Chapter 15 Billy
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Billy
The beer is cold, a bitter burn sliding down my throat, but it does nothing to quench the fire in my gut. I’m hungry, a hollow ache that has nothing to do with food.
I ate. I remember eating. I remember the taste of Seth’s sliders, the char on the meat, but my anger digested it all, burned through every last crumb until there was nothing left but this.
This gnawing, black emptiness.
How dare she? How dare she come back here, waltzing onto my ranch in the softest-looking green sweater that made my hands ache to touch it, and just… barge back into my life?
Her hair was up, showing off the long, elegant line of her neck, and all I could think about was how it used to feel under my mouth.
How fucking dare she!
And Seth. My own brother. Inviting her here. To our table. Our home.
How dare they!
I take another long swallow of beer, the bottle slick in my grip. The room is dark, the only light coming from the moon slanting through the window.
They probably think I’m being a child. Sulking. Maybe I am. But this isn’t a tantrum. This is a past I can’t escape, a past she dragged back onto my doorstep and left for me to trip over.
A sharp knock on my door makes me flinch. I don’t answer. I just stare at the wood, willing whoever it is to go away.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. “Billy? Open up.”
It’s Tex. Of course. He never could leave well enough alone.
I hear the doorknob rattle. “It’s not locked, you asshole.”
The door swings open, and Tex and Seth are standing there, framed in the hallway light. Seth has his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, the classic peacemaker pose.
Tex is just… Tex. Arms crossed, jaw set, a storm cloud of frustrated energy.
“You okay?” he asks gruffly.
“Peachy,” I grunt, taking another swig of beer. “Just enjoying the quiet.”
“The quiet was a lot quieter before you started slamming doors like a teenager,” Tex shoots back.
Seth steps forward. “We just wanted to make sure you were alright. You took off pretty fast.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but the word is a lie. I’m the furthest thing from fine. I’m a raw, open wound, and they’re poking at it with sticks. “Why wouldn’t I be? My ex-fiancée, the woman who left me at the altar, just had dinner at my house. It was great. Best night of my life.”
The sarcasm is thick enough to choke on. Tex’s face darkens.
“She saved our herd, Billy. What was I supposed to do, spit in her face? Thank her for saving our livelihood and then tell her to get lost?”
“Yes!” I roar, the sound tearing out of me. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do! She’s not our friend! She’s the person who looked me in the eye and told me she loved me, then disappeared without a word!”
“She had her reasons,” Seth says quietly, and that’s what breaks me. The quiet understanding. The defense.
“Her reasons?” I laugh, a harsh, ugly sound. “And what were they, Seth? Did she tell you? Because she never bothered to tell me.”
They just stand there, looking at me with a mixture of pity and frustration, and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take their logic, their reasonableness, their calm acceptance of the woman who destroyed me.
“I’m going for a ride,” I say, pushing past them, my shoulder bumping hard against Tex’s.
“Billy, don’t,” Seth calls after me. “You’ve been drinking.”
I don’t answer. I just keep walking, out the back door, into the cool night air.
The barn is a familiar sanctuary, the scent of hay and horsehide a comforting blanket. Whiskey Jack nickers softly as I enter, his big head turning toward me.
I don’t bother with a saddle. I just throw a bridle on, swing myself onto his bare back, and kick him into a trot.
The beer bottle is still in my hand. I take another drink as we move out into the open pasture, the moon lighting our way.
The world is a blur of dark grass and silver sky, and the alcohol is a warm buzz in my blood, a dulling agent for the sharp edges of my pain.
We pick up speed, the wind whipping through my hair, the powerful muscles of my horse beneath me. For a moment, I feel free. Untouchable.
Then Whiskey Jack stumbles. A gopher hole, maybe. The world tilts violently, and I’m flying.
I hit the ground with a hard thud, the air knocked out of my lungs. The beer bottle shatters somewhere nearby. I lie there for a second, the world spinning, staring up at the vast, indifferent sky.
