Chapter 13
Thirteen
The mountains above town appear bruised by the purple light of dusk, and moths crowd the headlights of Holden’s truck when we pull into the driveway. I let the truck door fall shut and adjust the heavy duffel bag slung over my shoulder.
With our late departure this morning, the entire schedule was thrown off, and we’re home hours later than Holden had initially wanted to be—especially after factoring in the time it took to make sure the horses were turned out with adequate food and water.
But at least we’re here now, which is better than being in the truck with Holden, Logan, and the complicated whirlwind of lies and emotions.
Logan steps out of the trailer with a garbage bag filled with dirty laundry tucked under his arm. We’re only supposed to be here for a few nights—a quick reset before the local rodeo, then back on the road.
Then he turns to Holden, rapping his fingers on the open passenger window. “Have a good night.”
We walk side by side up the short path to the house.
The motion light turns on with a blinding radiance, and stars flicker across my vision.
It’s a good thing, honestly. Saves me from being able to glance at Holden while Logan fumbles with his house keys.
If I caught him staring back at me, I might never make it inside.
Logan kicks his shoes off and tosses his bags on the floor so I have to step over to make it past the entryway. It smells faintly stale, the way a house always does when it’s sat lifeless for a while. The truck’s headlights sweep through the living room window before disappearing.
The fridge door opens with the loud clang of glass jars being jostled. “Do we have any beer in here?”
“Um, not sure.” I set my bag on the bench next to the front door and step into the small living space, letting my fingers glide along the arm of the couch.
Seeing it now, through fresh eyes, it dawns on me that this house was never my home.
The furniture is all his from before we started dating, photos of us are limited to what’s stuck to the fridge with magnets, and the only feminine touch I ever added was a candle on the coffee table.
Most of what I own exists in the duffel bag and rolling suitcase by the front door.
For the last year, my entire life with him could’ve easily been reduced to a few mismatched pieces of luggage.
A fire burns me from the inside out, and I open my mouth before I lose my nerve. “I need to talk to you about something.”
The truth presses against my abdomen in a rolling bout of nausea. I could tell him what I did, who I did it with, and how I don’t regret crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.
But this didn’t start with falling for his brother.
Falling for his brother proved I’d already left.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say.
He twists the cap off his beer and raises an eyebrow. “Can’t do what? The road? I told you that you’d hate it.”
“No.” My voice wobbles. “Us, Logan.”
A tear slips past my defenses and tumbles down my cheek.
Love doesn’t exist in a single plane or in a straight line—that’s the weird thing about it.
It exists in the rubble of betrayal and hurt and even, as I’m learning, in apathy.
I’m not in love with Logan anymore, but even though I’m ready to let him go, my heart refuses to do it without a bit of pain.
He lets out a short breath from his nose. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done.” I sink into the couch and blot my under eyes with trembling fingers. “I don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking a language he’s never heard before. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Of course not. I don’t get to decide anything with him.
“I do. I just did.”
His tone sharpens. “Since when?”
“For a while,” I admit.
“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Tension ripples through his body. “We could’ve talked… worked things out.”
A heaviness boxes me in on all sides, and I consider whether he’s right—whether I should’ve spoken up about all my issues with our relationship. We could’ve talked, worked things out, and stayed in love.
More likely, he would’ve talked and I would’ve become even smaller. Quieter. And one day, maybe I wouldn’t have the courage to speak up at all.
Today can’t be that day.
“I don’t want to work anything out, Logan. I’m not asking you to fix things.”
“You don’t get to decide this without talking to me,” he argues.
“Yes, I do. It’s my choice.”
“This is about the cheating shit again, isn’t it?”
Uneasy silence stretches taut between us until the edges begin to fray like a reopened wound.
“Jesus Christ, Sunday. You’re never going to let that go are you?”
I’m genuinely unsure why I’m entertaining a conversation with someone who’s reduced the last year to a single incident he’s tired of hearing about.
“It’s not just about the cheating. It’s…” My fingers curl into the cushion under me as I search for a way to bury the lede. “It’s everything. I’m not in love with you. I haven’t been in a long time.”
