3. Rory
Rory
My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel.
I’ve given up on trying not to cry, and tears stream freely down my face now. It’s drawing the attention of a few people along High Street, but at this point, I don’t care.
What does it matter what people in HiLo think of me? I was a fool to think that this could be my forever, that I could come back home and put down roots and actually be happy.
If there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that happiness was never mine to take.
Wiping the back of my hand across my cheek, I turn onto a dirt road.
I wasn’t actually planning to come here when I left Nate’s house. At first, I was going to head to my parents’ place. They’d let me stay with them as long as I need to. Then, I thought I might head to my brother’s place for a bit.
But as I drove, I found myself turning down different streets, driving right past the turnoff for both of their houses.
It seems silly to show up here on my day off, let alone this late in the afternoon, when the horses have all been brought in for the day.
But somehow, this is where I’ve ended up, so it must be where I need to be.
I park the Jeep next to the side of the barn and round the SUV to let Spam out from the passenger door.
My muck boots are in the back, as always, and I pull them on before I head into the barn.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Mandy’s head pops out of a stable. She has a pitchfork in her hand, a wheelbarrow full of manure sitting next to her. “I thought you had the day off.”
I do, but I need this place.
The words stick behind the lump in my throat.
Instead, all that comes out is a sob, and a fresh round of tears starts to fall.
“Rory? What happened?” Mandy squeezes between the stall door and the wheelbarrow and practically runs to me. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. I’m the furthest thing from okay right now.
“Is it your parents?” Her forehead creases with concern.
I pull in a shaky breath. “No. It’s…” Another sob. “Nate.”
“Oh, Rory.” Mandy pulls me into her arms and holds me close.
I’m actually taller than her now by a couple inches, but resting my head on her shoulder still holds the same comfort as when I was a little kid telling her about a girl who was mean to me at school.
If you fall off a horse, Mandy will tell you to get back up and get back on. No coddling whatsoever.
But for emotional trauma? No one gives better comfort.
I sniffle against her shirt. “It’s over.”
Mandy doesn’t respond at first. I wonder if she even heard me.
Then she pulls back, looking me straight in the eye. “This sounds like there’s more to the story. Are you ready to tell me about it?”
Experimentally, I pull in a breath and try to tell her what happened, how I ended up at her barn today.
I open my mouth, but the words still won’t come. All I can do is swallow hard and look out toward the pasture, like I may find an answer there.
Mandy sets her hands on my shoulders and holds them there, solid and steady, until I finally turn back to face her.
There aren’t any answers in the pasture. I’m not sure there’s an answer for this at all.
A tear slips down my cheek. I don’t even bother to wipe it away or pretend it’s not there. I just let it take its course.
I’ve never needed to pretend with Mandy.
She studies me as I sniffle, then nods. “Okay. How about a horse? Think you want to talk to Starfire?”
I wipe my nose on my sleeve, then nod. Talking to horses is the best therapy out there.
They listen without interrupting, but more than that, horses can read emotion. They know if you need comfort. They’re strong and steady, and pouring your feelings out to a horse you love is better than anything else you can do to heal.
“Can I listen in?” Mandy asks.
To some, it would seem like she’s pushing it, but that’s Mandy.
She’s always told me that her goal is to figure out what people need to hear—or just what they need—and tell or give them that.
Not what they want, she’s cautioned me more than once. But what they need.
And sometimes, there’s a big difference.
I nod. Even if I’m not ready to admit the truth to her face, I want her to know what’s going on.
Mandy has always been there for me, through middle school crushes and college rejections and my first love. She’s heard it all, because this was the place I’d come when I needed to work through something, or just needed to get some tears out.
“I need to cry on a horse,” was all you needed to say.
Mandy would just nod, hand you a brush, and let you pour your heart out. If you gave her permission, she’d stay close enough to listen in, and when you were ready, she’d offer her take.
When Mandy puts Starfire on the crossties and the mare leans her head toward me, I know this is exactly what I need.
Starfire nuzzles my hand, then my hair. I run the brush along her flank in long strokes and start to whisper.
“I thought he was the one, Star.” Brush stroke. “I thought this was it. That I’d found my forever.” Brush. “How did I get it so wrong?”
I rest my head against her neck and breathe in her scent, that musky smell of dirt and hay and alfalfa that only horses have.
