24. Wentworth
TWENTY-FOUR
Wentworth
When Damien showed up Friday night, I was waiting on the porch for him, red notebook in hand, ready for him to start yelling at me about how bringing me here was a mistake. That Kaitlyn ran home and cried to her daddy about how mean I was to her and that I had to leave. I was prepared to show him the notebook so he could see for himself how none of this was my fault. Not this time. This time, the rancher’s daughter was a willing and enthusiastic participant in my fuckery.
Instead, he acted as if nothing happened. Like he had no idea that I’d gotten into his beloved Kait’s face and told her that I knew all about her engagement and to stay the hell away from me. He brought more diner take-out and a bottle of tequila. I tossed the notebook in a drawer and did my best to forget about what happened with her .
We ate and talked and drank while expertly dancing around the subject of our father and the string of families, full of broken children, he’s left in his wake. When he left, I rescued the notebook from the drawer, taking it and the half-gone bottle of tequila to the front porch.
Sitting in my favorite chair, I alternated between finishing the bottle and reading and rereading the back-and-forth between us while thinking about the look on her face when I told her that I knew she was engaged. That whatever she was doing with me was—
Before I really understand what I’m doing, I pull the pen from its spiral prison and start writing.
Sunshine –
Married?
Fucking married? You’re not even finished with college and you just up and decide to quit so you can get married? Damien said he didn’t even know the two of you were together so what the hell? Seriously—what the fucking hell? If you’re engaged then why all the flirting? Why all the dick banter? Why ask to touch me? For fuck’s sake, why would you let me kiss you? I mean... yeah, I asked for it but so did you.
If you’re in love and going to marry this guy, why keep it going? You could have shut me down and told me that you were engaged but instead you rolled with it. Made me think that maybe you felt the same way I did and maybe there was a chance that
Staring at what I wrote, I feel the back of my neck go hot and tight with another emotion I’m unfamiliar with.
Embarrassment.
Putting pen to paper again, I write out my final thought for the night.
Brock is a stupid fucking name.
Slapping the notebook closed, I toss it on the table next to my chair, along with the pen, and finish the tequila.
That’s how I’ve spent the last week.
During the day I work on my sketches until I feel my eyes cross and then I run a few laps around the lake, usually bringing whatever’s left over from the grill the night before to leave for the stray dog I keep seeing near the rocks on the other side of the lake. Making my way back around, I head down to the dock and strip off my clothes before jumping into the water.
Every time I do it, I think about one of the first entries on Kait’s bucket list.
Go skinny dipping.
Afterward, I head back to the house and call Conner for an update on the Lexi situation. She’s still claiming it was me driving the car that hit Brian Maxwell and the wheels of justice are moving slow.
All the traffic cams within a six-block radius were down for routine maintenance. By the time they came back online, all we can see is that you’re on the scene—not when you arrived or if anyone else was there before you showed up.
When I start talking about throwing my money and name around to grease those wheels, he gives me a good, hard dose of reality.
We need this done right, Went. We need to do this without your family’s money and influence because done any other way, there will always be a shadow of a doubt that Lexi is telling the truth. If we try to fast-track this mess, you’ll never be out from under it—not completely. Just let me do what I do and keep your head down. I’ll let you know when it’s time to come home.
After my daily check in with Conner, I usually call Delilah in the late afternoon, when I know she’s awake and probably sober. By the time we hang up, it’s time for Damien to make his nightly appearance—usually with some sort of meat to grill and a bottle of something you drink from a shot glass. After he leaves, I take whatever’s left in the bottle onto the porch and go through her notebooks, reading her biology notes and her bucket list until I’m just buzzed enough to open up the red notebook and start writing.
My imaginary therapist would call it processing my emotions in a healthy way.
I call it weird and pathetic.
Sunshine –
I’ve come to the conclusion that you don’t love him. You can’t. Not really. Not if you’re able to kiss me the way you did. Not if you’re fantasizing about crawling into my bed and asking me to fuck you.
Despite my parents best efforts, I know love is real and I know what it looks like—and it doesn’t look like that. Maybe you’re getting cold feet. Maybe you’re having second thoughts. Maybe you met me and started thinking about all the things you’re going to miss out on if you marry someone like him.
I don’t know and to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.
All I know is that if you really loved him, none of those things would matter. I wouldn’t matter and I do. You can deny it all you want but there’s something between us. My grandfather would’ve called it a spark and I’d bet every dollar I have that you’ve never felt it with the son of a rancher you’re about to make the mistake of marrying. I’m not saying you’re in love with me, Sunshine—how could you be? You never gave me a chance... what I’m saying is that you’re not in love with him and whatever your reasons are for marrying him, they aren’t good enough to throw your life away.
Went
p.s. just in case you’re wondering—I would have. If I woke up to you naked in bed with me and begging to be fucked, I would’ve thanked my lucky stars and fucked you so hard, you’d still be thinking about it, twenty years from now... and so would I.
Setting the notebook on the table with rest of them, I toss the pen on top of it. Standing up to go inside, I change my mind. Instead, I turn off the lights and close the front door before returning to my seat. Settling back into my chair, I sit in the dark, watching the way the full moon skims and ripples across the surface of the water.
I’m a sound sleeper.
Like too sound. Nothing wakes me up.
Nothing.
So, I don’t know what woke me up. Why my eyes are suddenly wide open and my heart is hammering in my chest, I don’t know—but they are and it is.
Lifting my head from the back of the chair, I find myself on the front porch where I must’ve dozed off, lights off and the front door shut in a half-assed nod to the warning Kaitlyn gave me the first day I was here.
Falling asleep on the front porch with the lights on and the door open is a great way to get mauled by a bear.
Reaching up to swipe a rough hand over my face, I move to stand, intending on taking myself inside and upstairs but the sound of tires crunching on gravel stops me in my tracks.
Instead of moving toward the front door, I allow instinct to push me back, deeper into the shadows of the house and away from the sudden splash of lights thrown across the porch.
Headlights.
I watch as a tricked-out King Rancher cruises past the house, across the driveway, to continue down the narrow dirt road I take on my daily walks around the lake.
Staring after the truck, heart still pounding in my chest, I tell myself that I’m wrong. That I didn’t see what I think I saw. That I’m just being weird and pathetic. Not processing my emotions half as well as I think I am.
Because I saw Kait, face pressed against the glass of the passenger side window. Her eyes closed like she’s sleeping. Behind the wheel was the shape of a man.
As soon as the truck is passed, I step out of the shadows and watch while its glowing taillights shrink in the distance, disappearing behind the screen of trees that guard the west side of the lake.
Leave it alone.
Stay away from her.
She’s obviously found someone else to scratch her itch.
The thought curdles in my belly. Tightening the hinge on my jaw and the clench of my fists.
Leave it alone.
Stay away from her.
I turn away from the driveway and am halfway across the porch, intent on going inside and putting myself to bed when I hear it.
Another voice—one I’ve never heard before—this one telling me to do something completely different.
Go after her.
I barely take the time to pull my boots on before I’m down the porch steps and following after them.