10. Weston
Weston
“Here.” I set the last load of crocheted stuffed animals down on the table in Momma Knox’s festival booth.
She beams up at me. “Thank you, Weston.”
“Of course. Anything else?” After almost a week of not sleeping and doing everything I could to avoid accidentally running into Reese, I’m having to plaster on a fake smile and act as though my world isn’t collapsing around me.
Thankfully, fall festival preparations have taken up nearly all of my mental capacity today, leaving me little time to obsess over my interaction with Reese four days ago, or the fact that I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around the doctors finding medication not prescribed to Vivian in her bloodstream.
Memories of my mom come rushing back once again.
Of pills that came out of unlabeled bottles.
Even though I know without a doubt Vivian wouldn’t touch them, it’s still there. Lingering. Taunting me with the idea that yet another woman in my life has decided to give up.
“If you wouldn’t mind helping Zane set up the display shelves, that would be so great.
” She gestures back toward her son, who is currently staring down at a pile of wood that will eventually be a shelving system to hold all of Momma Knox’s crocheted creations and Anastasia’s homemade coffee mug collection.
A hobby she picked up a few months ago and has already turned into a profitable addition to her coffee shop.
“I don’t mind at all. He looks like he could use some adult supervision,” I joke.
She laughs.
“I heard that,” Zane mutters when I move behind the table and toward him. “And I’d honestly be offended if it weren’t true. How are there so many pieces? If she’d just let me build her one, then I’d at least know where all the pieces go.”
Chuckling, I reach down and lift one of the taller pieces that will serve as the end cap. “They aren’t going to put themselves together.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Reaching down, he lifts the other end cap and hands it to me, then begins arranging shelves by size.
“Weather report said we have a nasty storm headed our way early next week,” I tell him. “We’ll need to get this broken down right after the festival ends tomorrow night.” They almost canceled the event altogether, but the weather station insists it will be clear skies until Sunday afternoon.
Here’s hoping he’s right.
“I already told Mom that, too,” he says. “As soon as I finish here, I’m going to head to the marina and make sure the boat is good to go.”
“I’ve already started with preparations on the ranch. I’ve got two more pastures to ride so I can make sure any low branches are trimmed away from the fence.”
“Yet here we are, building shelves,” he says with a laugh as he raises one of the shelves and clicks it into place between the two end caps.
“Here we are,” I reply. “Remember that first fall festival Momma Knox sold at? It took us nearly an entire day just to organize all of the things she’d made.”
“And then she sold completely out and made even more the next year,” Zane replies with a shake of his head.
“Yeah, I remember that.” He snorts. “My dad would get so frustrated that there wasn’t anywhere in the house to sit during the weeks leading up to the festivals.
But he never said anything to her.” Zane’s expression falters a bit.
I know that, no matter how many years pass, Zane still misses his dad.
The guy was as good as they come and a stark reminder of what I’d never have.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring him up.”
Zane shakes his head. “No apology necessary. I like talking about my dad. He would be happy with how things turned out, I think.”
“He’d be proud of you, Cap, that’s for sure.”
“And you,” Zane replies with a pointed look in my direction. “You know he always thought of you like another son.”
Would he be proud of me? I have a seriously difficult time believing that to be true. Especially after I nearly followed in my old man’s footsteps and became a self-serving alcoholic.
But I won’t ever repeat that to Zane. Nah, the self-loathing I carry belongs inside so it can’t taint those around me.
“How are things going with Reese?” he asks.
“Wow, took you a whole five minutes before you pried. And you didn’t even use any tricks; you just straight up asked.”
Zane’s particular skill is getting any and all information out of someone. Most of the time, they don’t even realize they’ve said anything vital until afterward. Truthfully, between him and Garrison, I’m not sure how any of us keeps anything private.
“You and I both know you’d see right through any tactics I might use. So, I didn’t feel like wasting the time.”
I take a deep breath. Might as well be honest. “We got into it on Monday night, and I’ve been avoiding her ever since.”
“Over what?” He straightens and crosses both arms as he turns to face me.
“She’d just brought Vivian home from the hospital, and—”
“Vivian was in the hospital?” Zane interrupts, turning to face me.
