29-REAGAN
The sun stretched across the bed, warm and bright. I reached behind me, pressing my hand into the comforter, knowing he’s gone, but just maybe I’m wrong.
My phone’s across the room. Dead. I have no clue what time it is. Guessing by the angle and direction of the sunlight, I assume it’s around noon.
My body aches before I even sit up, and I could easily slip into a nap. But I can’t. Vincent warned his mom that I would be here. What impression would his family, who runs a ranch together, think of the girl he brought home sleeping in until dinner? Not a good one.
I fold the blanket back and head for the chair. I find an outlet to the side of it and plug my phone in. It flashes zero percent as expected, and I give it time to charge. After digging out my toiletries, I head for the shower with my towel.
The door echoes off the ceiling that hangs over the living room.
I look over the banister and see an empty house, and I’m grateful for it.
I wasn’t ready to meet anyone just yet. The bathroom door rubs against the frame as I push it closed.
My folded towel rests on the toilet tank, and I line up my travel bath items.
Where would I even find Vincent when I am ready? Should I wait here? Call him? Who would I run into on the way?
I start the water and continue checking the temperature, adjusting it as needed between each article of clothing removed and folding them on the counter.
Finally, pleased with the heat, I stepped in.
The old tub creaked under my feet, and water splashed my legs, rising up my body until I was fully underneath the stream.
The last twenty-four hours were a blur, but something I needed to dissect.
Tate is going to receive a restraining order, and there’s not a chance in hell that I am going to stay with him.
The more desperate he gets, the more I wonder what I even saw in him.
I start my shower routine and try to wash the thought of him off me.
Guilt swallowed me. Vincent made it seem getting arrested was no problem, like I asked him to go to the store to get me milk.
He showed up the first time I called, and he stepped between Tate and me without even thinking.
I didn’t owe it to him, but he was there because of me.
I didn’t have to ask, and when I did, he didn’t hesitate.
His arm was wrapped around me in the truck, warm and certain. Vincent had made up his mind. But what if his ex showing up was making him second-guess things deep down? She was someone who saw him grieving, raw, and at his lowest and then walked away. Was it him or a deflection of her character?
Vincent seemed to give his all, and I couldn’t imagine just up and leaving him when things got hard.
Partially because I have already put him through so much.
I’d understand if he wanted space from me.
He told me not to worry about her, and I could feel him shift when he talked about the past. I’d let it go for now.
I rinse the conditioner from my hair and shut the water off. My towel unfurls before me, and I rake it across my limbs. I give a quick crumple to my hair before wrapping it around my torso.
The house is still quiet, and I slink back into his room, dirty clothes in hand.
The screen on my phone lights up as I hold down the power button, and I drop down to his bed as it flickers to life. The time reads 11:36 AM, and I’m surprised how early it actually is. I still got a decent five or six hours of sleep.
Notifications pop through one after another in rapid fire. Miles seems to be the only one of importance, and I pull it up.
Miles: Thought you would like these.
Attached were photos of Vincent and Tate’s mugshots. Vincent’s jaw was flexed, eyelids heavy, and somewhere on his face he carried confidence. Maybe it was the way his lips were taut just enough for a smirk to pull through.
Tate’s eyes were red. His face was flushed and discolored. His collar was off-center, as if he had been pulled into the position, and his hair was disheveled, probably with grass stuck in the back, too. Practically unrecognizable.
Reagan: Thanks.
I respond and begin clearing away the useless notifications as he replies.
Miles: Omg. You’re alive! How is it? How is he?
Reagan: I don’t know. Fine? I barely got up, and he’s been doing chores all morning. I feel bad for pulling him away last night because he didn’t get any sleep.
Miles: Gross. I didn’t need to know that much information. Did you meet his family? Do they even like you?
Reagan: No. We got home, and I passed out. My phone’s been dead. He got up around six, and I’ve been alone since. Did you tell Mom?
Miles: I told her that you were off with Vincent and that’s why I had your car. That’s it.
Reagan: She’ll probably be so weird about it. She’s been unpredictable since they got divorced.
Miles: Mom probably thinks it’s romantic and wishes some cowboy would come beat up Dad, then sweep her off to some ranch.
Reagan: She would, wouldn’t she?
Miles: Did you make the mugshot his contact photo?
Reagan: I need you to be a little more specific than that.
Miles: Both. Vincent’s=Hot. Tate’s=Embarrassing.
Reagan: Embarrassing that I even married him.
Miles: We all make that one mistake. Sorry, yours was legally binding.
Reagan: Well, he’s about to get a restraining order. I don’t want to come back until it’s in place.
Miles: Makes sense.
I close out our thread and start getting dressed. Jeans and a T-shirt. I expected to be with my mom, and nothing was cute or something I’d try to impress him with. I’d have to act like it didn’t bother me.
