Chapter 11
Robbing a Bank?
Leni
The trek up to the main house was incredibly uneventful. I didn’t even need to crouch as much as I did. I wait at the side door, listening for the telltale signs of my mom in the kitchen.
Once I know she’s not inside, I slip in through the door, the scent of home immediately knocking the wind out of me.
I barely make it to the kitchen island before I stop, fingers gripping the back of one of the bar top chairs.
Nothing has changed. Warm, hardwood beams and rustic furniture welcome me.
Creamy, off-white cabinets with dark iron accents give off an industrial farmhouse vibe.
I can’t recall how many meals I’ve eaten at this kitchen island, how many family dinners we’ve all sat around the big oak table Grandpa Kane built. It never seems to matter how often I make it back; every time I’m here, the memories creep back in.
Turning toward the living room, I can’t help but smile.
We used to sit on the floor, in front of Pa’s chair, listening to him tell wild stories.
Some made up, others about the ranch. About how Kane Ridge came to be.
My personal favorites were the ones he told about him and Ma.
How she played hard to get, and how it was love at first sight for him.
I used to pretend that that’s what happened with me and Clay.
From the first moment he walked in the door with Mercer, I was smitten with him.
Of course, I was the annoying kid sister back then.
Fifteen felt so old, so far away. Looking back now, it’s funny, thinking he was so unreachable back then.
Little Leni would be absolutely horrified by the way things shook out.
Moving into the living room, I run my fingers along the back of the leather couch. Warmth and longing flood my chest. I loved growing up here, out on the ranch. Most summers, Miya would come stay with me, at least twice a week. We ran as wild as the boys did, causing mayhem, stirring up trouble.
I look around the room, and all those happy childhood memories disappear under the more recent ones.
Memories where one or more of my brothers and I got into a screaming match because our opinions differed.
I could see Ma biting her tongue, too afraid to speak her mind because our relationship was tenuous at best, like on Christmas two years ago.
The one time I brought home a boyfriend I actually liked.
“Really, Leni?” Mercer hisses in my ear at the island. “This guy?”
“What?” I look across the living room where Aspen is sitting next to the fireplace, talking to Brooks.
I begged him not to come, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
He insisted on meeting my family, even though I haven’t met his yet.
I wondered if he was regretting it. After all, Ethan manhandled him out of the cabin, escorting him into the main house.
When I snuck into the guest room to see him, he told me to leave, his face white as a fucking sheet.
“This guy cannot be serious about you,” Mercer continues. “He hasn’t even held your hand or given you a hug.”
“Because Ethan threatened him with bodily harm after dragging him out of my cabin.” I feel my eyes widen, nostrils flaring wide.
Toby snorts, approaching my other side. “Yeah, I’m with both of them, Leni. This dude is not it.”
“There is nothing wrong with him.” I throw my hands up, aggravation boiling inside of me.
“There’s nothing right about him either.” Adler reaches over my shoulder, grabbing a cracker off the charcuterie board.
“What do you know? You’re barely an adult.”
“I’m twenty.” He puffs his chest out, like that makes much of a difference. Twenty years old, and he’s never spent any significant time off this ranch. Nor had to fend for himself or pay his own bills. I roll my eyes.
“He’s a fucking desk jockey,” Mercer sneers.
“And you’re a glorified mall cop,” I bite back.
Toby’s eyes widen, and even Adler takes a step back, shaking his head.
Mercer sucks in a breath, his jaw clenching before he looks toward the dining room, giving Ethan a nod.
I watch, in abject horror, as my three older brothers surround my boyfriend.
The conversation is over before I can make it back over.
When I do make it over to him, Aspen is shaking.
He looks like he’s about ready to shit his pants.
I reach for him, and he jerks his hand away, like the contact might actually hurt him.
“Sorry, Eleanor, I just…” He looks around at my brothers, all of them towering over him. “I think this was a mistake. I wish you all the best.”
I never saw him again after that. He blocked my number and left a note on the kitchen island asking me to move out before he came back from his New Year’s vacation with his parents.
