Chapter 31 Valentina
THIRTY-ONE
VALENTINA
The ranch is quiet, not even a breeze disturbing the boards of the barn or rustling through the trees lining the driveway. It’s still—so still, I’d normally be afraid of what comes next. Not today, though.
For the first time in what feels like my entire life, I know peace.
I’m not naive. I know I’ll never be cured, nor do I have much interest in that, but I feel lighter, less alone.
Santos is the last person I expected to find solace in, yet when I finally poured my darkest secrets out, he only held me tighter.
He didn’t push for more than I was willing to give, never asked for anything in return for the burden I’d bestowed upon him.
In some ways, it feels like I no longer harbor the weight of it all alone. He can’t fix it, and I don’t want him to even try—we’re able to simply exist in each other’s darkest parts, like an anchor in a raging ocean.
It’s calming, freeing, peaceful.
Closing the last stall door, I wait for Snicker to turn around and present her velvety soft nose the way she always does when I finish cleaning. She whines at me, her ears flicking back and forth, and I smile, running my fingers gingerly over the pink fuzz.
“You’re just using me for treats.” I scoff, not the least bit offended.
Truth be told, the more time I spend outside on the ranch, around the horses specifically, the more I feel whole again. It’s a feeling I thought died twenty years ago.
“I’m glad I was wrong.” I feel comfortable admitting it to her, but I still can’t imagine sharing that realization with anyone else—especially Mateo.
It’s not his fault he doesn’t know about my past, but no matter how badly I want to, I can’t imagine sharing any of it with him. It’s my history, my pain, and part of me is afraid that if I share it, he’ll take it and make it his own.
Just like he’s done with everything else in my life.
Inhaling the smell of fresh sawdust and horse sweat, I stretch my arms above my head and groan. For the first time in as long as I can remember, my muscles ache from the exertion of labor—my body hard and fit in all the right places because I’ve earned it, not because I’ve paid for it.
It’s a rewarding feeling, one I plan to keep pursuing.
“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t know what I’m doing.
” I stare at the blocks of hay, feeling completely lost, as I almost always do when it comes to ranch chores.
It’s a simple task, and yet, I’m completely incompetent.
A pang of uncertainty hits me, and for a second I regret demanding the horses be brought back in—that I was capable of caring for them.
What if I don’t feed them enough?
Deciding too much is better than not enough, I split the bale in three equal parts, carrying the first stack to Snicker and the second to Mistic—the two horses I’ve grown to like. They’re friendly enough and don’t spook at every little thing.
Unlike the third horse, Flynn I think, who’s afraid of everything, pawing at the door impatiently, his hoof making the metal and wood panels rattle.
He snorts, and I watch the whites of his eyes flash as he becomes frantic.
I freeze, my own fear pumping anew through my veins—this horse could kill me if he wanted.
He’s more powerful than any man I’ve ever faced, and yet, the fear pouring through me isn’t of him, but for him.
“Easy,” I coo, raising the hay in his direction as a peace offering. He instantly settles, craning his neck to get a bite before I even reach him.
He wrenches the pile from my hands, and it goes spraying around me in a dramatic plume, small flakes of it embedding into my curls.
“What. The. Fuck,” I hiss, looking down at the mess around and on top of me. He begins to paw again, but when I look at him, he doesn’t look so angry—more like he’s laughing at me. I swear, I’ve never wanted to punch an animal until this moment.
My fist quivers with the need to do it too.
Instead, I do my best to scoop the pile up and toss it in his face, most of it landing inside the gate, where he’ll be able to eat it at least.
“Eat shit,” I growl, stomping away, picking one of a million flakes from my unruly hair. I’ll be lucky if it ever comes out.
Deciding the horses are safe and fed for the night, I look around for any excuse to stay in the barn a little longer. The sun’s high in the sky, filling the air with an oppressive kind of heat, and even though I’m used to being alone, something about being in that house makes me anxious.
With McCrae and Santos both gone, it’s just me. Me and my demons, and I’d rather avoid them as long as I can.
I pull out my phone and look at the still unanswered texts I sent to Mateo a week ago.