I put a comb to my scalp, parted it, and ran it to the ends. My hair luckily agreed when I air-dried it. All I had were sneakers and slip-on shoes. I opted for the sneakers because I didn’t know what I would be walking into.
My phone fit snugly in my back pocket, and I headed to find Vincent. The house was still silent. Guilt tugged at my stomach as I didn’t want to be a distraction or pull him away from his work. If anything, I wanted to see where I could help and let him know I was up for it.
The knotted banister moved my hand with each step down the stairs. The living room looked lived in and loved in. You could almost see where their Christmas tree would go or how they all would have laughed during Saturday morning cartoons—If they even watched them.
I didn’t know when they started implementing chores or what his dad’s exact role was. I was still an outsider looking in and imagining a family I didn’t know. One that I’ll never get to know, just bits and pieces of it.
The kitchen was spotless except for the remnants in the coffee maker. Did they all just take a to-go cup and rush out the door? I started to realize how little I knew about Vincent’s day-to-day life. I wanted to. But did he?
I open the door and step outside. The air is colder than expected, and I zip my jacket up a little more. I didn’t know where I was going but figured I could start walking until someone saw me. Starting at the stables, I could go from there.
The walk seems long, but it’s not. My mind is just filled with ramblings of ‘what ifs’ and re-runs of Tate’s tantrums.
Outside the building, I can hear the sound of horses and a few people talking about the work tasks. My stomach wrings itself out, and I pray one of them is Vincent. I pause a moment, remind myself to stay out of the way, and attempt to help if I feel I can.
I take a step closer to the door, prepared to greet whoever is there, and before I can fully pass the threshold, a hand grabs my forearm, dragging me back.
A gasp pushes into my lungs, thinking it’s his uncle or someone about to ask me what I’m doing or who I am and how I’m not allowed to go in there. My head whips in that direction, and it’s Vincent.
His silver rings in his ears glisten against the gray skies, and a grin blooms across his face as he pulls me into his arms. His body is warm, and I cling to him.
“Good morning.” He speaks in my ear and holds our embrace. “How did you sleep?”
“Better than I deserve.” My voice cracks unintentionally, but maybe there was some truth behind it.
He leans back enough to look at me. His eyes are locked onto mine like he gets paid by the minute.
“You deserve much more than you’re given.
Much more than I can ever give you. But I’ll always give you my best and then some.
” He enters my space again and pushes his lips to mine.
Modest and short. “Almost lunchtime. Are you ready to meet the family?”
No. But I nod anyway.
“Come.” He keeps my hand locked in his, and somehow it’s comforting. I am less likely to trip and have no idea where we are going. He tows me into the stable where the voices are coming from.
There’s a woman, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Brown eyes and thick brows. Her jaw was sharp, and her nose’s petite. Vincent had some similarities. This was his mother.
The man to her right was Vincent’s brother. He didn’t have to tell me for me to find out. They looked alike, but everything was off, just a little bit. He also had his mother’s brown eyes and carried a little more weight.
Another woman, younger than I, stood next to her. Blonde hair, light eyes, and freckles.
“Mom.” We closed the space between the group of people and us. “This is Reagan.”
I held out my hand, and the pride in Vincent’s voice registered. He sounded so happy to have us meet.
She removed a glove and met my hand. “Hi Reagan. Nice to meet you. Call me Cathy.” I nodded with an awkward smile and set my hand to my side.
“This is my brother, Vance, and my cousin, Abby.”
Without realizing it, I shot my hand up, giving them a stiff wave instead of a shake. “Hi.”
Vance gave a half-smile, and Abby returned the greeting.
“Well, it’s about time for lunch. Are you joining us, Reagan?”
Vincent’s hand spread across my back. “I figured she could.” His gaze dropped down to me. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“Sure.” I give a slight nod and press my lips back in a line.
When I met this man, I was all spitfire.
Now I was meeting his family, and I wanted to crawl into a hole.
It possibly had to do with how we met and what has happened since then.
Not to mention that I have no idea what he’s told them about me.
I walked back past the stalls I rushed by on the way in.
Horses quietly kept to themselves. One snorts while another sighs.
I am reminded of how big horses were up close.
The last time I was this close to horses was at the county fair when I was thirteen, and my parents let me ride one.
I told a girl at school about it, and she told me that she wouldn’t do it because where she came from, a girl got bucked off and went into a coma.
That killed my desire to learn anything or ride a horse again.
I tagged along with the group up to a six-seater side-by-side. Vance climbed into the driver’s seat, and his mom took the passenger seat. Vincent had me slide in between him and Abby. Which was fine after he threw his arm around me, giving me just a bit more space.
The vehicle rocked forward and headed towards the log cabin at the front of the property. I was really meeting everyone all at once.