22. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Maeve
I will never drink. Ever. Again.
Most likely a lie, but in this moment—hands cradling my head to stop it dropping into the chilli con carne Mrs. Mae's made—I mean it with every fibre of my being.
The smell alone is making me feel worse.
Not because it's bad. I think Mrs Mae is incapable of making a bad meal.
But because I haven't been able to stomach anything but water all day.
I haven’t even moved from bed, hiding away from everyone after I texted Colt that I felt like microwaved shit. I needed space today away from Cowboy Batman. Cowboy Dickhead. Cowboy Twatface. Whatever you want to call him.
Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, whether it’s some weird friendship or at least a mutually respectful working relationship, he goes and fucks it up. The anger that continues to simmer from how he spoke to me just makes the tequila-fuelled headache worse.
The bowl I’d been staring at for ten minutes disappears, replaced by two slices of plain toast, two painkillers, and a glass of water.
“Get those down at least, sweetie. You need to eat something.”
I lift my heavy head and meet Mrs. Mae’s kind smile. I force a weak smile, hoping it passes for gratitude, before swallowing the tablets, then picking up the toast.
Just as there's hope of feeling better, he walks in.
Without a second thought, I push my chair away from the table. The screech of it scraping against the floor adds to my irritation. I announce, to no one in particular, that I'm going to call Iris.
Smooth, Maeve. Not obvious at all. Well, maybe not to everyone else, but Wade would definitely catch on.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do. So now, I’m going to call Iris. I need to talk this out with someone who’ll tell me straight if I’m being an overdramatic cow. And that person is always Iris Stone.
I barely make it back to my room before I’m hitting the call button. Her face lights up on my phone screen in seconds. “Girl, you look rough as fuck.”
“Hello to you too,” I groan, flopping onto my bed.
“Yeah, yeah. Hello. What do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
Before I deep dive into the main shit show that has contributed to my mood, I revise how I came to look “rough as fuck” and telling her how I got shit-faced drunk last night.
Mentioning that I invited Colt’s ex-girlfriend to hang out with us, without his permission, which I will need to apologise for, and how the rest of the night was an absolute blur until I fell asleep on Colt’s shoulder.
Iris raises her eyebrows, suggesting that it meant something. I correct her instantly, “No, not like that. I was just so drunk. But now I’m worried he might read into it.”
“Babe, you were drunk. I’m sure he knows that.”
“I know, but still.” I rub my eyes, the brightness of the phone hurting my head. “Anyway, that’s just one of the problems causing me to spiral.”
“The other one being?” Iris props me up on something, she is positioning herself cross-legged on her bed, hands free, readying herself for a longer story.
“Wade.”
“Ooh yeah, cowboy daddy! Tell me more.”
She has me rolling my eyes, but I tell her everything.
From how I thought there was something like a friendship forming during our mornings together.
The little gestures. The trust he has in me with ranch tasks.
But then, how he does a 180 whenever I ask more about him, despite me opening up.
I resent the way he spoke to me, like I was some child who didn’t know when to stop.
“Ok, yeah, girl. Maybe you were meddling a bit, but he had no right to shout at you like that.” I nod in agreement, because I admit I probably shouldn’t be meddling in Wade and Colt’s relationship, but they are lucky to have each other in their lives.
It breaks me seeing how they could patch up whatever happened when Colt was a young boy and focus on the now.
Iris continues, “I find it weird how shitty he gets, though. First the room thing, and now this. It’s a bit over the top even for someone as grouchy as him. Clearly, there is something he doesn’t want Colt, or anyone else, to know. Only explanation.”
My mind has been screaming the same since I arrived.
“Maeve, you need to snoop.”
“What? No—”
“Yes. You done it before, just because now you are looking for something, don't start acting innocent on me.” Iris now picks up her phone again, her face larger on my screen so I have a close-up view of her scary death stare.
“Fine, later. I will see what I can find in that room again. Hopefully won’t get caught this time.”
