Chapter 11
Fable
“Ugh, Harleigh. Do we have to go out tonight?” I whined.
We’d arrived in Lindley a few days ago, fresh from the whirlwind of finding movers, coordinating a two-car drive, and settling into my new house on the ranch owned by Kline and Maribel—my new employers.
The house was small, with only one bedroom, so when I’d begged Harleigh to move in with me, she’d turned me down in favor of staying at her dad’s far larger place down the road.
Earlier, Harleigh had gone with me on a four-hour round trip to Dallas to pick up some essentials from a department store before we officially started work on Monday morning. The last thing I wanted to do was go out, but Harleigh was over at my house and rummaging through my clothes.
“Yes, and we also have to throw out half your damn wardrobe.” She held up a pair of white linen pants and a silk shirt. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but there is no way you’ll ever need these.”
I grabbed them out of her hands. “Yes, there is. You said I’m mostly working in an office.”
I put them aside, hanging them nicely on the dresser. “In fact, maybe I’ll wear them Monday.”
Harleigh chuckled and then shook her head. “Whatever you say. You’ll learn fast.”
I glanced out the window, and a few bulls were grazing in the pasture. “You don’t think they can get too close to me, do you?”
I hated it out here. All day in Dallas, I kept thinking about wanting to move out there.
The city had everything I missed: the buzz, the convenience, the sense of life happening all around me.
Out here, it felt like the world had slowed to a crawl, and I was stuck in the middle of nowhere in winter.
I only had to make it until the end of the team season in September. Just half a year, and the contract would be fulfilled. Then I could pack up and leave this place behind for good. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t back out early because there was nowhere else for me to go.
Harleigh didn’t get it. This was her home, the place she’d grown up. She thrived out here, soaking in the familiarity of it all. She was quick to point out how the fresh air did wonders for her soul or how peaceful it was without the constant hum of city traffic.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Harleigh said, pulling me out of my thoughts. She stood in the doorway, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she watched me sulk. “You’ll thank me later. A little fun might actually make you hate this place less.”
“I doubt that,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
She came and sat on the bed next to me. “I know it’s hard. Do you want to come to dinner with Dad and me tomorrow? It’ll be good fuel before we start our job.”
I sighed. “It’s not that I miss Mike,” I began. “It’s that I miss the only family I had since my parents passed away. I miss what felt comfortable for me.”
“He left you, sweetie. When you needed him the most, he wasn’t there for you or—”
I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. “I know. It’s fucked up and twisted and logically makes no sense for me to long for it, but I miss the familiarity of it all.”
“I get that. I felt something similar when I was in Chicago. Missed life down here.” She reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Ugh. Enough sappy shit. Can you please help me pick an outfit out so I don’t look like I did at the rodeo?”
She laughed. “Yes, we want to blend in, not stick out, but also, stay true to yourself, Fabs.”
I had no idea who I was. I had become this other person for so long, someone my partner wanted me to be, and I wasn’t sure where that left me.
“Tell me about the people in the bar tonight. What will the crowd be like?”
She shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. I moved away from Lindley when I went to college and then got the job in Chicago right after, so I haven’t gone to The Dive as a legal adult.”
She grabbed a pair of flared black-and-white checkered pants and threw them at me. “Take these,” she said, and I held them up.
This was another example of something I’d wear before Mike, or rather, before he became controlling over my outfits and my personality.
“We won’t see anyone from the event, will we?”
She shook her head. “Doubt it. The only two guys that live in town are Dalton and, well . . .”
“Do not say his name.”
“He doesn’t live here anymore. Last I heard, he lives near Dallas, and I doubt we’d ever run into him unless we went to an event.”
“Which we won’t, because our work and the auctions are based here . . . right?”
I didn’t want to see him again. Didn’t need to. I got him out of my system . . .
I think.
No, I did.
I fucked someone new, got a fresh start, and left. This was about the job and focusing on marketing the ranch and the bulls with Harleigh’s expertise. I wasn’t looking back.
“Wear this with it.” Harleigh threw a baggy plain white T-shirt at me.
This was simple enough. It felt like me with the pants, the old me, with a little of this new me mixed in—whoever she was.
“I’m going to wash my hands, then do my makeup, and we can go. Would you mind grabbing me a bra?”
“Nope. We’re going free the nip tonight.”
