Chapter 28
Breezy
By the time the sun drags itself over Red Bridge, the world feels wrong.
Not bad, exactly. Just…off.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep much. My sweet little Autumn decided last night was the perfect moment to test how many times she could roll across a queen-size bed.
For the record? It was a lot.
I’m pretty sure her cute little butt didn’t fall asleep until nearly midnight.
Thankfully, she didn’t wake up until eight thirty.
Once we get out of bed and make our way into the kitchen, I cook her breakfast, put some of her curls up in a half-pony, and pretend not to check my phone every five minutes. No text from Tad. No “Morning, Betsy.” No smartass sheep memes or dirty innuendos. Nothing.
It’s weird. We’ve talked every single morning for nearly two months straight now.
By ten a.m., I’m telling myself he’s probably busy. Feeding the sheep, fixing a fence, doing whatever rugged farm stuff he does that somehow always ends with me naked in his bed.
By noon, the logic stops working.
I call him. It rings four times and kicks to voice mail.
I text. Nothing.
I text again. Still nothing.
Me: You alive, Farm Daddy?
Me: Or did the sheep finally revolt?
Me: Answer your phone, Tom. Betsy is trying to call you.
When Autumn goes down for her nap, and Bennett and Norah are back home, and I’ve texted Tad more messages than I can count, I finally give up pretending I’m chill and grab my keys.
But Tad’s truck isn’t in the drive when I pull up to his place. The house looks dark.
I knock. No answer.
I knock again. Nothing.
I circle around back, boots crunching in the snow.
His barn’s quiet except for a few soft bleats from the sheep.
I half expect him to pop out, grin tugging at his mouth, and a funny explanation about whatever chaos his sheep brought for the day, but the only thing I find is Randy tossing feed, his breath a cloud in the cold.
“Hey,” I call. “You seen Tad?”
Randy glances up, his expression flickering—surprise, then something else I can’t name. He wipes his hands on his jeans. “No. But he’s probably gonna be unreachable for the rest of the day.”
“Unreachable?” I echo. “Did he go somewhere?”
Randy hesitates, eyes darting toward the house and back. “Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.”
My stomach twists. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” He shakes his head on a pause, like he can’t find the right words. “Just…give him a little space, okay, Breezy?”
That’s it. No explanation. No reassurance. Just the word space echoing in my chest like a slammed door.
By the time I drive back up Bennett and Norah’s driveway, I’ve run out of theories, and my hands won’t stop gripping the wheel like I can keep something from falling apart if I hold tight enough.
Inside, Autumn’s giggling in the living room with Norah. The sound should make me smile. Instead, I mumble something about being tired and escape to my room.
The minute the door closes, the silence hits hard.
And when I pull my phone out of my purse, every text and call to Tad is still unanswered.
I tell myself it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s probably off…I don’t know…doing something.
But when the first tear slides down my cheek, I realize I’m lying.
Because the truth is, I’m hurt. And scared. And I don’t really understand why the mere idea of space between Tad and me feels devastating.
Tears clog my throat, and the emotion catches me off guard.
I’m not a crier. If anything, I’m what you’d call a show-no-emotion type of gal.
But when I can’t contain the tears and I start to outright cry, I bury my face in the pillow, breathing in detergent and salt and something that feels a hell of a lot like heartbreak.
Which doesn’t make any sense, given this was just supposed to be a casual fling to pass the time.
But I keep crying for reasons I don’t understand—reasons, deep down, I probably understand way too much.
I’m shaken, and my normally strongly constructed walls are cracked. Clearly, all this turmoil and uncertainty in my life is starting to get to me—maybe even changing me as a person.
You might be too far gone to turn back…