That’s how I ended up moving into an upstairs bedroom with my elderly landlord. I don’t think they knew I was living with him, not that it would have mattered. They probably would have still run him off, then come back to Benson with me to pack my shit and force me to move back here.
Every single time I’ve left to go back to my life in Benson, Ethan pulls me aside, fingers digging into my elbow, and gives me the same spiel.
“You’ve made your point. Congratulations on not falling on your face.
Time to stop throwing a tantrum and come back home.
” Every single time he does it, it reinforces the idea that this place is no longer my home or where I want to be.
I sigh, trying not to let myself get swallowed up in the past. It’s meant to stay there for a reason.
Circling back to the kitchen, I find a bag of cookies Ma has hidden in the mixer.
She thinks she’s tricky hiding her sweets in the mixing bowl, but we learned at a very young age where to find them.
I take the whole bag, unable to resist the little taste of home they’ll offer.
Twenty bucks says Adler or Mercer gets blamed for taking it. The thought makes me giggle.
Ma’s laptop is open on the countertop like she set it aside to work on lunch. Wiggling the mouse, I wake up the screen, her retreat website pulled up into a blog post that she’s working on.
I sit in front of it, nibbling on the world’s most delicious brown butter cookie, reading through her half-written post. It’s a mess.
I’m not sure if she’s trying to encourage people to come back, or if she’s writing an expose on how hard it is to run her business.
Either way, this isn’t usually her job. Last I knew, there was an employee who wrote the blog posts and ran her socials.
Staring at the screen, I let my brain wander, rearranging sentences and writing new ones.
Giving a more eloquent spin to what I think Ma might be trying to say.
I’m tempted to put the words into the post, but instead, I navigate to her social accounts. There hasn’t been any interaction in months. Some people have asked basic questions, and there’s no reply. Not even an automated one inviting them to message for more information.
I chew on my fingernail, itching to write out a basic reply. If only so it doesn’t look like the business is going under.
The sound of a car door has me scrambling to set the computer screen back to how it was. Bursting out of the kitchen, I slip down the hall toward the family rooms.
The Main house is more of a mansion. Great-Grandpa Kane called it a lodge, and I guess it is, but it’s massive.
There are eight family rooms on the East wing.
Twelve guest rooms in the center of the house, and well, there used to be another seven on the West wing, but Adler has taken that over.
I don’t know what he’s done to it, probably stuffed it full of arcade games and Sports Illustrated posters.
Actually, they’re probably half-dressed cowgirls, but whatever, my point stands.
The second my feet hit the worn-out boards of the hallway, I pause.
When I came back the first time, I had one condition: I wouldn’t stay here.
The compromise was the cabin because you can see it from the main house.
So, everyone could still “keep an eye on me,” but it also meant I got to avoid the main house for the better part of ten years.
When I am here, I tend to stick to the kitchen area for meals and holidays.
It feels easier that way, more detached.
I slip into my bedroom, avoiding the memories of playing hallway hockey with the younger boys. Ethan stomping down the hardwood planks, a serious lawyer look on his face, before he tells me all the shit I’m doing wrong. God, if only they weren’t omniscient and soooo smart.
I roll my eyes.
My room looks mostly the same. There isn’t a single speck of dust, and no dirty clothes are strewn about the floor.
Overall, it’s barely changed. The same wildflower comforter with soft pink sheets underneath.
I wonder…walking around to the head, I stick my hand under the pillow, grinning when I pull out a soft brown horse.
Even as a teenager, I kept Speckles close.
He does, in fact, not have a single speckle on him, and yet, I couldn’t be convinced to change his name. No matter how much the boys teased me.
Pa gifted him when I was seven. I never took him out of the house, and I always slept with him. I set him on the end of the bed, fully intending to take him with me. I doubt Ma does much with the linens; she won’t notice.
Across from my bed is a vanity, which is white with little pink flowers decorating the edges.
The mirror is streak-free. Old makeup and knick-knacks scatter across the vanity counter.
I used to keep my diary in the side drawer.
Miya helped me build a false bottom to it, so I had a proper hiding spot.
I took the diary with me when I left, one hundred percent aware that the boys would go through my shit once I wasn’t here to monitor it.
Nosy bastards.