“Excellent! Keep me updated babe, The Cowboy Chronicles is taking a different turn, but I am here for it.” She laughs, and I can’t help but join her.
She instantly makes me feel better. I tell her as much, say goodbye, and repeat how much I miss her.
Then, I wait for the house to be quiet, ready for me to go snooping.
*
The house is like a ghost town by 10 p.m., all quiet and dark.
Only the slight whistle of the breeze can be heard, with the occasional echoes of animals outside.
It’s actually quite eerie when you think about it, but my brain hasn't allowed me to think about anything except Wade, and whatever it is he's keeping so close to him that he's even pushing his own son out of the picture.
Different things spiral through my head—affair, secret life, drug addiction.
Colt’s the reason I should care about this so much.
He’s the one being pushed aside by his own dad, the one who deserves answers about his own family.
Because out of all the theories my brain has conjured, that’s what I think this is about, the argument his parents had all those years ago.
The one Colt remembers but doesn’t know the full context of why his mum left.
Whatever it is, Colt needs to know. But also, if I am being completely honest with myself, I want to understand Wade better.
The man who, within seconds of seeing him, had my whole body responding—neurons firing, heat pooling between my thighs, and my mind racing.
Men don't usually affect me like this. I'm stone when it comes to blokes. But him? He's cracked right through.
I need to know what he’s hiding. Maybe finding out his dirty secret will squash this little crush, and I can focus on the real reason I came here.
Before I can even talk myself out of it, I'm up and out of bed, pulling my baggy hoodie over my head and slipping on my fluffy slippers. I creep down the stairs slowly, making sure I'm actually alone in the house. Learning from my previous mistakes.
I move around the ground floor for a few minutes, making noise. An attempt to lure anyone who's here out. But no one appears.
The coast is clear.
My hand wraps around the gold door handle. It's cold against my palm. I twist, and it creaks open, revealing the homely little room behind it. My eyes scan the room, strategically planning the best course of action for my snooping session.
This room is full of so much love and family memories.
Pictures of generations of the Carter family line the walls unevenly.
There are stacks of what appear to be photo albums on the lower shelves near the far alcove.
Those are the pictures I looked at the last time I was here.
Then there’s the trophies and the belt buckles.
All showcasing Wade’s talent as a bull rider.
Many of which are accompanied by pictures of his wins, and my heart warms at how happy and content he is in those pictures. A ghost of the man he is today.
I run my finger along one of his belts, taking in every curve and dip within the design.
There are around seven in total, all in date order.
From December 1993 to August 1999. This must be Wade’s final win.
I run my finger along the engraved 1999 of the belt buckle, deep in thought about how Wade didn’t want this to be his last win.
He claims he gave it all up to look after Colt, but then, why push Colt away?
Resentment for taking away his dream? Surely not.
There is love there for Colt, just very hidden.
And that’s what irks me the most, I see it—mainly because I have done nothing but obsess over Wade like some sort of stalker—but he does those little things for Colt that no one would notice unless they were really watching Wade.
I mean, I’m here because he took a chance on Colt’s idea despite not wanting it.
A retro TV, the one that has the built-in VHS player, sits on a beautiful vintage pine cabinet in the centre of a bay window area.
It has a darkened glass door hiding the storage area, showing a subtle glimpse of tapes lined in a row on the shelves.
A closer look reveals handwritten titles on each of them.
Colt’s first steps. Carter Wedding #2 - Wade & Ruby.
Carter Christmas ’01. There are lots, all core memories of what a very loving family was clearly.
I wonder if my mum ever took videos of our core moments.
Let’s be real, she was probably too high or too occupied.
As much as I wanted to sit and watch some of these tapes, I decided against it.
It felt too personal. Too much like an invasion of privacy.
And I know what I am doing now is also that, but watching the tapes feels like a line I don’t really want to cross.
I shift my focus to the photos. Photos are good, and there are tonnes of photo albums I can flick through.
