Chapter 8
BOULDER
I’m logging the gate count when she comes around the corner of the shop at a walk that is unsteady.
“Did you know?” No hello, no lead-in. Her face is wrecked, streaked, furious in a way I haven’t seen on her yet.
“The Hounds were at Wade’s gate for two weeks before his heart quit.
It’s in his own handwriting, Boulder. And Cross says you’ve been keeping a log that has them sitting in the county on the day he died, October ninth, half the afternoon. Did. You. Know?”
“No.” The admission costs me. “I know Cross keeps logs on that road but I never sat down with the dates myself. I was too busy with you, with the farm, with—” I stop. There’s no end to that sentence that doesn’t sound like an excuse.
“So he didn’t just die alone, he died scared too.” Her voice cracks down the middle. “What happened between him and you. Why did you never check on your brother?”
“That’s not fair.” It comes out before I can stop it.
“Isn’t it? You know things about my life I don’t. You’ve known about me the whole time. And now that I know about you too, I’m done waiting for you to decide when I’m ready to hear it.”
I don’t defend myself past that. There’s nothing left to defend.
“Tell me,” she says. “Whatever it is.”
I look at her a long moment, and the hold I’ve kept on myself for fucking too long finally gives out.
“Come inside,” I say, moving deeper into the shop. “Not out here.”
I rub the back of my neck like that’ll loosen whatever’s stuck there.
There’s a torque wrench on the bench and my hand finds it while I look for somewhere to start, thumb working the knurl of the grip like a rosary. She watches my hands instead of my face. Easier on both of us.
“My father was a mean drunk,” I start, and stop. Start again.
“He was really mean when he drank, which was most nights. I was sixteen. He came at me one night with a tire iron, and I froze. Just froze, hands empty, waiting to die because some part of me thought I deserved it.”
Spark doesn’t say anything. She stands across from me, arms wrapped around herself, listening with her whole body still.
“Wade stopped him.” My hands open and close on nothing.
“Killed him. Our own father, in our home. Wade did light time for it. The whole town knew what our old man was, and nobody in that courthouse had the stomach to bury a young man for saving his brother. Eighteen months, county time. He was home before I turned eighteen.”
“Cole.” First time she’s said it to my face since the farm, and hearing the sadness in her voice now breaks the last of my guard loose.
“When they took him away I decided the only way to earn that back was to never need saving again.” My voice goes rough.
“I’ve spent every year since being the one that never loses control.
I don’t drink, I never lose my temper. All that because Wade paid for my one weak second with years of his own life. ”
I shake my head and look away.
“After that, I couldn’t stand being in a room with him after.
Not because he did anything wrong. Fuck, I would have killed the old bastard myself if I had been strong enough back then.
I stayed away because every time he looked at me I saw what it cost him, and I couldn’t carry that and love him at the same time.
That’s why I stayed away. Buried myself in this club instead. ”
I have to stop there a second to get the next part out.
“He kept calling. Kept the door open every year at Christmas, every birthday, said come home whenever you’re ready, no rush, no debt between us, just come home.
Sent me a card the year the farm’s chickens got into the neighbor’s corn, told the whole story just to make me laugh.
I never went. Told myself next year. Told myself that for so many years.
” My jaw locks before the rest comes out.
“And then he ran out of years, and I was still telling myself next year.”
Somewhere outside a screen door bangs shut, ordinary and far away. The rest of the world doesn’t know what got said in this room.
“The chickens,” she says finally, like it’s the only part she can hold.
“He told me that story too. Same week it happened. He laughed so hard he had to sit down.” Her arms come loose from around herself.
“He wasn’t— Cole, a man keeping a debt doesn’t write you about chickens.
He wasn’t asking to be repaid. He was—” She stops, works it out right in front of me.
“He just wanted his brother back. And you were too busy punishing yourself to see he’d already forgiven you. ”
I don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound like an excuse, so I stand there in silence.
She crosses the small space between us and holds me, her head finding my shoulder.
We stand there until the shop goes dim around us, and neither of us moves to hit the lights. I want to say I’ll spend the rest of my life paying off what I?—
I stop myself before one word comes out. There’s no language left that fits what I’m actually feeling, standing here with her weight against me and her breath finally slowing down.
“They took him from you before his time,” I say instead, low, my hand finding her hair. “And I let the men who did that stand ten feet from me and walk off my land breathing.”
I look at her and say, “That won’t happen again. Warden doesn’t get to walk away from this a second time, and I’m done deciding what I owe anybody before I decide what I want. Starting with you.”