Starfire leans her head toward me, her body contacting mine in a sort of hug.
I know that’s how she means it, too, and the words start to pour out.
“How could he do that to me, Star? Make me question myself and make me feel like I’m not good enough. Make me think there’s something wrong with me.” I sniffle as Starfire shuffles closer. “I love him. But I don’t know if I can be with him now.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Resting my shoulders on Starfire’s back, I pull it out and look at the screen.
A text message from Nate.
Nope.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and bury my face in Star’s neck. “I don’t want to hear his excuses.”
When I finally put Starfire back in the stall, her coat shines, and I feel a little better. Only a little.
I look around, debating what to do. Maybe mucking out a stall will help, or even hauling hay, if there’s any left to do. Some job that’s mindless, where I can just zone out for a while.
A buzzing in my pocket draws my attention.
I roll my eyes. If that’s Nate again, he clearly didn’t get the message when I ignored his first text.
But when I pull the phone out of my pocket and look at the screen, it’s a FaceTime call from Allie.
I hit Accept. “Hey, Al?—“
“What the hell happened?” Allie’s face is close to the screen, her green eyes fierce. “Talk. Now.”
I should have expected this, but it still takes me a bit off guard.
I sent my bestie a text when I first got to the barn. Just letting her know that I’ll be at my parents’ for a little, and that we should talk when she has a minute.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she took call me when you have a chance as call me right fucking now.
“I…” Looking around, I realize there’s no one near enough to hear me, but I want privacy anyway. Some place quiet, contained. “Hang on.”
I carry the phone with me up to the loft, where we keep the extra hay.
Back when Allie and I were teenagers, we spent hours up here. In between riding and doing chores, it was the perfect spot to spend some downtime.
It’s a great hideout, too, especially if you don’t mind rats or mice or the occasional snake.
The memory makes me shudder.
It only happened once, to be fair, and the poor little garter snake was minding his own business in a bunch of hay when he got baled up and sent to the farm here.
Allie screamed when the little guy squirmed out of the hay bale toward her. I was far enough away that I didn’t scream, but still… ick.
I sit on a square of hay near a window, crossing my fingers that it doesn’t contain any snakes, and hold the phone back up to my face so she can see me.
The light brush of mascara I added to my lashes is smudged, and my eyes are puffy from crying. I look like hell.
It matches my mood.
I wipe my nose against the back of my hand. “We’re done, Allie. Me and Nate.”
“Why? You seemed so happy together.”
She leans in, and the close camera angle just gives me a perfect view of her winged eyeliner. I squint, wondering how she pulled that off. It’s freaking perfect.
Exactly the opposite of my life.
Blowing out a breath, I brush a stray hair back toward my ponytail and try to forget the eyeliner. “We were. I was. But then I found out…”
Allie waits, and when I don’t speak, she makes a circle movement with her hands, as if to say get on with it. “And? Found out what?”
I look her in the eye, which over FaceTime probably doesn’t have the same effect, because her eyes aren’t in the same spot as the camera, so from her perspective, I’m not looking her in the eyes at all.
“I guess I don’t know all the details. Not yet. But he manipulated me, Allie. He set me up. Everything was a little game to him. All the years I’ve felt… It was all his fault.”
Her brows pull together as she leans closer to the screen. “Manipulated what? What exactly happened?”
“He said he…” I take a deep breath so I can get the words out, trying to make sense of them as I do. “Yvonne said he was keeping tabs on me.”
The betrayal washes over me again as I say the words aloud. All those times I went on dates, hoping this was it. That I’d get my happy ending.
Was he doing more than just keeping tabs? Was he actively keeping me single, waiting to have a chance to bring up our pact? It had to have been more than that.
Why else would Yvonne bring it up? I’d like to think she’s not just a cold-hearted you-know-what, but…
“He was…what?” Allie asks, confusion lacing her voice.
“I don’t even know. I didn’t want to give Yvonne the satisfaction of telling me the whole story, but I’m sure there’s more.” I squeeze my eyes shut as I admit my fears out loud. “Meddling, keeping me single. All of that.”
“What?” Her high pitch conveys outrage that matches mine, and the fact that she doesn’t shoot down the allegation makes me even more certain of how deeply Nate’s betrayed me.