I’m not hurt. Just tipsy, a little bruised. I try to sit up, and a searing pain rips through my chest.
It’s not real. I know it’s not real. It’s a phantom pain, a physical manifestation of the hole that’s been there for five years. But it feels real.
It feels like my heart is being torn in two. And that’s when the memory hits me, so vivid it’s like I’m living it all over again.
The wedding dress. It wasn’t white—she said white was for city girls who wanted to feel like princesses.
Hers was a simple, cream-colored sheath, made of soft linen that felt like water. It had delicate cap sleeves and the tiniest row of lace trim at the neckline, so subtle you had to be close to see it.
We picked it out together in a little shop in the city, her eyes shining with a light I’d never seen before. She’d twirled in front of the mirror, and I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
That same night, I couldn’t wait. I begged her to wear it for me, just once. I got us a room at a cheap motel on the edge of town. It had a vibrating bed and a neon sign that buzzed all night.
And she did wear the dress for me.
I remember the feel of the soft linen under my hands, the way the lace scratched against my palms. I remember unbuttoning it, one button at a time, my fingers shaking.
I remember fucking her in that dress, on that squeaky motel bed, watching her face as she fell apart for me. I remember the way she moaned my name, her voice raw and real, her hands clutching at my back.
She was mine. Completely, utterly mine.
I was so stupid. So fucking stupid. I thought that dress, that night, was a promise. I thought it was everything.
She was never going to marry me. It was all a game. A beautiful, heartbreaking lie.
A fat drop of rain lands on my cheek. Then another. And another. The sky opens up, a cold, relentless downpour soaking me to the bone in seconds.
I start to laugh. It’s a ridiculous, broken sound. Here I am, lying in the mud in the middle of my pasture, drunk and heartbroken over a memory. It’s so pathetic it’s funny.
I’m not sure when the laugh turns into sobs. It just happens. One minute I’m laughing at the absurdity of it all, and the next, I’m crying. Not quiet tears, but great, heaving sobs that wrack my whole body.
The rain washes over me, mixing with my tears, and I let it. I let the grief and the anger and the years of pain pour out of me, into the dark, wet earth.
I’m not strong.
I’m not tough.
I’m just a man who lost the only thing he ever wanted, and I don’t know how to get over it.
I don’t know if I ever will.
The ride back to the house is a blur of mud and misery. The rain has stopped, but the world is soaked, dripping, weeping right along with me.
I ride my horse home, then make sure he’s safely back in the barn.
My arm feels a little sore.
Inside, I grab another beer from the fridge, the cap twisting off with a satisfying hiss. I don’t bother with a glass.
I just drink, standing in the dark kitchen, the cold liquid a numb comfort against the raw, ragged edges of my soul.
The anger is a physical presence, a beast pacing in my chest, and the only thing that quiets it is the bitter slide of alcohol down my throat. I drink until the room tilts, until the memories of her in that green sweater, of her face in the firelight, are just blurry watercolors.
I stumble to my room and fall into bed, not even bothering to take off my boots, and pass out into a dreamless, drunken sleep.
The next morning, I’m woken by an insistent pounding on my door. Not a knock. A pounding. My head is a lead weight, my mouth a desert, and the light slanting through the window feels like a knife in my eyes.
“Billy! Get up!”
It’s Tex. His voice is far too cheerful for the hour, for my hangover, for my entire existence.
“Go away,” I mumble into my pillow.
The door creaks open. “No can do, brother. Up and at ’em. We got work to do.”
“For what?” I groan, rolling over and squinting at him. He’s a silhouette against the bright hallway light, a tall, annoyingly energetic shape.
“Seth got a call from Rhett Dalton over at Wildflower Hollow,” Tex says, and my stomach clenches. “Some of their herd is looking a little peaked. They’re worried, and Seth thinks Rhett might panic and sell. So that means you and I are on duty. We’re helping Sedona. Who is already on her way.”
I sit up, the world spinning. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Nope,” Tex says, a wide, infuriating grin spreading across his face. He whistles a jaunty tune, turns, and walks away, leaving the door wide open.
