Chapter 10
A fter launching a grenade at Isabelle at the football game, I tuck my tail between my legs to wait out the rest of the game in my truck.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I blacked out a bit after that bitch from high school cornered me on the concourse.
This is why I don’t go out. Everywhere I go, my reputation and my past slam into me like a Mack truck.
Not only am I horrific to look at, but everyone realized what an irredeemable asshole I’ve always been.
Isabelle came up to me at exactly the wrong moment and I lashed out.
I think I said something about her sucking dick—nausea roils in my gut.
This girl has had a shitty fucking life as far as I can tell, but she's kinder to me than anyone outside of my family has ever been. She’s taken my punches for a week without complaint.
She must really need this job, or she would’ve quit by now. I would've if I was her.
I threw a dagger into her heart and then fucking twisted it. Bile burns the back of my throat recalling the look on her face when I snapped at her. The alcohol sitting in my empty stomach isn’t helping.
My self-hatred is boiling over by the time James meets me in the truck. He asks what's wrong with me but I’m not listening. He knows when it’s time to push me and when it’s time to leave me alone, so thankfully we ride back to the ranch in silence.
I'm exhausted. My teeth might have cracked with how hard I’ve been clenching my jaw tonight. I go through my nightly routine to get ready for bed. I typically avoid mirrors as much as possible, but tonight, I deserve to hurt.
I force myself to look at my reflection, disgusted with myself. Usually, I'm repulsed because of my damaged appearance, but tonight, I'm sickened by the monster I’ve become.
I destroyed Isabelle tonight, and I don’t think I’ve ever regretted anything more in my life.
I don’t know how I'm going to fix this, or if I even can. I hurt her. I don’t want to be a man that hurts anyone—especially not her.
I’ve been so lost to my pain for so long, I don’t know who I am anymore.
Days like today are the perfect reminder of why being alone is far easier.
My accident changed my life forever. The months and years following were filled with epiphanies of all the reasons I'm a piece of shit. Hatred festered in me like an infection. Then Sam died, and my life stopped all together.
I live in a suspended reality where Sam is dead, Quincy is a twenty-nine-year-old widow, James is “the responsible” brother, my parents are shattered, and I’m a pathetic shell of who I used to be.
A shell that’s been cracking and weakening every day since he died, verging on collapse under the weight of my grief.
A life without Sam is unfathomable, yet here we are.
Tonight, James said, “I’m fucking sick of it.
You need to stop hiding and feeling sorry for yourself and start living again.
” And he’s right. But I'm afraid to. When your chest is a cavern, sometimes the best you can manage is to exist. I’ve worked hard to remain in my emotionless void.
Nothingness is better than facing the burning reality that my brother is gone.
Isabelle’s words echo in my head. “We all have scars. Some of us wear them on the inside.”
I don’t know what Isabelle’s lived through, but it’s clear that she’s been hurt, and the thought sends fire licking through my veins.
Knowing I'm part of that hurt burns me the hottest. I tear myself away from my reflection and get in bed.
I fall asleep with the image of her broken face behind my eyelids, promising myself that I'll fix this. I have to.
Monday morning, I’m waiting for her outside of Bean & Brew when she comes for her daily fix. She stops short in front of me and politely says, “Good morning, Reid. Excuse me, please,” moving around me and through the door.
Like a puppy, I trail behind her to wait in line. I hunch down so my lips are beside her ear, her back stiffens at my proximity. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. But I'm so fucking sorry.”
She replies so quietly I barely hear her, “Thank you.”
We move up in line until it’s her turn. She orders something called a dirty chai and before the cashier can tell her the total, I slap my credit card onto the card reader, preemptively paying, and tell the barista I'll take the same.
Isabelle looks up at me with incredulity and again, whispers, “Thank you.”
I wish she'd yell at me or kick me in the nuts. It’s the least I deserve. Her continued maturity and kindness are unbearable. I can handle anger. I know it well. I can’t however handle whatever this is. We exit the coffee shop and before she can escape, I stop her.
“Ride with me today. I’ll drop you at your car later. I’ve got the properties mapped out for the season and I’d like to hear your thoughts.” I hold my phone out to her, with a spreadsheet of the properties lit up on the screen.
She frowns but takes my phone and follows me to my truck.
She doesn’t say anything on the ride to the lodge, but she intently studies the spreadsheet while her delicate fingers highlight various cells.
I park in the back lot, and she hops out of the truck before I can get out.
I intended on getting her door for her, but she clearly wanted to get away from me as fast as possible.
Her hips seduce me all the way to my office, and I mourn losing my view when she sits in my guest chair. She surprises me at every turn, but I can’t do anything more than take her at face value. If she's acting fine, I'll assume she's fine, and we're back to business as usual.
She's agreeable as we comb through the plan and makes several valid suggestions. We plan to use the good weather to hit the properties farthest away and deepest in the hills. We agree it’s the safest and most logical to move inwards towards town as winter consumes the Western slope.
Because several of the properties are hours away from Swiftwater, we’ll have a lot of overnight trips.
I assure her that most of the properties have at least two bedrooms and that I'll respect her privacy. She doesn’t say much—offering only tight smiles while she takes copious, pink-inked notes in her unicorn notebook. This girl is something else, I swear.
We agree to use the rest of the day and Tuesday to get our affairs in order so we can make a round-trip Wednesday through Friday. I want her to enjoy her weekends, and I sure as hell need that time to keep up on the ranch.
James and Greyson are always willing to be my back-up for morning and evening chores when I travel for work.
I’m damn lucky to have them, and I'm relieved to not worry about the horses on this first trip up the hill. The geldings know the drill—they’ve been on the ranch long enough to practically run themselves.
Still, I like to make sure they’re settled before I leave.
Walking through the stables immediately calms me. I feed and water the horses, making sure they’re set for the night, and check that the boys will have everything they need while I’m gone. Checking the schedule, it doesn’t look like any boarders are due this weekend, so it should be quiet.
I give special attention to the family horses. The ranch is just as much their home as it is mine. Most of them were born here, anyway.
Dad’s old stallion, Sergeant, and Mom’s mare, Juniper, gave us a few colts back in the day.
We gelded the boys young and raised them to work hard for the ranch.
Ranger’s mine, he’s retired now, but he’s still the first one to the fence for a treat, right next to his mama.
Juniper is greyed and tired—old girl has earned her rest and extra peppermints.
Sergeant passed a few winters back, but he lives on.
His bloodline goes back nearly as far as the ranch does, he’s a part of this land.
Dakota’s my mount these days—not one of ours by blood, but he fits in like he was born here. Surefooted and no nonsense, he’s the reason I’m able to maintain the land at all.
My brothers’ geldings, Colonel and Scout, came from the same line as Ranger.
They haven’t worked in years, but they still get their grain like clockwork.
My chest aches every single day when I visit Sam’s old boy, Scout.
When I look at him, memories of Sam’s life flash before my eyes.
As much as I want to turn away from the pain, I give Scout the love I wish I could give Sam.
These horses are more than stock. They’re the last pieces of what this place used to be.
I worry about them when I'm not around, but knowing James will be out at first light to check on them, and Greyson will check in at dusk, puts my mind at ease. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that my horses will be well cared for while I’m up the hill.
The peace of mind is more than welcome, because I need all my brainpower to keep up with Isabelle.