I’m so tired of being ignored and not being good enough. I’m tired of getting the shit jobs and never any thanks. I’m tired of selling myself to make other people happy—I’m just fucking tired.
I begin sliding my phone back into my back pocket when it vibrates in my hand, and I pull it out, answering it without even looking.
“Are you on your way back yet? It’s getting creepy as fuck around here.” I scoot my foot through a loose pile of hay, expecting McCrae to answer.
“What?”
I pause, caught off guard by the voice. “Mateo?”
He grumbles something unintelligible and then says, “You said you wanted to talk.”
“Yeah, last week,” I huff, the anger I’m used to living within flaring to life once more.
“I was busy last week, Valentina. I’m calling you to talk, as requested. Maybe not on your timeline, but not everything has to be.”
I stiffen at his hostile tone.
“Who fucking pissed in your Cheerios?” I snap.
“Valentina.” He barks my name, and I freeze, his voice far too similar to our father’s.
My skin begins to flush, as if I’m still a little girl being scolded by my father for talking out of turn.
And then he sighs, regret and pity filling the line so thickly, I nearly drown in it, the reminder that he’s the one who put me here, the one who took everything from me, the one who got everything and never paid the price for it washing over me.
Cold hatred courses through my veins, freezing any loving or tender feelings I once had for him in my heart like shards of glass.
I forget the peace I felt only moments ago.
Anger—rage—it’s what I’m comfortable with, what I’m used to. It’s my way of being brave in the face of my fears.
I can’t stop the words pouring from my tongue, even as I don’t want to say them.
“Do you seriously not care about anyone but yourself now, Mateo? Is that what we’ve become?
When will I be good enough? When will I be deserving?
” It feels weak to admit it out loud, but if I don’t, I’ll surely wither into nothingness.
“I care about you.” The sentence comes tied to a brick of annoyance.
It’s always the same.
“Bullshit,” I spit, squaring my shoulders. “What about McCrae? He took a fucking bullet for your sister, and you don’t seem to even notice.”
“I talk to Gus, and Gus said he’s doing good. I also saw him riding out of the ranch a few minutes ago. He can’t be too hurt.”
I don’t know what hurts worse: the fact that my brother talks about someone else with such familiarity that you’d think he was actually his family and blood, or that McCrae is supposed to be mine—my safety, my friend, the one person who always picks me.
And he’s there, with them, doing God knows what.
He’s replacing me with them, just like Mateo did.
The realization is too much, and a sob rips from my throat, sounding more like a snarl as it fills the line. There’s silence, and my heart breaks all over again.
I’ve always been too much, and yet, I’ll never be enough.
Too loud, too dramatic, too emotional, too passionate, but I’m still never enough to be someone’s first choice—they’re only choice.
“What do you want from me, V?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s afraid to ask. My heart shatters further.
I want to be able to turn to him when I feel alone. I want to tell him about everything I did for our family, about why selling the casino feels like selling my body all over again—only this time, I didn’t get it back.
I want to tell my little brother I miss him.
But I can’t—I don’t know the words. A lifetime of my father reminding me feelings are a weakness rings in my ears. Instead of giving him that weakness, I straighten my back, wiping the tears dripping off my chin, and bite out, “I fucking hate you.” Then, I hang up.
I’d like to do the right thing. Just once. But I don’t even know what that looks like anymore.
The horses continue to munch on their hay, the bird whistles fading in exchange for the crickets chirping. I look around the barn. Only moments ago, I felt peace here.
Now, I only feel like a fraud—a failure.
Tears racing down my cheeks, I bolt from the barn, not bothering to turn off the overhead light as I go.
I know the path from the barn to the house, running it easily, not paying attention until I’m only feet away from the steps.
I come to a screeching halt to not run straight into the car parked there.
I stare at the old navy vehicle—the metal of the tire wells rusting and decayed, a thick layer of dirt coating both the inside and outside of the back window.
Walking up slowly, I expect to see someone in the front seat. When I find no one, my heart rate skyrockets. I lift my head to look at the porch, the front door, but no one’s there.
“Hello?” I shout.
I whip around to the sound of gravel crunching behind me and then freeze, the blood draining from my face.
“Hello, baby girl.”