26. Hannah
26
HANNAH
Essie:
Cats are all still alive, although I can’t guarantee that Brax won’t try to smuggle one home in his pocket.
Janie:
Story time at after care went pretty well. I think we’re going to make it a regular thing. All the kids missed you!
James:
Quarantine stall is ready for Hurricane Red. And Blaine is back from college for the summer. Tell Zack Blaine is hoping Zack will let him work with Red.
Chloe:
Exactly how many horses did you save, Hannah?
Hannah:
A lot of horses, Chloe. A LOT.
I took my coffee to the porch, where I knew Jeremiah would be waiting for me. It was our tradition to have coffee together on the last day of my visit. This visit was different, in that it was unplanned, short, and included Zack, but I figured the traditional would hold true. And I was right, because Jeremiah was already there in an Adirondack chair, a steaming mug of coffee cradled between his palms.
“Hey.” I took the chair next to him and brought my knees up to my chest for warmth. Mornings never stopped being chilly here. We were too far north, and too high in elevation. But I didn’t mind it. That was what warm sweaters and hot coffee were for.
“You’re coming back for Christmas, right? Because this doesn’t count as a real visit.” The words were gruff, but I knew that was because he missed me.
“I’ll be back,” I promised. Even with the days I had just taken to rescue Hurricane Red, I had plenty more vacation time. The library had a generous leave policy, but because we were so short staffed I tended not to use it, except for one week to visit Jeremiah every Christmas.
“Anytime you want to move home, you know you can. I hear the Fremont County Library is hiring.”
“Fremont is a full hour from here, at least.”
“I’m just saying.”
I shook my head and sipped my coffee. I wasn’t going to trade my twenty-minute walk for an hour drive, each way. Even more than that, Aspen Springs was home now. I had built a life there that brought me deep satisfaction and joy. I truly loved it. The town, the people, my friends.
Zack , a voice sighed dreamily in my brain.
But that was just the orgasms talking. I had worked too hard to build myself into an independent woman who didn’t need a man for salvation to start making decisions about where I wanted to live based on his location. I was a whole, worthwhile person all on my own, and I intended to stay that way.
As though he could see in which direction my thoughts turned, Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “He’s all right.”
“Who?” I said like I didn’t know.
“That cowboy who follows you around, looking at you like you summon the sun every morning.”
I scoffed. “He does not.”
“You look at him kind of the same way.” He studied me for a moment. “This one is different. Those other boys you dated, they weren’t right for you.” In case I hadn’t already been aware of his opinion of them, he put the slightest emphasis on boys to drive his point home.
I rolled my eyes. “They were fine.”
On paper, they were perfect for me. Academically minded, somewhat timid in mannerisms, generically courteous and kind.
“Fine.” He shook his head. “That’s what you said about them at the time, too. They were all fine. The truth is they bored you. You liked them because you thought you were supposed to like them. They were good for you. Like broccoli.”
All right, that analogy was a little more apt than I’d like. Maybe I had been a little bored. Certainly, not a single one of them would ever had a race against the clock to get dressed. And despite all of them being bookish, none of them would have imagined Jimmy using his wife’s favorite spatula as a toilet plunger, either.
It was the same thing I had realized a month ago. I liked Zack. I liked him in a way that went beyond mere compatibility on paper. We had nothing in common but were somehow in perfect sync.
But I still felt obligated to point out, “There’s nothing wrong with broccoli. It’s healthy.”
“Sure,” Jeremiah allowed. “But too much of it gives you gas.”
I made a face. “Jay! That is disgusting.”
He smirked and took a sip of coffee, his gaze moving to the distant mountains. “You deserve more than broccoli, Hannah,” he said gruffly. “That’s all I’m saying. You deserve chocolate.”
That same song was on the radio again. It had followed us from Colorado, to Utah, to Montana, to Wyoming, and now it was playing again as we crossed the border into Colorado. We had come full circle. I had the feeling five years from now—ten years, twenty years—if I randomly heard this song, it would bring me right back here, to this road trip. To Zack.
Five days. It felt like a lifetime, and now it was ending in the blink of an eye.
I had taken the first shift driving, and now Zack was behind the wheel for the final stretch. I was feeling restless. We were so close to home, comparatively, but we still had a couple hours to go. I read a chapter on my e-book, and then, since this stretch of highway was smooth and straight, I took out my embroidery. But after a while, even that failed to keep my focus.
What I really wanted to do was talk to Zack about something that had been eating at the back of my brain ever since he took me to the rodeo. I had the feeling neither of us was going to enjoy this conversation, but I couldn’t ignore the shadows I saw in him. Anyway, what better time to talk about it than now, during a long drive where no one could interrupt us and he couldn’t run away from me?
