4. Weston
Weston
Country music fills the room of the stuffy bar, but I welcome the noise because it means I get to focus on something other than my own thoughts.
I finish the club soda in front of me, then hold up the empty glass toward the bartender, Mav, who nods in response.
He’s a former Army Ranger turned bar owner on the outskirts of town. While it’s my understanding he doesn’t drink either, he took over the business of a grandfather he barely knew once he returned from his last deployment nearly ten years ago. His place has been the local watering hole ever since.
War changes people, and for Maverick Fargo, it made him so desperate to drown out the past that he fills nearly every moment of his life with insufferable noise.
Something I can understand completely. It’s one of the reasons I come here, even though I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I joined the Navy. Maverick isn’t one for chatter, and sometimes I need noise without it being directed at me.
“Hey, Cowboy.” Ryker Granger, or Tank as we call him, slides onto the barstool beside me, looking nearly as exhausted as I feel. We served alongside each other for just over a decade, part of which was spent doing things the government would have disowned us for if it ever became public.
Which, of course, is exactly what happened nearly two years ago.
Everything that hides in shadow eventually comes to light.
Everything except me, it seems. I live in shadows. And in shadows, I’ll die.
“How was the job?” I ask.
Ryker has been working for a private security firm out of Hope Springs, Maine for the last few months.
It’s a lot of travel, since he mainly does bodyguard-for-hire work all over the country.
He doesn’t seem to mind it, though. Doesn’t seem to have the same desire I do to hide out in a hole for the rest of his life.
“Not bad. Abusive ex-boyfriend decided to show his face. I rearranged it for him after he tried to kidnap her from the bathroom of her place of business.”
Maverick slides a new club soda in front of me and a Cherry Coke in front of Ryker, who also has no taste for alcohol. Anything that dulls our senses is too risky when you live a life riddled with enemies ready to take you out at a moment’s notice.
We may have left the battle, but the fight never left us.
So, here we sit, drinking soda and thinking about things we wish we could forget.
“Glad you were there.”
“Me, too. How are you?”
“Peachy,” I reply.
Ryker grunts in response. He’s not much for talking, either, which is another thing I can appreciate. The other members of our team, Zane Knox, Garrison Holt, and Sawyer Maddox, have all found the women they will spend the rest of their lives with, which means these days it’s mainly Tank and me.
I miss my other brothers, but I’m glad they’re happy.
They deserve it.
“How are things at the ranch? Vivian doing okay?”
“Seems to be.” Working for the mother of the only woman I’ve ever loved has been hard, but Reese seems to love her life in the city and rarely comes to visit. I make it a point not to be here when she does.
Vivian will give me a heads-up so I can make sure everything is in working order, and then I’ll take off until Reese is long gone. It’s been that way ever since I moved back to Stormwatch Landing, and it will stay like that until the only remnants of me are a stone marker in the ground.
“Good.”
The minutes tick by, and the music shifts to a slow song. Something about a broken-hearted man and the one who got away. I’d laugh if it didn’t sting of truth.
But I tried to re-open that door, and had it firmly slammed in my face.
“Excuse me.”
I glance over at two pretty twenty-somethings who are standing right beside me, looking at both Ryker and me.
“What can we do for you, ladies?” Ryker questions, tone flirtatious.
“Well, we were wondering…” The one closest to me—a blonde with brown eyes—looks at her friend, then back to me. The brunette’s cheeks flush with color. “If you boys would like to dance. It’s my favorite song,” she adds quickly.
Ryker chuckles. “If it’s your favorite, then I can’t let you dance alone, can I?” He finishes off his Cherry Coke with a single swig, then stands and takes the blonde’s hand in his. They disappear into the crowd, leaving the brunette standing awkwardly beside me.
“Not a dancer,” I tell her.
“Not even a little?” she asks, then sticks her bottom lip out in a pout.
“Not a single step.” I take out some bills and slap them on the counter, then stand. “Have a nice night.” As I head toward the exit, I hear someone else step up and offer. She accepts, which alleviates a little of the guilt I felt by saying no.
I haven’t danced with anyone since Reese. And I have no intention of breaking that streak. Not now. Not ever.
