Chapter 12
Sadie
The sky is already burning with the hot sun, so bright it hurts my eyes before I even get out of the house. The plastic jug swings from my hand, heavy with tap water. I can’t keep using up the Gatorade.
I purposefully don’t look at the porch steps, or at the pale brown bloodstains dried into the warped boards, or at Flint, who paces the back fence with a whine running through his big chest. I just cross the yard, left foot, right foot, in a pattern so even that if someone filmed it and played it back, you’d never know I was walking on a leg with a fresh, boot-shaped bruise running from mid-thigh to calf.
‘Where the fuck is my Gatorade? We have water, Sadie! Use it.’
I can feel my face still swelling. The air is thick and unmoving, so every step builds a kind of pressure behind my left cheekbone, a tingle that migrates from the base of my ear down to my jaw.
Beyond just my nose hurting, my mouth doesn’t want to open all the way today, but that’s fine. I won’t need to talk. I won’t need to do anything but deliver the water and get the hell back up to the house before the pain starts leaking from my eyes.
“Go play, Flint,” I mumble to the dog, as I reach the door. “You gotta stay away from here.”
Flint tilts his head, and I frown. However, he seems to get the message, darting off toward the other side of the yard.
I breathe out a sigh of relief and jerk the barn door open.
I step inside and let my eyes adjust. The light is different in here, washed out and sepia, with particles of dust hanging motionless in the air.
Cade is awake. He’s been awake.
I can tell by the way his shoulders are braced against the feed sacks, his hands gripping the rim like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the present.
His face is sallow, but there’s a shine to his eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.
He has the shirt I gave him on, but the neckline is stained with sweat and something clear that’s probably pus.
The right leg of the jeans is cut high, exposing the cotton bandage around his calf, but I can already see the darkening line creeping upward, a bruise or a vein, I don’t know.
I’m not equipped to deal with this. I have no idea what I’m fucking doing.
I put the water jug down next to the feed sacks. It lands with a soft, wet plunk, the sound swallowed by the barn’s insulation.
Cade watches all of this, his head tilted, eyes narrowed just enough to show the white all around the irises. He doesn’t say a word until I stand up and move to leave.
“That all you’re gonna do?” His voice is rough and sharp. “You not even gonna ask how I am? No food delivery? Nothing?”
I swallow hard and turn back to face him. His gaze goes straight to my nose, and then to the left side where my cheekbone is bruising. Even in the shadows, he sees everything.
“He was drunk,” I say, the defensiveness popping up in my tone.
“They always are,” Cade’s eyes bore into mine, darkening. “And the ones who make the excuses are just as guilty as the one who throws the punches.”
My heart jumps to my throat, but I glare back. “Says the murderer.”
Cade’s entire expression goes cold. “I’d be careful antagonizing me, Sadie.”
And something about it just pisses me off.
“You’re incredibly ungrateful.”
“And horrible company,” he deadpans. “So, why don’t you go grab your old man’s shotgun and put me out of my goddamn misery?”
I open my mouth, trying to conjure up something snarky. But words die on my lips. I don’t have a good comeback about not having the code to the safe.
Cade scoffs, his gaze shifting away from me like he’s bored. “Pathetic,” he mutters.
The word stings worse than Clayton’s verbal blows.
“I’ll go make you a sandwich,” I grit out, because it’s the only thing I know to do.
He nods toward the door. “Go ahead. Go be a good little housewife, taking care of her stray she keeps hidden from her hubby.”
I want to yell at him, but instead, I just take a breath, let it out slow, and pick up the empty Gatorade jug from yesterday. I tuck it under my arm and turn for the exit.
“You gonna tell me what actually happened?” Cade calls after me. “Or are we both supposed to play dumb about it?”
I pause, my hand on the door, and gaze back at him. I could just keep walking. But something about the way he’s looking at me—the way his eyes have warmed—makes me stop.
“You know what happened,” I say, turning just enough so he can see the damage in profile in the light. “He was drunk.”
He leans forward, puts more weight on his good leg. “Is this every day?”
“Not every day.”
He grunts, shakes his head again. “Right.”
I swallow, my jaw aching. “Is that all, Cade?”
He laughs, a sardonic tone sending a chill down my spine. “I don’t know.”
For a second, neither of us says a thing. But then I shoulder the empty jug and tug at the door. It starts to roll open, and Cade clears his throat.
“What?” I sigh, turning once more, exasperated. “What else?”
His eyes jump to the bruise on my face. “You want him dead, Sadie?”
I can’t bring myself to answer him. I just let the door fall shut behind me.
“I see you still haven’t fixed the gate,” Clayton says, sitting at the table as he takes a bite out of his sandwich. “You should’ve done it before it got hot.”
“I’m sorry.” I pull out the chair across from him and take a seat, my own sandwich sitting in front of me. I’m not going to eat it. I’ll take it to Cade once Clayton leaves to head back to town. “How’s your day going?”
“Fine,” he huffs, taking off his cowboy hat and setting it down on the table. “It’d be better if I could let Josh know the gate was fixed, so he could bring his cattle this evening.”
I pick up my glass of water, nodding. “I hear you. I’ll fix the gate this afternoon. I didn’t know he was planning to bring them this evening.”
“Always excuses,” Clayton mumbles, taking another bite and swallowing. “You’ll need to stay in the house when he gets here. I don’t want them seeing how clumsy you are.” He nods toward my face. “It takes some skill to run into a drunk man’s unaimed fist.”
I clench my jaw, and then unclench it, taking a sip of water. “Yeah, sure does.”
“About like crashing a damn truck on a straight road.”
I close my eyes, and then push back from the table. “I think I’ll save my sandwich for later.”
“Not hungry?” His eyes follow me as I stand to my feet and pick up my plate. “Or did you eat earlier? Your ass tells me you did.”
I ignore him, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a sandwich baggy. I go through the motions of putting my lunch away, and then pause, leaning against the counter. “I think I’ll go get started on that gate now.”
“Good idea. It might take you all afternoon.”
“It might,” I agree, and then grab my water bottle, filling it up at the sink. I don’t add ice from the freezer, or even think about touching the Gatorade powder on the shelf. I screw the lid on, wipe the excess water from my hands onto the thighs of my jeans, and then head for the mudroom.
“Oh, Sadie,” Clayton calls out just as I grab the door. “Wait.”
My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to turn around with a polite smile on my face. “Yes?”
“I was on the computer this morning,” he begins, his eyes boring into mine. “Why were you doing research on some that loser Marine? Spent some serious time on that.”
Oh shit. Shit. Shit.
“I saw it on the news. I was just curious about it.”
“You into murderers? I think they have a name for that… Hybristophilia.”
I speak before I think. “Are you a murderer?”
He’s out of his chair, looming over me in seconds. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”
My body goes light as the heavy scent of his cologne hits my lungs. “I’m married to you, so wouldn’t that say what I’m into?” I keep my tone light and timid.
He chuckles. “I guess so. Just be careful not to fill your mind with too much fucking filth, Sadie. We are what we consume, you know.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I let out a breath as he retreats to his plate, picking up the rest of the sandwich and popping it into his mouth.
“I gotta get back to work,” he says, and then gives me a last look. “Be the good girl I know you are, Sadie.”
I blink a few times, and then pull the door open, escaping into the mudroom and away from the confusing bullshit Clayton spits.