Chapter 20
TWENTY
VALENTINA
Another night, another nightmare. They’re better here, less frequent, but no less vivid. When I wake here, though, the silence is far too close to drowning—it’s a hallow sound, a silent roar that seems impossible to ever overcome.
At least I made it through the night this time. I still haven’t worked out in the middle of the night again, even though Santos now lives in the house. I’m too afraid—what if he actually saw me?
Part of me wishes he had.
And that’s the fucking problem.
I lift the bar with my feet, my thighs and calves quaking as I do the last rep before dropping the weight with a clank. The horses snort from their stalls, not yet let out into the pastures for the day.
If I knew how to take care of them, I might be able to do it myself. But I don’t and I won’t.
“Sorry guys.” I shrug, standing and wiping the towel on the nape of my neck. “I don’t know shit about horses. I’m not about to let you out and have you run my stupid ass over.”
“Probably smart.” I jump, whirling on Santos.
“Quit doing that.” I scowl, fumbling over my feet.
His lips tip into a small smile, and he crosses his arms. As he does, I take note of his clothing—a t-shirt and pair of tattered gym shorts, matched by a pair of extremely worn sneakers, the sole separating from the frame. I almost feel sorry for him…almost.
“Quit doing what? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” I think he’s a damn liar.
“Sneaking up on me?” I wave at the workout equipment. “While I work out.”
His little grin turns savage, eyes twinkling as he saunters into the barn, far too close to my personal space. “I’ve never snuck up on you while you were working out.”
I glare at him, afraid of what he’s not saying, but I don’t mention it—I can’t.
“Have at it, I guess.” I wipe down the seat and mockingly bow.
“Don’t leave on my account. Maybe you can spot for me, and me for you.”
I just stare at him. McCrae’s never once offered to work out with me. He’s always liked to keep our free time separate—says it’s good for me to have the quiet time. But I hate the silence—I hate the voices that fill my head when there’s no one there to fill it.
“Okay.” I don’t know why I agree. I’m a private person—I like my privacy in everything. But this doesn’t feel like an invasion.
His smile widens, impossibly so. “What were you working on?”
“Core. And stamina. I’m feeling a little weak.”
He eyes me before nodding toward the machine. “Weak? Are you planning to run a marathon or something?”
“No? I just—”
“You know what’s an even better work out for your core and stamina?” His grin drops to a half smile, a slutty look that has my toes curling in my sneakers.
I blink at him. I refuse to give in to his banter—I don’t do banter.
He shrugs. “Riding horses. It’s awesome for your core and stamina.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen in surprise.
“What’d you think I was going to say?” His eyes sharpen in challenge. I’m backed into a corner. As I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, or something to that effect, the barn door slides open.
“Fucking. She thought you were going to say fucking.”
“Faith!” I hiss, glaring at her.
“What?” She walks in, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, her top not especially tight.
“Eavesdropping is fucking rude,” I bite out. I don’t mean it, of course, but the other option would be a lie, and I’m horrible at lying.
“You love me.”
My nose wrinkles. “That’s a little strong.”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “Don’t stop on my account, Santos. Lift, be strong, rip those muscles.” Faith winks at him, and I see red—just for a second, though, quickly reminding myself of who he is, that he matters not even a little bit to me.
I huff, feeling my workout high slipping away one miserable moment by miserable moment. “Maybe next time.”
“Working out or riding?” Santos teases.
“Or fucking?”
I roll my eyes. “Working out.”
“That’s a shame,” Santos taunts. I just stare at him. Could he mean—I shake my head. Absolutely not.
“I’m leaving.” And I do. I turn on my heel and stomp from the barn. Faith bounds after me, skipping over the ground like she didn’t just ruin my morning workout with her ridiculous sexual innuendos. Like Santos and I would ever want to fuck each other.
“Do you have any Halloween plans?”
I bark a laugh, pulling open the front door and slinging off my shoes. “Me and what friends?”
She punches my arm. “Me, you asshole.”
I don’t look at her as I continue walking toward my room. “No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t do Halloween.” What I don’t tell her is I don’t do events where I could be an outcast. I’d rather be alone in the safety of my own home than alone in a crowd of people. And I will be alone—I’m awkward and far too focused on what everyone’s thinking about me to have any fun.
“That sounds like an excuse,” she sing-songs as she skips after me.
She’s like a sick dog with a bone—won’t even give up when her teeth are rotted and decaying from the poison in her mouth. “Why?” I whirl on her.
She skids to a halt, bumping into me. Her face tips up, and she flashes me a mischievous grin. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Drinks, costumes, drinks.”
“I’ll go, but under one condition.”
She bounces on the balls of her feet like a small child, and I instantly regret offering to go at all.
“Yes, anything!”
“You have to make McCrae go. And he has to dress up.”