I position myself, cross-legged on the floor, close to the photo albums. Leaning against the bare brick wall next to the tall cabinet, I can feel the coldness of the wall through my hoodie, but I settle quickly.
I drop the first album on my lap, opening it up to the first page.
Someone took time and care to make these albums, as most of them are accompanied with dates and small paragraphs about each photo.
They weren’t in any particular order, so someone must have done this later on and not when they were taken.
Making the effort to be more intentional makes these more special.
A knock on the door startles me, just as I was about to turn the page.
Fuck’s sake, I am not good at snooping.
Please don’t let it be Wade.
The door creaks open, and I let out the breath I had been holding when I see Colt’s golden locks and kind smile.
“Hey darlin’, what you doing in here?” he asks, not a trace of annoyance in his voice. I know I am safe, that he isn’t mad at me.
“I erm—” My brain cannot conjure up a reason quick enough, so I just say the truth, “I was snooping,” trying to pass it jokingly. “I couldn’t sleep and got curious. I am living in a house no one lives in, what do you think a girl is going to do?”
Colt smirks, then joins me on the floor. His knee touches mine as he crosses his legs, taking the album from my lap.
“You mind if I join you? Not looked at these in a while.”
Concerned that this could be a bad idea for him. “Erm, we don’t have to if you—”
“Maeve, it’s fine. It will be nice to show you some good times in the house, before it became an overachieving staff room.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, then nod.
We sat side by side, Colt flicking through albums, telling me stories linked to the photos he could remember.
One of a younger him on Wade’s shoulders, lots of horse-riding pictures—of course.
Him on Santa Claus's lap, which he says it is very obviously his grandfather. His face beams going through all these, and it warms my heart. This boy deserves to be happy. He is too kind. A ray of sunshine. A rarity when it comes to the men I’ve met.
“Oh, here’s my mother. Look how beautiful she is!
Clearly got my looks from her.” he laughs.
And he does. Because while he doesn’t look anything like his father, he looks everything like Ruby.
Her wavy blonde hair is long in most of these pictures.
The effortless, natural kind, not the ones you have to use the crimper for an hour to get.
I’m jealous of this given my pin-straight hair that just about flicks at the end when I make the effort.
Her face is covered in little freckles, and though paler than Wade and Colt, she still has a warm tone to her skin that just makes her look like she has this healthy glow. Truly beautiful.
We flick through more pictures of Ruby. Some while she was pregnant with Colt, often repping that cute country dungaree look.
There were some candid ones of her with Wade in the mix, before things clearly went sour because they look so in love.
Colt looks at the photos of his mother with such love, but also a look of longing. Clearly missing her.
He points to one of the pictures, Wade is standing behind Ruby, hands wrapped around her, landing on her small, bumped stomach.
“Look at how happy they look,” Colt’s voice is low and soft. I lean against him slightly, hoping it is a small bit of comfort. My eyes are still low, lingering on the page he is open on. And that’s when I see it. Instantly, my blood boils.
“I think I should go to bed,” I say to Colt. Quickly getting up to my feet.
Colt looks confused.
“We got to get up early tomorrow, and I am sleepy. This was nice, Colt. Thank you for sharing these with me.”
Now reassured, he puts away the album and joins me on his feet.
“You’re welcome. I should also get going.” He stands in front of me, placing a kiss on top of my head, causing me to still. “Thank you for listening to my stories. It was nice to remember the good times. Night, Maeve.”
I get halfway up the stairs as I hear the rattle of Colt’s truck fading into the distance.
I spin on my heel, heading back down the stairs, gunning for my coat.
The night air burns my face as I storm toward the truck Wade had given me access to.
Not that I’ve used it, still too scared to drive on the other side of the road, but a five-minute drive on a clear ranch road should be a piece of cake.
Nothing will stop me from heading to Wade’s. Because I have figured out his secret, and boy, I am going to rip him a new one for it.