15. Reese
Reese
The sun is shining brightly overhead, a light breeze toying with the ends of my hair. Looking outside now, you’d never know a nasty storm blew through this place two days ago.
My mom is in town, having lunch with a friend, while I continue searching job listings on my laptop.
A trip to urgent care—at my mother’s request—confirmed that my hip wasn’t fractured, but it still aches whenever I move around too much.
Taking it easy has been torture, though, because it has given Weston the chance to completely avoid me and removed my ability to accidentally-on-purpose run into him.
Reaching over, I brush a hand over Aragorn, who is lying on the patio couch beside me. All while I wait for a slight glimpse of Weston. It’s pathetic, really, remnants of being a teenage girl desperate for his attention. But I genuinely can’t help it.
That stormy night has been playing on repeat in my mind ever since.
We haven’t spoken since he dropped me off at the house yesterday morning. I heard my mom on the phone with him yesterday afternoon, but aside from that, we’ve had no contact.
And I hate it.
I close my eyes, tipping my face up to bask in the sunshine as I run through the conversation for what is probably the millionth time.
“What happened to all of your mirrors? I noticed the one over the fireplace is gone, too.”
“I didn’t see the point in keeping them.”
“In keeping mirrors?”
“They’re not really helpful when you can’t stand to see what it is you’re looking at.”
Out of everything we said, those words have haunted me the most. Even last night, I dreamt of a house of mirrors, each one of them shattered from the center, the shards reflecting memories of the night everything fell apart.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear away the tears that keep threatening to fall.
He hated himself.
Blamed himself.
All this time. And why wouldn’t he? It’s not like I gave him much of a reason not to. I thought he’d understand that it wasn’t all his fault, that I carried some of that blame, too, but I should have known better.
Weston has always tried to shoulder everyone else’s pain.
He did it for his mom, placing himself between her and his dad and taking fists that should’ve never been dealt out.
He did it for his sister when he’d shield her from their dad’s wrath just the same.
Then he did it again when his dad left. Weston took point during every bad thing that happened to their family, and he was only a child himself.
As my mind runs over all of the reasons why I should have stayed and been that strength for him, he comes out of the barn.
Inked arms coated in a thin layer of sweat, he’s guiding a wheelbarrow out of the barn.
In his cowboy hat, dirty jeans, worn boots, and a stained white t-shirt, he looks every bit like the cowboy he was born to be.
And man, does he make my mouth water, even after all this time.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I get up from the seat and head down the porch steps while he disappears around the corner of the barn. My hip aches, but the pain is more than manageable, thanks to the two Advil I took this morning.
Aragorn follows, clearly excited about the adventure. Tail wagging, ears forward, tongue hanging out, he trots beside me.
But as I reach the entrance to the barn, I stop.
Is this a mistake?
What if he gets angry?
I start to turn around, but Weston comes back around the corner with a now-empty wheelbarrow. He stops in his tracks and stares at me. “Everything okay? Your hip—”
“Is fine,” I say quickly. “Everything is fine.” You’re in it now, Reese. “I was going to make myself a turkey sandwich and wanted to know if you were hungry. I saw you come out of the barn while I was sitting on the porch.” I gesture toward the house like an idiot.
“I have quite a bit of work to do. I’m not sure I can spare time for lunch. But thanks.”
“You have to eat, Weston. Come on, I won’t even talk.”
Now he snorts. “You’re a lot of things, Reese, and quiet is not one of them.”
I grin because he’s absolutely right. Silence makes me uncomfortable. Always has. “Then I promise not to talk about anything prior to one week ago. Deal?”
He hesitates. “Okay. Lunch would be nice.”
“Great. I’ll go make sandwiches.”
“I’ll be five minutes.”
“Perfect.” With relief thrumming through my veins, I turn and start toward the house.
“Come on, Aragorn!” I call out. He rushes toward the house, tail wagging wildly.
Even though I know this is far from fixing what was originally a friendship between us, it is a step in the right direction.
At the very least, things won’t be awkward whenever I come visit.
Because being here now is a stark reminder that I’ve been away for far too long.
I even briefly entertained the idea of staying. Would it really be so bad? To live here and work in town?
After washing my hands, I pull down two plates and place two pieces of sourdough on each. I pull the ingredients out of the fridge and slice tomatoes, then pile sliced turkey, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, mustard, and mayonnaise on top before sprinkling some salt and pepper.
I’m just adding some barbecue chips to the side when the front door opens and Weston comes inside. He removes his hat and hangs it by the door, then rubs his palms on his jeans.
I stop what I’m doing, struck by how badly I wanted this to be my every day.
Him coming home and me making lunch.
Serving him.
Loving him.
Being loved by him.
“I need to wash up,” he says, then starts toward the front bathroom.
“Yeah, of course.” I carry the plates over to the dining room, setting them on the table. And then I realize that I have no idea where we should sit.
Do I put him at the end of the table and me next to him? That seems too close.
But if I put us on opposite ends, that seems rude.
Across from each other? Is that safe?
Before I can continue to overthink this into awkwardness, I place his plate on one side, then mine directly across from him. I’m stepping into the kitchen when he comes out of the bathroom, hands clean, his face still slightly wet from the water he splashed on it.
