Chapter 35 #3
“Yeah. I know.” He snorts, but there’s no amusement. Only frustration. “Because no one will let me stick around long enough to explain it. At least not without getting punched in the fucking face a couple of times.”
I wince slightly, stretching my sore hand. “Sorry about that.”
He blows out a breath. “Whatever. It’s not like I haven’t deserved it at one point or another.”
“What about Bennett?” I find myself asking, even though I don’t really know why. “Why’s he hate you so much?”
“I… Well, I slept with his girlfriend once.” His head bounces back and forth. “A few times.”
I let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s fucked.”
“Yeah, I know. It was a real asshole thing to do.”
I eye him knowingly. “I’d say it makes you a little more than an asshole, brother.”
“I get it. But I did it to break them up, and I can’t complain about the results in that aspect.
She was a snake. She would have latched on to him until she ruined his life, and he didn’t need that shit at the time.
He was in a real bad place, mostly because our father was an overbearing, controlling dick.
” He takes a swig of his drink. “Now, Norah, she’s the kind of amazing woman he actually deserves. ”
The way he talks about Bennett…is not what I expected. I honestly thought he’d ramble on about what an asshole his brother is.
But confessing to the shady shit he’s done, and even going so far as saying Bennett deserves an amazing wife like Norah? A plot twist, that’s for damn sure.
“So, from what you’re telling me here, you’re maybe not as much of an asshole as I originally thought.
And you quite possibly need to work on your delivery,” I add through a shocked laugh.
“Maybe you should consider some flowers or chocolates or some shit when you’re breaking hard news.
Maybe you should drop the egotistical-prick act and offer a buffer of kindness so you have some time to explain your side of things.
You can’t bulldoze people with hard news, you know? ”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
I don’t know why I’m even offering advice to this guy, but there’s just something in the way he’s admitting his bullshit out loud that has me warming up to him a little. I’m not thawed out and melted down completely, but I’m not as icy as I was.
“Even a coffee delivery tomorrow morning—when you undoubtedly plan to show up to your brother’s house again, begging to be let in—wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I suggest. “I’ve not seen anyone in Red Bridge waste a good cup of CAFFEINE coffee before.
So you’d have to at least set it down to get hit. ” I shrug. “But hey, you do you.”
“Yeah,” Logan says, considering me a little more closely. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. Thanks.”
I lift my shoulders and take the last pull from my soda, rubbing at the beading water on the glass.
“And what about you?” Logan asks. “What’s your deal? Why’s Bennett so quick to give you shit? He seemed real fucking pissed over the idea of you and Breezy being a thing.”
I lick my teeth, considering how much I’m willing to say. “I guess most people in town don’t take the sheep farmer too seriously.”
“Yeah. But it’s more than that. I don’t know… Seems like maybe you don’t take yourself very seriously either.”
“What’s the point?” I contend. “Why shouldn’t I just take shit one day at a time? Why should any of it have to be serious?”
Logan squints. “Because sometimes shit is serious. Sometimes life is fucking serious. People die.”
I purse my lips. “Yeah, I’m aware.”
I am more than aware that people die. So fucking aware I definitely should’ve switched to liquor.
Done with the conversation, I shove off my stool, dig in my pocket, and toss a ten-dollar bill on the bar for Marty. He nods at me, and I turn to leave without saying goodbye.
Logan doesn’t push it, letting me walk away without calling after me, and I’m glad because I sure would’ve hated to aggravate my sore hand again.
Cold air punches me in the throat and burns its way into my chest as I crunch across the gravel parking lot of The Country Club and climb into the single cab of my truck. I can see my breath in front of me—ragged and scattered and messy—and it’s all I can do not to get caught up in old wounds.
The first person I feel like calling or texting or going to is Breezy. But it’s no surprise. I’m still worried about her. And after having a long-ass, unplanned conversation with her brother, I can’t stop myself from sending her a quick text.
Me: Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. Hope you’re okay. Hope you’re getting the rest you need. And hope you know I’m here. I’m always here.
I stare down at the phone for a long moment. A part of me hoping to see bouncing text bubbles indicating she’s answering me. A part of me hoping she’ll help drown out the ghosts that are threatening to suffocate me.
But when nothing comes, I set my phone into the cupholder and crank the engine of my truck.
With a shake of my head, I grab the gearshift and pull it down into drive and aim toward home.
The farm and the sheep will be waiting.
And heading toward them is a hell of a lot better than getting sucked back into the past.