“I’ve been thinking.” I turned down the volume so he could hear me. “When you make that appointment to see a massage therapist, maybe you could also make an appointment for a mental health therapist.”
His hands tensed on the steering wheel, and then slowly he flexed them and laughed under his breath. “You saying I’m crazy, duchess? I guess I know a few people who would agree with that assessment.”
That laugh didn’t fool me for a second. Lord, grant me patience to deal with stupid patriarchal ideals of manhood. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Zack,” I said, with all the patience of a saint, if I did say so myself. “At least, I don’t think you’re crazier than any other man who thinks a good time is riding a nine-hundred-pound animal whose sole mission in life is to buck you off.”
He smirked. “Don’t knock it until you try it, darlin’.”
“I will not be trying that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think you ride pretty well.” The look he gave me was heated with meaning. “But suit yourself.” He turned the radio back up.
Oh, absolutely not. He was not going to charm me out of having a difficult conversation. I cared about him too much for that.
I turned it back down and he narrowed his eyes at me.
“I saw a therapist when I left the compound,” I said. “Social services insisted on it when Jeremiah filed for guardianship of me with the court.”
“Yeah, Hannah. You grew up in a cult and were forced to marry your uncle at fourteen fucking years old. I should fucking well hope they sent you to a therapist.”
“Then you understand that therapy can be helpful.” Pushing further, I added, “Jeremiah saw a therapist regularly a few years back.” This was also more to adequately deal with my issues than his, but I didn’t volunteer that information. Jeremiah and his whole team would greatly benefit from therapy, but unfortunately they were suffering from the same nonsensical, patriarchal ideals of manhood that Zack was.
“It’s not the same thing. I had a physical accident. It’s a dangerous rodeo sport, so it’s not like I could claim it was unexpected. I didn’t lose a limb. I lost a career that I wasn’t going to be able to do much longer anyway, because eventually your body is just too old and too broken. So, really, what does it matter?”
What does it matter?
I twisted in my seat so I could fully face him, even though the only thing I could see was his profile, since his eyes remained forward to the road. “You said you never expected to make it out alive. That you didn’t want to make it out alive. But here you are, alive. That accident changed everything for you. That’s why it matters.”
His jaw tensed. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
I reeled back, stunned. “I didn’t think…” My mouth opened and shut like a fish gasping for water. “Do you think about killing yourself?” I whispered.
“Everyone thinks about it sometimes.”
“A lot of people think about it,” I said slowly. “But I don’t think that’s an argument against seeing a therapist. I think that’s an argument for an increase in mental health services.”
Zack snorted. “What’s a therapist gonna tell me, duchess? That I should be grateful I’m not dead? That there are plenty of other ways to be happy? To stop feeling sorry for myself? I already know all that. I’m trying. I should be grateful that I can still ride a horse at all, and I know there are many people who aren’t as lucky as I am. I always have a place at Lodestar. What does it matter if I can’t get excited about a lifetime of the same ranch chores every damn day? It’s an honest living.” He blew out an angry breath. “Why can’t I just be fucking grateful? Why does it have to feel so…bad?”
I stared at him, baffled. He sounded so…guilty. But he had nothing to feel guilty about. These feelings weren’t wrong . They were painful, but they were perfectly valid.
“Mom would have given anything for even one more boring day at the ranch,” he said quietly. “Just an ordinary day with her family and the horses, a day where she felt good enough to be outside with the sunshine on her face.” The lines of his throat bobbed in a swallow. “I owe it to her not to be a little bitch about my own problems. I don’t even have any fucking problems.”
Self-loathing coated his words and made my chest feel tight.
“I didn’t know her, but I doubt she would be disappointed in you for being sad,” I said carefully. “You lost something you loved and you’re grieving. And not that long ago, you lost a person you loved, and you’re still grieving that, too. That’s…that’s a lot of grief, Zack. There’s no shame in getting help to manage it.”
“You don’t understand. This is who I need to be for my family. The happy-go-lucky clown who could make them laugh when they were feeling down. And we felt down a lot when Mom was sick.”
“You weren’t the clown, Zack. You were the linchpin. You held them together because you could . But that doesn’t mean you don’t ever need help yourself.”
“Maybe,” he said, but it was clear he didn’t believe it.
I sighed. “Would it be okay if I talk to Chloe and ask her for a recommendation? She probably knows someone you can talk to.”
Zack grunted. “No, I’ll ask her myself.”
I had the feeling he was putting me off. “Promise me.”
He grunted again. I tapped his thigh, and he glanced at me. “Promise me,” I insisted.
He sighed. “I promise.”
As if to prove to me how fine he was, and how little he needed help, he kept up a stream of entertaining nonsense for the rest of the ride home.