Oops. Left that part out. “Yeah. She got dizzy during an argument I was having with Reese that morning.”
Zane runs a hand through his hair. “How many times have you and Reese gotten into it since she got back to town?”
“Twice. Anyway, she came by when they got home to tell me that the doctor found benzodiazepines in Vivian’s blood.”
“I didn’t realize Vivian was on any medication.”
“She’s not,” I reply. “Vivian claims she has no idea how those got into her system.”
My tone must give something away because Zane’s expression darkens. “She’s not your mom.”
“No,” I reply. And somehow, knowing that makes things worse. I trust Vivian Faye explicitly. Was she popping pills right beneath my nose, and I didn’t know it? How else would those pills have popped up on the lab work?
“So, Reese came by to tell you about it. How did that lead to a fight?”
“Vivian told her that I own half the ranch.”
Once again, Zane narrows his gaze. “Since when?”
“A few years back. She hit some trouble, so I helped. It’s not a big deal.”
“The fact that you didn’t tell me about it kind of screams the opposite, Brother.”
I shrug.
“So, I take it Reese didn’t take too kindly to that?”
“It wasn’t even that, I think. I don’t know.
I’m not even entirely sure I can pinpoint where the conversation went sideways.
It just did, she stormed out, end of story.
” I leave out that I slipped into tennis shoes and ran a ways behind her as she drove her car home.
That way, I could make sure she got there safely.
I still remember how debilitating her migraines were when we were teens.
“Somehow I doubt that’s the end of the story, but I’ll let it go.”
I take a frustrated breath as he snaps two more shelves into place. “It’s just so irritating. She acts like she’s not the one who bailed in the first place. I didn’t leave. Not until she was already gone.”
“Did you give her a reason to stay?”
I glare at him, hating that what he’s implying is absolutely true. I didn’t give Reese a reason to stay because I’d completely given up on everything by the time she left. I was so worn out that there was nothing left of me to give her.
Or, at least, that’s what I told myself.
Really, I think I was so afraid of losing her, too, that I chased her away.
“And done.” Zane snaps the last shelf into place, so I release it and step back. When the thing doesn’t fall over, Zane lifts and moves it into place.
“Thank you so much, boys!” Momma Knox exclaims.
“Look at who’s nice and handy,” Anastasia jokes as she carries over a box of mugs.
Her fiancé, Sawyer, is nowhere to be seen, but I imagine he’ll be along soon enough.
The two of them were practically inseparable before they were a thing.
Now that they’re together? They might as well be joined at the hip.
“We try.” Zane studies the box his sister sets down. “There more of those?”
“Sawyer’s loading the wagon now.” She turns to me. “How are you doing?”
“Peachy,” I reply. “I need to go get working on storm prep. See you at the gym later?”
“Sure thing,” Zane replies, then waves before bending down to lift one of Momma Knox’s tubs of crocheted animals.
“Thank you, sweet boy.” Momma Knox wraps her arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. “I love you, Weston Hayes. You know that?”
“I know.” I pull away, then leave the booth. Anastasia falls into step beside me.
“You never were a good liar,” she says.
If only she knew I’ve been lying since the day Reese left town. “I’m doing fine,” I reply.
“I’m not asking you to talk about it. I just want you to know that I’m onto you.” She gently smacks my arm, then veers off toward her coffee shop while I continue on to my truck. I’m just opening the door when Pastor Reeves steps from the diner.
I try to move fast enough to avoid him, but once he realizes I’m there, the man zeroes in on me.
“Good morning, Weston. How are you doing?”
Unease trickles up my spine, a discomfort I feel whenever the pastor is near. Not because I think poorly of the guy, but because I have zero interest in discussing my lack of church attendance Sunday mornings—or any other day for that matter.
“Doing fine. You?”
“The Lord woke me up this morning and gave me a new day, so I can’t complain.” He smiles at me, but I notice hesitation. Which means he knows Reese is in town and is just as worried as everyone else that I’ll do something stupid.
“It was nearly two decades ago, Pastor Reeves. I’m doing just fine.”
“Just know, if you ever want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
“Seems there’s a lot of people interested in hearing me talk these days. Have a good day,” I say sharply, then offer him a wave as I climb behind the wheel of my truck and pull away from the curb.