3. Shiloh
Shiloh
“Thanks Bear! I’ll see you tomorrow,” I holler through the back door before letting it slam shut behind me.
I need to shower and change before I head over to the Wooden Cowboy for my shift. It’s the only job I like because I get to experiment with whiskey. I’ve developed quite an interest in it over the years. I distilled my own once, but Grey ruined that too.
Slipping into my car, I pull out my wad of tips and hope it’s enough to cover another night at the inn. I count the bills, and it totals sixty bucks — I’m twenty short.
I groan, leaning against the headrest, on the edge of tears and wanting to put a hole through the wall. We were slow today. I shouldn’t be surprised because the rodeo is in town.
My heart sinks at the thought of dipping into more of my savings.
I’ve been working so hard to save that money.
Last night I decided I’d use it for the first month’s rent, and then expenses.
I should probably leave Paxton, but I’ve always loved it here.
I was raised here, and I’ll be damned if Grey Kensington runs me out of town, or worse.
Wait. My coffee cup.
I turn on my car and it sputters for a second. “No, no, no, please, please,” I say to my beater. It’s held strong for me for a while. Grey fixed a couple of things on it, but I know it’s struggling. “Come on, baby, don’t give up on me now,” I say and try it again.
It turns over, and I puff out a breath. “Thanks, ole’ girl,” I tell it, and back out, headed to the last place I want to be.
Of all the things to leave behind, I forgot one of my favorites. My dad gave me a coffee cup years ago when he moved down to Arizona. He said he was tired of the cold and wanted somewhere warmer to work before he retired.
It says Arizona on it, and it’s silly; it’s worthless to anyone else, but to me, it’s the accomplishment of my dad’s dream.
He always wanted to move down south. He wanted to do it when I was a kid, but we never had the money, and he had a stable job here in Paxton.
For all our struggles, he didn’t want to shake my world.
Which is why I’m still not going to tell him what happened.
I gun it down the country road to Grey’s house. Hopefully, he’s not home. I still have my key, so I’ll just in, grab my cup and slip out. He won’t even know I was there.
The other reason it’s worth going back for my coffee cup is the three hundred dollars stashed in there.
It’s all the way in the back of the cabinet Grey never opens.
He doesn’t cook. I did. If he was hungry and I wasn’t there to cook for him, then he ate some kind of frozen dinner or something you make from a box.
I didn’t mind cooking for us. But I guess it’s another sign that when he never once offered to help or thought to make me dinner, it should have been a sign. But someone made dinner that night.
No, Shy, no. Don’t think that way. Focus on what’s in front of you.
I turn onto our street — his — street and my shoulders drop.
His truck isn’t here. Parking on the road, I leave my car running and pull my keys out.
Hurrying up the steps, I pause before I put the key in the lock.
Maybe I should knock. I don’t think he’s home, but if he is, maybe we can keep this civil.
Before I have the chance to decide, the door swings open. Grey is dressed in his matching pants and button-up shirt for work.
“Where’s your truck?” I ask him.
He frowns. “Not here. What are you doing here?” he asks.
I lift my chin and hope I don’t pass out from the anger and betrayal filling my heart, making it beat funny. “I forgot something and wanted to grab it. It’ll take a second.”
He pushes the door open all the way and steps to the side, letting me in.
“What did you forget?” he asks.
Okay, this can be civil.
“The coffee cup my dad got me,” I tell him, and open the cabinet door he never touches.
I’m short, so I have to stand on my tiptoes and reach all the way into the back of the cabinet to get it. The tips of my fingers reach the handle and I pull it out, keeping it straight up so Grey doesn’t see the money folded in there.
But when I pull it down, there’s nothing in it. My heart sinks and tears well in my eyes.
I look up at him, and there’s a disgusting, triumphant smile on his face.
“Why?” I rasp.
“Why, what, Shiloh?” he asks.
“Why did you take my money? It wasn’t yours to take.”
He huffs. “My house, my money. I let you keep it there.”
“Just give it back, and I’ll leave,” I whisper, feeling smaller than I ever have.
“Too late, baby, already gone.”
“I know you have three hundred dollars shoved around here somewhere. Give me what’s mine.”
“Or what?” he asks, crossing his arms and puffing his chest.
I snort. “You feel like a big man, don’t you? Stealing from me? Cheating on me? This is a small town Grey, it won’t take much. I do have some dignity left, so I’m keeping my mouth shut, but make no mistake, I’ll tell everyone about what you did.”
“Oh shut the hell up. You know we weren’t working for a long time. You’re a goody two shoes who thinks she’s better than the rest of us. You sure as hell weren’t too good when I bought you things with my money.”
“You’re right, Grey. I wasn’t because that’s what couples are supposed to do for each other. Take care of each other. Provide for one another.”
“What is this then?” he yells gesturing to the trailer.
“I can’t do this,” I mumble and try to walk around him, holding my mug close to my chest.
Before I can get past him, he grabs my arm and yanks the mug from my hands and throws it against the wall. It shatters, and so does my heart with it.
“You asshole!” I scream.
“We’re finishing this conversation,” he says.
“There’s nothing to say! You stole from me, you treated me like shit, and seem to think that it’s my fault! I’m done with you!” I scream.
“I treated you like shit?” he yells. “What about every time I wanted you, you were too tired? What about when I asked for your help with a run and you told me no?”