“Fuck you,” I yell after him, but my voice is a hoarse croak. I curse him, the bed, the room, the whole damn world.
I finally drag myself out of bed, my body protesting every movement.
My boots are caked in mud, thanks to last night’s stupidity. I kick them off, my muscles screaming.
I check my phone. A few missed calls from Joey. I ignore them, making a mental note to take a shower instead.
I can’t deal with Joey’s rodeo drama on top of everything else.
The shower is a small mercy. The hot water beats down on my sore shoulders, washing away the grime and the stink of last night’s rain and regret.
I stand there for a long time, letting the steam fill my lungs, trying to wash the hangover out of my system. I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist, and run right into her.
Sedona.
She’s standing in the hallway, looking for something, or someone. She’s wearing a pair of worn denim overalls over a simple white T-shirt, her wildly curly red hair pulled back from her face in a messy braid.
She looks practical, capable, and so goddamn beautiful it makes my chest ache. The shock of seeing her here, in my house, so close, is a physical jolt.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening as she takes a step back. “Sorry. I was looking for Tex.”
My throat is tight. “Tex is probably in the barn,” I manage, my voice rough.
She nods, her gaze flicking down to my chest, then back up to my face. I look at her now. This beautiful siren was put on this fucking earth to torture me. Her scent is faint but present, cutting through the steam from the shower.
“I’ll be out in a bit to help,” I say, the words feeling stiff and formal.
She nods again, then her eyes soften with something that looks uncomfortably like concern. “Are you okay?”
I stare at her, a bitter laugh threatening to escape. “What do you think?”
She points, her finger hovering in the air. “I meant. Um. Your shoulder?”
I look down. There’s a nasty purplish bruise blooming on my shoulder, a souvenir from my fall last night. I must have missed it.
I shrug, a movement that sends a sharp ache through the joint. “I’m okay. Just had a small fall.”
“Okay,” she says quietly. She turns to walk away, then pauses at the end of the hall, her back to me. “For the record,” she says, without turning around, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t get to ask what she’s sorry for. The wedding? The cattle? Last night?
She’s gone, disappearing before I can form the words.
I curse myself, my fists clenching at my sides. I get dressed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, my movements jerky and angry.
I head to the barn, the morning air cool against my skin. I find her and Clara near the holding pen, their heads close together, whispering.
Clara is wearing a bright yellow raincoat and a pair of bright green boots, a splash of color against the muted tones of the ranch.
They look up when they see me, their conversation cutting off abruptly.
“Has Tex been here yet?” I ask, my voice clipped.
They shake their heads. “Not yet,” Sedona says.
“Damn it,” I mutter. “I’ll head to the south fence and find him and Jasper. They’re probably checking the posts after the rain last night.”
I’ve just walked out of the barn when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, expecting my ex, but it’s Clara. She jabs a finger at my chest, her eyes flashing with anger.
“My best friend just lost her father,” she says, sounding fierce. “The only family she ever had. She’s having a hard enough time without you being an asshole to her.”
“Stay out of it, Clara,” I warn, and my voice is dangerously low.
“No,” she says, standing her ground. “I’m not going to stay out of it. She is here to help. We’re here to help. But you have to be a lot nicer, or else I will take my best friend away from this town and make sure you never get to see her again.”
“Stop it, Clara.” Sedona’s voice cuts through the tension. She’s standing there, watching our interaction, her face pale.
I look at them both, at Clara’s fierce protectiveness and Sedona’s quiet hurt, and something inside me snaps.
I turn to leave, but I can’t help myself. I have to have the last word.
“Your best friend didn’t just lose the only family she had,” I say, the words dripping with venom. “That was a choice she made years ago.”
I don’t wait for a reaction. I just walk away, my boots crunching on the gravel, the sound loud in the sudden silence.
I walk away just like Sedona did all those years ago, leaving a mess of broken things behind me.
“Asshole,” Clara says, loud enough for me to hear.
But I don’t stop. I just keep walking.