16. Trespassers #2
She gripped a rusted pitchfork in both hands. She dragged the tines against the gravel as she walked. The harsh scrape of the metal cut through the low rumble of the idling engines.
Blaire shrieked, scrambling backward across the yard away from the rusted weapon as her shoes slid in the muck.
Her shoulder slammed hard against the side panel of the SUV, leaving a smear of mud on the black paint.
Toby rushed forward from the rear vehicle.
He jumped between Ruby and the paparazzi, holding his hands up to placate them.
Ruby did not slow her pace. She leveled the tines straight at the chest of the closest photographer, forcing him to take a step back.
“You have exactly ten seconds to get those lenses off my property before I start smashing windshields!” Ruby shouted, her voice booming over the wind.
The stringer sidestepped the pitchfork. He kept his eye pressed to the viewfinder, holding the shutter down. The strobes continued to wash over me, lighting up the loading dock.
“Just getting some candids for the tabloids, lady!” the stringer yelled back, snapping another sequence of photos. “The fans want to see the pregnant mystery woman!”
Eleanor scoffed from behind Toby’s shoulder. She stood unbothered by the makeshift weapon. She looked at Ruby with absolute disdain.
“Calm down, you crazy woman, or Toby will have you arrested for assault,” Eleanor said, waving her hand dismissively. “Hayes, get your bags right now.”
Hayes ignored the command. He turned his head, following the line of the camera lenses. He looked away from the idling vehicles and the shouting stringers. He looked away from Blaire nursing her shoulder by the SUV. His eyes stopped on me standing by the shed.
He watched the men photographing his unborn child. The man standing in the mud finally saw what they were actually targeting. He went completely still, staring at the flashing strobes hitting my stomach.
The cameras continued to fire, stealing my privacy piece by piece.
“Hey, step aside, Gallagher!” one of the stringers shouted, shifting his footing in the muck. “Just let us get a clean shot of the baby bump!”
I took a step backward, my boots sliding in the gravel. I crossed my arms over my stomach, twisting my sweater. The coastal wind died down, leaving nothing but the suffocating stench of the SUV exhaust and the click-whir of the shutters.
I waited for Hayes to start yelling. I waited for him to grab the pitchfork from Ruby and drive these men off the property.
Instead, he stepped directly into the path of the lenses. He planted his boots in the mud, turning his broad back to the cameras, shielding me from their view. The flashes strobed against his damp shirt.
“Toby, tell the driver to keep the engine running,” Eleanor called out over the idling noise. “We are already running late for the tarmac.”
Hayes raised his hands in the air, his palms facing outward.
“Call off the cameras right now, Mom,” Hayes said.
His voice didn’t boom. It didn’t carry the fierce, protective edge he used in the barn yesterday when Clementine threw her weight against the stalls. It was flat. Resigned.
“Tell them to get back in the cars,” Hayes continued, dropping his hands to his sides, “and I will leave with you.”
My grip on my sweater tightened. The hope I had let myself feel this morning evaporated. The man who had stayed out in the freezing rain to pile sandbags against my greenhouse was gone. He was folding.
Eleanor let out a triumphant laugh. She uncrossed her arms, her coat untouched by the muddy yard.
“I knew you would finally come to your senses,” Eleanor said.
She turned to Toby, giving him a satisfied smirk. She flicked her wrist, dismissing him without a word.
The two stringers lowered their lenses. They didn’t argue. They just turned their backs on us and walked toward the waiting vehicles, their boots crunching over the stones.
“Go grab your things so we can get to the airport,” Eleanor ordered.
“I don’t have anything to pack,” Hayes said, keeping his back to the idling SUVs. “Just get in the vehicle and let’s go.”
Blaire let out a bright, artificial giggle and hurried toward the passenger door. Toby corralled the photographers toward the rear vehicle.
The tailgate slammed shut, sealing the cameras away and leaving nothing but the rumble of the idling engines.
I stepped out from behind him, my boots sinking deep into the mud. I didn’t want him to shield me anymore.
Hayes stood motionless in the wet dirt. He didn’t look back at the idling vehicles, but he didn’t look at me, either. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground between us.
“Don’t hide from this,” I muttered.
He finally raised his head. His eyes met mine, hollow and defeated.
“You’re actually leaving with them,” I said, my voice dropping to an icy calm. “The second things get complicated, you run right back to the machine that ruined us.”
I expected him to start negotiating, to try to spin the situation into a temporary retreat that he could somehow manage with his PR team. I waited for him to revert to the arrogant, polished actor I had fled in Los Angeles.
He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t even try.
“I have to do this, Sutton,” Hayes said. The fight had drained out of him, leaving his shoulders slumped under the damp fabric of his shirt. “It’s the only way to make sure they leave you alone.”
He was choosing the easy way out. The moment real pressure arrived on the farm, the illusion of the hard-working husband shattered. He was walking right back into his mother’s snare to protect his image.
“Then don’t ever bother coming back,” I said. I held his gaze, refusing to blink, refusing to let him see an ounce of my devastation. “Have a wonderful life in Los Angeles, Hayes.”
Hayes absorbed the words in silence. He exhaled slowly, the coastal wind whipping his hair across his forehead. He didn’t say goodbye.
He turned his back on me and walked toward the lead SUV.
He reached out, his raw, blistered hand gripping the door handle. He pulled it open, the tinted glass reflecting the morning sun. He climbed inside, closing himself off.
He pulled the door shut with a solid thud.
The brake lights vanished as the lead vehicle accelerated, its tires churning against the gravel. The fleet of SUVs accelerated down the long driveway in a single line, kicking up a gritty spray of mud and loose stones in their wake.
The roar of the engines, loud and suffocating, drowned out the quiet of the farm. A cloud of gray exhaust hung in the damp air, stinging my nose and eyes.
The cars sped past the rusted front gates, swerving hard onto the coastal highway. The noise began to fade, swallowed by the howl of the ocean wind.
I remained planted in the dirt by the loading dock. I wrapped my arms over my stomach, watching the red taillights disappear down the highway, and swore I would never let him back into my life.