“Do you want some lemonade? I made it this morning.”
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
“No problem. Have a seat. Either plate works.” I reach into the refrigerator for the pitcher of lemonade, then grab two glasses off the drying rack.
After filling them up, I carry both into the dining room.
Weston has taken the seat opposite the door, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s so he can plot his escape.
It’s laughable. A man like that wanting to run away from anything.
“Do you want to say grace?” I ask him.
“No, thanks. You go ahead.”
“Okay.” I try to force a smile, but my stomach churns. Is that another thing Weston Hayes lost? His faith? “Lord, we thank You for this meal. Please bless it and let it nourish our bodies. Thank You for being here with us always and for walking beside us. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.”
I open my eyes and take a sip of lemonade.
Weston takes a drink, too.
“Good?”
“You always were the best at making lemonade.”
I grin. “Thanks. It’s my comfort drink.”
“I remember.” He takes a bite of his sandwich while I eat a chip.
“So, how are the horses?”
“Fine. Enjoyed their extra oats yesterday and today.”
“I bet.”
“How’s your hip?”
“Better. Mom made me go to urgent care yesterday afternoon, and they confirmed I didn’t fracture anything. Just a nasty bone bruise.”
“She told me.” He keeps his gaze averted, like he’s afraid to show me that he cared enough to ask. Or, maybe he didn’t ask, and she just offered up the information? Maybe he feels guilty for not checking in?
Stop reading into everything.
I clear my throat. Something I seem to be doing an awful lot in front of him. “She went to have lunch with some friends.”
He nods and is silent for a moment. Then, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and meets my gaze. “Why aren’t you working at a clinic?”
“Ahh, that’s because I got fired.” I laugh uncomfortably. “It wasn’t my fault, though. My ex—” And then I realize what’s about to come out of my mouth. “Uh, sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t expect you to live in a hole.” But his mood has shifted, darkening.
“Uh, well. He was my boss. We weren’t serious, but we’d been on a few dates, and I thought we were exclusive. Long story short, he cheated, I caught him, then he fired me a few months later.”
Weston sets his sandwich down and takes a drink of lemonade. “Seems to me like you could fight that.”
“Doesn’t seem worth it to me. I’m tired. I know I’m a good vet, so I’ll find another job.”
He nods, not saying anything.
Silence settles in around us, and I fight the urge to randomly blurt every thought that comes to mind.
Weston takes another bite of his sandwich, but I can feel that the air around us has changed once more. He’s holding back, restrained by what was once between us and what I’m starting to hope might be between us again.
Or is there too much hurt?
My cell rings, so I pull it out of my pocket. But when I see the name on the screen, I wince. Max. Uh-oh. “Sorry, just a minute.” I get up from my seat and leave the dining room, stopping just inside the hall. “Hello?”
“Hey, Reese. I just wanted to check in; it’s been a few days since I heard from you.”
“Yeah, sorry. Been busy.”
“No worries. Just been missing you. Are you okay?”
I’m eating lunch with my ex-husband and just opened my mouth and blabbed about my ex-boyfriend firing me. Now, the new guy I’ve been seeing is on the phone. Is that okay? I’d say not.
“I’m okay. But I’m going to be here a while longer. I can give you a call when I get back into town? Maybe we can grab dinner or something?”
It’s a copout, and a bad one at that. Based on Max’s hesitation, he knows it, too.
He’s quiet for a moment. “Uh, sure. I’d like that.”
“Great. We’ll talk then. Bye.” I end the call quickly, then start toward the dining room again.
Weston is already in the kitchen, washing his plate, his movements sharp, expression hard.
“Wow, how long was I on the phone?” My attempt at a joke falls completely flat.
Weston’s sharp gaze finds mine as he turns off the water. “Long enough. Look, I don’t know what it is you’re trying to do here, Reese, but you clearly have a life outside of this place, and I have no interest in being entertainment while you’re here. See you around.”
He starts toward the door, and I rush after him. “Wait, what?”
“I don’t think Max would appreciate you having lunch with me. And I certainly don’t appreciate you stepping away to make a dinner date. It may have been a long time ago, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He grabs his hat.
“Weston, come on. That’s not what—” I stop, though, because from the outside, that’s exactly what it sounded like. “Max and I have been on a couple of dates, that’s all. I’m sure you date, too.”
Weston laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I haven’t been on a single first date since the state fair when I was fourteen. Goodbye, Reese. I’ll call if the animals need anything.” He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
“I haven’t been on a single first date since the state fair when I was fourteen.” Fourteen. That was our first date. He bought me cotton candy and won me a little stuffed dog that I still have in my closet.
Has he really not dated at all? In two decades?
You idiot. I want to scream at myself as tears fill my eyes. I hurt him again.
All while trying to make amends. In fact, every time I try to make things better, it goes horribly sideways. What else can I do, though? I have to make this right. Even if it’s only so he can move forward with his life.
How could I not see that leaving the way that I did would trap him in the past?
The mirrors.
The lack of relationships.
He’s spent two decades frozen in the worst nights of his life…because I left him there.