After yet another night of no sleep, I’ve grown accustomed to functioning on little more than a power nap. Which comes in handy when you have an entire ranch to run without a whole lot of help.
Sweat beads on the back of my neck as I finish stretching a new line of fencing. As soon as it’s tight enough, I detach and set it on the back of the four-wheeler I rode out to the east pasture.
It’s on the far side of the one hundred and twenty-five-acre ranch, and after a month of rest and re-growth for the land, it’s ready for the cattle to be rotated back. But that’s a job for three days from now.
After downing the rest of my water, I toss my gloves and tools into the basket on the back of the ATV before climbing on and starting the engine.
With the sun already high in the sky, I know that Vivian has likely left by now for the eleven o’clock service at church, leaving the ranch vacant.
Another reason I don’t mind not having much help is the privacy.
When I need to let my mind wander, I can.
No questions.
No need for instructions.
Aside from Kyle coming in four times a week, it’s just me and solitude.
I like it that way.
I park the ATV in front of my cabin and head inside, tossing my empty bottle of water before grabbing another one. The cabin was originally built as a hunting cabin by my great-grandfather. Back then, the property was uninhabited, and this was the only building.
It’s only undergone one major renovation since it was built, and that was back when my mom moved my sister and me in here after she was forced to sell the ranch that had been in her family for generations.
All because her husband—my father—decided to gamble and drink away every penny we had.
As it so often does, anger burns through me at the memory of that night.
I was still young, but old enough to know that the fight wasn’t like any of the others.
I’d woken my sister and snuck Violet out of her bedroom window.
We’d gone to the fort built right behind the house and spent the night looking up at the stars.
She hadn’t realized our world was about to be turned upside down, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Grief tightens its hold on me, and I rest both hands against the countertop.
Nineteen years ago today, she was stolen from me.
Ripped out of this world, her light stifled by a murdering monster who is currently serving life in prison. There are still nights I wake up, wishing I’d finished him off when I’d had the chance.
But he’s out of reach now, and that’s something I have to live with.
There’s a soft knock on my door, so I cross over and pull it open. My childhood best friend’s mother, Linda, is standing on the other side, a bright smile on her face. She holds up a tray of white chocolate macadamia cookies.
“Good morning, Weston.”
“Morning, Momma Knox.” I step aside so she can come in. “Shouldn’t you be at church?”
“I went to the early service today.” She sets the cookies down on the counter and turns to face me. In my early years, I spent more time at Linda’s house, hanging out with Zane, than at my own. It was just easier to avoid my dad that way.
She’s another mother to me, right alongside Vivian.
“How are ya doing, honey?”
“I’m fine.” I open the container of cookies and lift one to my lips. The flavor profile, sweet with a hint of earthiness, thanks to the macadamia nuts, is my absolute favorite. And only the way she makes them.
“Weston.” Her expression softens. “I know what today is, and I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”
“I know, Momma Knox.”
“Good.” She smiles. “Will I see you at dinner later?”
“I’ll be there. What are we having?”
“A taco bar.”
“Sounds delicious. Want me to bring some guacamole?”
“That would be lovely.” She lifts her purse again but pauses to look at me. “You’re sure that you’re okay?”
“Doing just fine.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.
“Well, you know where to find me if you need me. Enjoy the cookies. Don’t eat too many until you’ve had something substantial to eat,” she adds with a pointed look.
“I’m not Sawyer,” I reply. “I won’t eat cookies for breakfast.”
She laughs. “That future son-in-law of mine sure loves his sweets, doesn’t he?”
“Understatement,” I reply. When we went on missions, he survived nearly entirely on peanut butter cookies and granola bars. I don’t think it was until we moved here that he started eating actual meals. And now he’s engaged to Linda’s daughter, Anastasia. Who is like a surrogate sister to me.
She and Violet had been best friends since they were infants, and had my sister survived into adulthood, I imagine they’d still be just as inseparable.
“I’ll see you later?”
“You will,” I reply.
“Good. Love you, kid.”
“Same,” I reply with a forced smile. Uttering those words just carries too much weight. I learned a long time ago that loving someone means giving them the chance to destroy you. And I won’t ever let anyone wield that power over me again.