He lets out one sharp, dry, humorless laugh. “Well thanks for letting me think we were all good.”
“I let myself think we were, too, because it felt easier.” In hindsight, it wasn’t easier. It was merely a level of pain I was used to handling. “I spent too long feeling like what we had—the way you treated me—was what I deserved, and I needed permission to want more. But I don’t.”
“So that’s it then?” The beer bottle hangs loosely at his side, millimetres from slipping from his fingers and crashing on the tile. “You’re not even going to discuss this with me? I just have to accept it?”
“I’ve been discussing it with myself. That’s what matters.” My voice wavers when I look up at his face and see pain splashed across his light-blue eyes. “So, yeah… you’re going to have to accept it.”
“You’re a real piece of work—you know that? You know how important this next rodeo is, if we want to get into the finals in October. And now I’ve got this shit hanging over me?”
I sniffle. “I’m sorry.”
He looks me up and down, and I swear I catch a hint of remorse in his expression—though maybe it’s my own wishful thinking getting the better of me.
Maybe if he’d taken the time to study me before tonight, he would’ve seen me.
If that had happened, this conversation wouldn’t have caught him off guard the way it has.
“I’ll go stay in the trailer at Holden’s.” He tosses back the nearly-full beer and plunks the bottle down on the coffee table, right next to my candle. “I should leave before I say something I’m not going to be able to take back.”
“This is your house, if you want—”
“No.” He shakes his head and reaches for his keys. “We’ll be back on the road after this weekend, anyways. Stay here for now. You and I can talk about this later.”
“Okay. Thank you.” The edge gone from my voice, I let him believe he’ll still get the final say. I never wanted to fight. All I set out to do was voice my opinion and demand he hear it, even if he’ll never care enough to understand where I’m coming from.
I stare down at my hands folded neatly in my lap, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I take the first full breath on my own.
The tears dry in sharp, itchy streaks down my cheeks, and I scrub them away with cold water in the kitchen sink before pouring a glass of red wine from the box inside the fridge.
The grocery situation is dire around here, but I manage to find a package of Oreos.
I light the candle with a contented sigh, and sink into the well-worn couch with cookies, wine, and a plan to watch cute puppy videos on my phone until my heart doesn’t ache anymore.
Holden
I just talked to Logan
Are you okay? I’m coming over.
Sunday
What if he comes back?
Holden
He won’t.
Not twenty minutes later, the sound of Holden’s pickup rumbles through the night and his headlights beam in the front windows.
I chomp on an Oreo—effectively finishing off my second row of them—and wash it down with a hearty gulp of wine.
It’s a weird combination, but it feels appropriate for a post-breakup binge.
A beat of silence passes before Holden walks through the front door.
He looks so good. Better somehow than when I last saw him just over an hour ago.
That doesn’t seem fair when I’m sitting here shoveling cookies and wine down my gullet, eyes puffy and face streaky.
He’s changed into sweatpants since getting home, and his hair looks the same way it did after I teased it with my fingertips in the back seat of his truck.
I’m actually kind of pissed off about how good he looks.
Before he’s even kicked off his shoes, he remarks, “I swear to God, if you tell me you’re dipping those cookies in wine, I’m calling the police.”
I glance down at the half-empty glass. I hadn’t considered dipping, but that might speed the process up.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Well, the kitchen’s low on food, and I needed a snack for my depression cocoon.”
An amused burst of air blows out of his nose. “I meant with Logan. He sent me a text to say he’s sleeping in the trailer tonight.”
“Oh, him.” I nibble at the chocolatey edge of a cookie. “I broke up with him. For good, this time.”
Holden folds his arms across his chest, his mouth flat. He’s furious.
“I had to do it.” My hackles raise. “I should’ve ended things with him before even kissing you. But now… I can’t keep pretending. Not after this morning. I wanted to throw up for the entire drive today.”
His jaw tightens, and the muscle above his temple bounces. I brace myself for the lecture, for the anger.
I add, “I didn’t mean to screw things up for you. I know this weekend is a big one, and Logan can be a bit… volatile when he spirals. I get that you’re pissed, but—”
Holden cuts in. “Yeah, I am pissed.”
Fuck. My shoulders sag.