My jaw drops and I shake my head in disbelief. “Of all the things that were wrong in our relationship, you’re mad I didn’t want to have sex with you every five minutes, or run your drugs for you? What planet am I living on? Get over yourself and get out of my way,” I say and push past him.
My first mistake was giving him my back because he took the opening and pushed me headfirst into the side table next to the door.
My head hits the corner and I feel the blood before I see it dripping past me. But I don’t feel the pain. All I feel is anger.
I force myself to my feet and turn on my heel, sucker-punching him.
He brings his hand to his face, warped in utter shock.
My hand pulses. I might have broken a finger, but I don’t care.
“Touch me again, and I’ll kill you,” I say, pointing my finger into his chest.
That was my second mistake.
Before I can lift my arms to protect myself, he backhands me so hard I fall back onto the kitchen floor. I spit out the blood pooling in my mouth and smile. “That all you got, you piece of shit? Only pathetic cowards hit women.”
His eyes go dark, and I’ve never seen the look on his face before. That was my third mistake. I’ve always known he’s had a dark side to him. But I loved the bad boy in him for a long time. What I didn’t realize until this very moment was that his bad boy, turned dark, evil.
Grey grabs my hair, throws me to the floor, and kicks me in the ribs, over and over again.
I try to protect myself, roll away, scream at him to stop, but no words come out.
I feel a rib crack. I know I shouldn’t have done it. But I was the son my father never had. I don’t back down in a fight.
Grey pauses, catching his breath, and I take my moment, using every ounce of strength I have left, and punch him in the nuts. He goes down, groaning, cupping himself, and I take my moment, swiftly kicking him in the side, then stumbling out of the house and run to my car.
Right as I close the door, Grey comes fumbling out, and I don’t look back, gunning it down the street.
I blink, trying to keep the blood out of my eyes. He’s never once hit me, accidentally or intentionally. But I should have known. I should have known not to push him. He’s always been volatile, but never to me.
My head hurts, but I know it’s just the head wound. It’s the shortness of breath that’s bothering me. He had his steel toe boots on.
Shit.
The longer I drive, the harder it is to breathe. I have to go to the hospital, but the clinic is closer.
Turning towards downtown, I drive as fast as I can and pray to God to get me there because I’m not sure I’m going to make it before passing out.
But somehow, I pull into a spot right in front of the clinic. They recently got an emergency wing put in.
I park my car, grab my purse, and take a deep, painful breath. I’ll walk in here and I’ll walk out.
I limp through the sliding doors and lean against the counter. “Hi, uh, I need help,” I tell the lady I think is Tatum Hayes behind the desk. My vision is blurry, so she could have a twin I’ve never seen before.
She looks up, and her eyes widen on me. I smile, but then the room goes sideways and the only thing I can see are those ugly nurse clogs. Why do people wear those?
“Duncan! Duncan! Bring a stretcher!” Tatum yells.
“I don’t need a stretcher, tell me where to go,” I mumble.
“No, honey, you need a stretcher.”
I grunt as I’m lifted onto a soft bed. Man, this feels nice. “Just patch me up. I have to get to work.”
“Shiloh, right?” she asks. “You’re not going anywhere,” she says, and I feel her icy fingers on my abdomen.
“Possible broken rib based on bruising, laceration to the head, top right temple. Lacerations on the inside of the mouth.”
“Shiloh, did you get into a fight?” she asks.
I mumble, but even I don’t understand myself.
“Okay, we can figure that out later. Let’s get you patched up, but you need to keep your eyes open, okay? You could have a concussion, so I need you to stay awake.”
I groan as they slip my shoes off and cut my uniform off me. “Mrs. Bradford is going to be pissed,” I mumble.
I feel like a rag doll as they gently undress me and cover me as they inspect my body. I want to sleep so badly.
“Stay with me, Shiloh,” Tatum says.
“Just let me close my eyes for a minute,” I say.
“Not yet, hun,” she says.
I groan and keep them open, as they roll me to a machine.
By the time they do their testing, poking, and prodding, and stick me with needles. I’m lying in a hospital bed and I can hear my phone ringing. It’s probably Greer wondering where I am for my shift.
“I’m going to silence your phone,” Tatum says.
“Can you answer it and tell them I’m not going to make it in?” I ask her.
She nods and slides it open. “Hello?”
“Yes, she’s uh … she can’t make it to the phone.”
“This is Tatum Hayes, and no, she’s not going to make it in for work … for a few days.”
“Why? Uh …” Tatum glances at me and then back at her feet.
I try to wave my hand and tell Tatum not to tell Greer where I am, but she doesn’t see it.
“She’s in the clinic.”
“Okay. I will, thanks, Greer.”
Tatum hangs up and slips my phone back into my purse. “Alright Shiloh, you do have a mild concussion, so I’ll let you rest for a little while and then we can talk about everything. Alright?”
I nod and my eyes fall closed before she leaves.
“I’ve seen it before, Ledger. I know what domestic abuse looks like. That’s why I called you.”
“But did she say that?” a man asks.
“No. Can you please just talk to her. If that asshole did this to her, he should pay.”
He grunts and I force my heavy eyes open to find Sheriff Ledger Hayes, standing in front of me, clad in a tan cowboy hat, a crisp white button-up shirt tucked into his dark blue jeans with a belt buckle shiny and proud around his waist. I spot his badge clipped to his pocket, and his firearm on the other side.
He clears his throat, and I lift my gaze to his serious brown eyes.
“Ms. Sullivan, I’m Ledger Hayes.”