I groaned. The shirt was baggy enough that I didn’t need one, but if anything happened—or worse, someone spilled something on me . . .
Before I could argue further, she lifted her shirt, her tits fully on display.
“Harls,” I shouted, whipping around to avoid the sight.
She giggled, completely unbothered, as I stomped toward the bathroom.
I turned on the faucet and let the water run until it wasn’t too cold, but not too hot. Two pumps of soap onto my palm, and then I lathered. Starting with my palms, I scrubbed every inch of my hands, working the soap between my fingers, over the backs, and up to my wrists.
Happy birthday to me . . . Happy birthday to me . . . Happy birthday, dear me . . .
By the time I hit the final verse, I rinsed off the soap. Grabbing a clean towel, I patted my hands dry, careful to get between each finger. Only when they felt completely clean did I allow myself to relax.
I moved to the small vanity, grabbing my makeup brushes. A light dusting of bronzer, a pop of blush on my cheeks, and a quick swipe of gloss across my lips. I pressed them together, checking my reflection.
Good enough.
When I walked out of the bathroom, Harleigh was waiting, her smile soft and encouraging.
“I’m proud of you. I know how big this is.”
I frowned, shame tightening in my chest. The drive down to Texas had been rough—worse than I’d let on.
Every gas station stop had been a battle against my own mind.
My hands felt dirty before I even touched anything, and I couldn’t shake the urge to scrub them clean at every opportunity.
It had gotten so bad that I made Harleigh stop with me, even though we were in separate cars.
She never complained, never sighed or rolled her eyes.
She waited with me, like she always did, while I worked through it.
It didn’t make me feel any less guilty. I hated that I’d dragged her into it, hated how helpless I felt against the relentless pull of my own compulsions.
It wasn’t just the handwashing—it was the stares from strangers, the constant worry about whether they were judging me, wondering why I seemed so off.
“One step forward,” she murmured.
I nodded, swallowing hard, and managed a small smile.
“You made it one night last time we went out—”
I didn’t want to tell her I’d made it because of him. He showed me what it looked like to live without fear or shame of being myself. I went out that day because I was living in some made-up fictional reality for the night.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Harleigh insisted that she wasn’t going to drink much, so she drove us down to The Dive, which was the only bar in the town of Lindley.
The Dive sat at the edge of town. Winter had stripped the trees bare, their twisted branches reflected in the icy creek that ran alongside the main street. Harleigh slowed the truck as we passed the cluster of buildings that made up the town center.
“That’s the supermarket,” she said, pointing to a tiny, weathered shop with a flickering open sign in the window. “There’s the gas station. Only one pump, but it works.”
I nodded, taking it all in—the mechanic’s shop next door with a few rusty cars out front, and the creek running behind them, its edges crusted with frost.
Harleigh smiled as we pulled into the gravel lot outside The Dive. “This is the best bar in town.”
“It’s the only bar in town,” I muttered.
“Exactly,” she said.
Harleigh hopped out of the truck, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.
Her blue eyes were bright enough to stand out in the dim winter light.
She wore a black crop top paired with flared blue jeans that hugged her hips before flaring out dramatically over her boots.
The outfit was understated, but on her, it was striking.
She glanced back at me with a teasing grin. “You coming or what?”
“Coming,” I grumbled as I stepped out of her truck, which was parked next to the other thousand trucks in the parking lot.
The sound of laughter and the faint twang of a country song drifted out of the bar whenever the door swung open, only to fade as it closed again.
I stood outside, staring at the scuffed metal handle, my hands tingling with that pins-and-needles sensation that signaled the anxiety rising in my chest.
Harleigh stood next to me, her hand resting lightly on the door, holding it open enough for a stream of warm, stale air to escape. She didn’t say anything, just waited, her blue eyes watching me carefully.
Deep breaths, I reminded myself. It’s not dirty. You’re not going to get sick. And even if you do, Harleigh will help you. You’re not alone.
My chest tightened as the thought of Mike wormed its way into my head. He would’ve already gone inside, leaving me to deal with this by myself. Harleigh was still here, still holding the door, her quiet presence grounding me in a way I desperately needed.
I clenched my fists, then slowly released them, shaking out my hands as if I could shake away the anxiety too. I took another deep breath and nodded at her.
“One step forward,” I whispered to myself as I stepped toward the door. Harleigh smiled, her silent encouragement enough to get me to cross the threshold.