17. Kaitlyn
SEVENTEEN
Kaitlyn
My laptop is trashed.
In the ten minutes it took me to get Brock Morris away from Abbey and off the ranch, Two-tone decided to take a stroll around his stall and nose into my backpack. Not only did he shred my green notebook—the one I use for study guides and practice tests—he stepped on my laptop for good measure, shattering the screen and breaking its plastic casing beyond repair.
“What is that?” Damien asked, following me into the barn to stand in the doorway of Two-tone’s stall.
“It was my laptop.” I say it as casually as I can, shoving it back into my backpack while reminding myself that 1) Two-tone is a horse. He has no idea what he destroyed or why it was so important to me, and 2) I’m the one who was dumb enough to leave it in the stall with him in the first place. Zipping the flap of my backpack closed, I shouldered it and gave Damien a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”
Except that it is.
Because it’s not just a laptop.
It was a key— my key —to getting out of Barrett Valley and away from the future my father’s been planning for me since I was fifteen. Without it, it doesn’t matter that Damien’s brother agreed to keep letting me study at Northpoint—without it, I can’t finish course work for the semester. Can’t study for my finals or take them. Can’t earn my grade or my course credits. I can’t even email my professors and let them know what happened or ask for an extension.
Without it, I can’t escape.
I had panic attacks that started a few months after Luke died. They’d mostly hit me while I was sleeping. I’d sit up from a dead sleep in a blind panic. Unable to breathe. Skin somehow hot and clammy at the same time. Heart ricocheting around my ribcage like a bullet, so hard and fast I was sure it was going to punch its way through my chest. Lungs squeezed so tight they felt like a couple of balloons, ready to burst. I’d lay there in the dark, convinced that I was dying and that it was no less than I deserved. That’s when Luke started talking to me.
It’s okay, Kaity.
It’s going to be okay.
We’ll get through this together.
Breathe, Kaity. Just breathe...
I can feel the panic start to build. The pressure of it behind my eyes, pushing my vision in and out of focus. Invisible hands gripped around my lungs so tight I let out a soft wheeze in response while my heart starts to gallop.
Breathe, Kaity. Just breathe...
Like he knows something is wrong, Damien frowns. “Kait—”
“I was serious before—you better be careful, going into town for the next couple of days,” I tell him, changing the subject before the panic strapped around my chest has a chance to tighten and squeeze me into hysterics. I refuse to fall apart over this. Maybe later, but not now. “Brock can hold a grudge if he has a mind to, especially when he feels like he’s been challenged.”
I would know.
“I’m not worried about Brock Morris,” Damien waves his name away with a dismissive swipe of his hand. “I’m worried about you. Are you—”
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I give him a headshake and make my way toward him while he moves out of the doorway to let me pass. “I’m fine.” Before I can make my getaway, he reaches out and lays a work-roughened hand on my forearm because it’s a lie and he knows it.
“Maybe if you talk to your dad, he’ll change his mind,” Damien says carefully because while we might be friends, he’s also Tom Barrett’s man, through and through. He’d rather jump off the hay loft onto a pile of rusty pitchforks than challenge my father.
“He’s not going to change his mind,” I say, giving him a small, sad headshake.
“Why not?” The Tom Barrett he knows is tough but reasonable. Firm but fair because he’s never challenged him. Never asked for more than what my father was willing to offer.
Never disappointed or embarrassed him.
Sullied the Barrett name with rumors and accusation.
“You know why.” I pull my hand out from under his arm as gently as I can. “You’ve lived in this town for four years, Damien—I know you’ve heard all about me by now.”
Like I took a swing at him, Damien takes a step back, mouth open to reassure me that he doesn’t believe the things he’s heard others whispering about me. Maybe even deny that he’s heard those whispers, altogether.
“It’s okay.” I shake my head, cutting off his protests and reassurances before he can even form them. “You don’t have to say it. I better get in the house though and check on Abbey.” Abbey is eighteen, she doesn’t need me to check on her and we both know it. Instead of pointing that out, Damien just gives me a nod.
“Alright, Kait.” Backing away from me slowly, he sighs. “If you need something—”
“I’ll holler,” I tell him, giving him a bland, over the shoulder smile as I walk away because we both know I won’t.
“What was that about?”
When I walk through the front door, I find Abbey waiting for me, sitting at the foot of the stairs where I usually kick off my boots. As soon as she sees me, she shoots up from her seat and starts peppering me with questions.
“I already told you,” I say on a weary sigh. “There’s nothing going on between Damien and me—I swear. He’s like—”
“ Your brother —I know.” She wrinkles her pert, freckle spattered nose when she says it like she thinks I’m nuts. “I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about Brock Morris.”
“Oh.” I was pretty sure that’s who she was talking about. I was just hoping to distract her by mentioning Damien. I should’ve known better—Abbey is flighty and spoiled but she’s also as tenacious as they come when she’s got her mind set. There’s no shaking her. Not even Damien Bravebird can distract her when she’s chewing on something. “ That.”
“Yeah.” Hands on her hips, Abbey’s brown eyes go wide. “ That .” When all I do is drop my backpack before lowering myself onto the entryway bench, she gives me an exasperated sigh of her own. “What was he doing here, Kaity?”
“From what he said, looking for someone to split a milkshake with,” I tell her, doing my best to make light of the situation. The truth is, there’s nothing light about the thought of my little sister getting into a truck— alone —with Brock Morris.
“He wasn’t looking for someone,” she points out. “He was looking for you .”
“Let it go, Abbey,” I say, suddenly too tired and worn down to go round and round with her. “Did you pull that casserole out of the freezer?”
“Yes.” She gives me an impatient, you’ve got to be joking frown while she watches me pull off my boots, first one and then the other. “Why was Brock Morris looking for you?”
I’ve been here with Abbey before. There’s no shaking her with anything but the truth. “Why do you think?”
She stares at me for a few seconds while I watch her puzzle it together. I know when she lands on it because her entire body goes stiff before her shoulders loosen like someone clipped her string. “Kaity...” Like Damien earlier, she looks at me like I have a terminal illness.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I shake my head, dropping my boot on the floor with another weary sigh because I suddenly feel old and worn down. “Go see what’s on TV while I—”
“Maybe I can talk to him—Dad.” Her hands fall away from her hips to wring themselves in front of her. Fingers working on a series of invisible knots, Abbey nods her head. “Maybe he’ll listen to me. I can—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out of my mouth, hard and sharp. Pushes me off the bench to stand practically nose to nose with her. “I appreciate that you want to help but just... don’t , okay?” Softening my harsh refusal with a smile, I shove the last thirty minutes into a box and slam the lid closed because if I try to deal with it all at once, I’ll shatter into a million pieces. “I’m going to get that casserole into the oven so Mom won’t have to worry about dinner after a long road trip.”
“Okay.” Abbey gives me a nod before she turns to climb the stairs behind her, about halfway up, she stops and turns back to look at me. “I love Dad but he’s wrong. You know that, right?”
Before I can ask her wrong about what? she turns back around to disappear up the stairs.