I don’t believe in miracles.” The memory of that day hits me. The opposite of a miracle. Pain and despair always choose the perfect fucking time to sneak up on me.
Coming home from the ranch to meet Bellamy beneath the mistletoe. Only, I didn’t find Bellamy. I found bloody footprints instead. Heart in my throat, I followed them, racing through the cabin until I found my wife curled up on the bathroom floor.
Tears streamed down her pale face. She clutched her stomach with one hand. The other gripped her phone. “Hank,” she gasped. “It hurts.”
I didn’t want to waste a second waiting for the paramedics, so I scooped her up and hauled ass to the hospital.
But it was too late.
We lost Cody.
We lost our son.
The worst fucking time in my life.
I’d never felt so powerless.
Eyes closed, I rub at the sting in my chest.
“You lost a baby. Hell, you nearly lost your wife. That pain will never go away.” My father’s voice is stern, but when I force myself to look at him, his craggy face is sympathetic. “You’re mad at the world, son. Mad at everyone. Bell left, but—”
“She left because I wasn’t there for her.”
After we lost our son, I made work my priority.
I stayed out all day on the ranch, putting myself into backbreaking tasks that helped me forget, if only for a little while.
I couldn’t fucking bear to look at the room Bellamy had painted a cheery sunshine yellow.
Her quiet sobbing in bed gutted me. I’d hover, not knowing how to help her.
The weight was crushing. I had to be strong, calm.
I had to hold it all together even as she pushed me away.
And when she did, I went to Buck’s Bar and drank in silence until my father arrived with words of common sense and threats to put a boot up my ass.
He grabbed me by the front of the shirt and tossed me against the side of my Bronco. “Get your shit together, son.”
“Fuck this entire world,” I blasted, the parking lot and my father blurring in front of me thanks to the whiskey. “Fuck everything.”
“I don’t disagree, kid. But right now, there’s someone else hurting more than you.”
“Bellamy.” Just her name had the power to make me cave in on myself. I dropped my head into my hands and cursed my stupidity.
“You can’t heal her. She doesn’t want to be healed.”
I lifted my face, wiped at my eyes. “So what do I do?”
“You sober up. You go and love her. Just be there.”
I did that. I stopped going to Buck’s. I tried like hell to talk to her. But she shut down.
Six months later, she left her ring on the kitchen counter and walked out.
Our divorce was my fault. The biggest failure of my fucking life. She needed my help to move on, and I failed.
“But you’re here now,” my father says gently. “She’s got some pain. You both do. Christmas seems like a mighty fine time to work out the kinks.”
“Kinks.” A ragged scoff pops out of my mouth. “We’re fucking divorced, Pops.”
“And it’s a damn shame.” He rises and heads for the door. With his hand on the knob, he pauses and eyes me over his shoulder. “We’ll be okay without the farm. But will you be okay without her?”
I don’t respond. He and I both already know the answer.
No. Without Bellamy, I won’t be okay.
I look at her painting again. The swoopy lines and pretty colors. It’s our cabin. Whether she wants to admit it or not. Even a year after leaving me, she painted us.
No cowboy in his right mind would be this fucking stupid.
I won’t let her go. Not again.