Unstable (13 page)

“What’s so funny?” I glare, but speak evenly, for the horse’s sake…not his.

“You are, my stubborn, fascinating, Henny. You wanted that kiss, so I’m pretty pleased about that, major stride forward. But you know what’s got me as happy as I’ve been in as long as I can remember?”

“Do tell,” I train my eyes to Barley’s hoof, taking precious care since it’s been a while since I’ve done this.

“Whatcha’ doin’ over there?” he chuckles.

“What do you mean,
what am I doing
? I’m cleaning my boy’s hoof while he enjoys his treat.”

“Exactly. Welcome back, Darlin’. I missed you.”

Well, I…my jaw drops and then, I grin until my cheeks ache.

I’ll be damned…Gatlin’s gonna have to split the therapist’s money with Keaton Fucking Cash.

What a day.

THE HORSES ARE TAKEN
care of, fed and out roaming free with tended hooves.

I helped with that.

The cows are moved, grazing in the back field.

I did almost all of that.

And the mortgage is paid for the month.

I was cordial to Merrick for doing that…with what is technically, now my money.

As I sit here, out on the roof, I feel…something besides disgusted with myself—and I can’t remember the last time that happened.

And yet, I’m out here for a reason. Because no sooner than I let myself off the hook, even just a tad, or feel an ounce of pride, take a deep breath, start to relax…it comes back—the punishing, unbearable weight of crushing guilt.

I need to talk to them, but can they hear me if I do that here, or do I need to be at their graves? God can hear your prayers wherever you are, and they’re with him, so maybe here is fine?

I take another swig of wine, yep, straight from the bottle I found in the fridge, and swallow down my cowardice along with the bitter liquid.

“M…Mom,” I whisper, broken and croaky, the word still so foreign on my lips. “I need to talk to you. I hope you can hear me. Would’ve been easier to pick up the phone when I was sure you could, but, well, we both know I didn’t do that. So…I’m trying this.”

A crackle of lightning jags through the dark sky in the distance—I take it as a sign.

“So you
can
hear me. And I see you’re mad I’m on the roof.” A tiny, pained laugh escapes. “I’m drinking your wine too. Guess you won’t,” I gulp over a sob, “need me to replace it. Doesn’t taste real good anyway, don’t worry.”

Bourbon starts barking from below, maybe at Gatlin, who I’m not ready to talk to yet, maybe at the storm coming, who knows. “Bourbon, hush,” I yell at him.

“Sorry about that, I’m back,” I say to the sky, to my mother, then take another swig. “Mom, Im so sorry I shut you out. I…I was just so ashamed, of what I’d done, who I became inside. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself. I thought having me around would just remind you, hurt you more. But, you left me this farm,” now I cry, full, heavy tears flowing down my face, that I don’t wipe away, “so you must’ve wanted me here. Does that mean you forgive me, for everything, or was I just the only option? I was dumb, blind, and selfish, hurting you more with every letter I ignored, every phone call I didn’t answer. God, who turns their back on their own mother?”

I’m screaming now, smacking myself in the forehead, wailing through the tears. The sky opens up and rain starts pelting down on me, but I welcome it—a cleansing of sorts—confessing my sins and hopefully having them washed away.

“I love you. I love you so much, and I miss you. And now it’s too late to ever hug you again. I’ll never hear your voice again. Your laugh. Please, forgive me. Please, show me you really do still love me, I need to know. If you want me to stay and run this place, I will, for you. But show me, Mama. I’m lost, I need an answer.”

I lie on my back, soaked to the bone, wiping the rain and tears off my face and wait for her reply. I can hear Bourbon barking like crazy, but that’s not it. No flashes of lightning. Nothing.

And then…

“Do you
want
me to tan your ass? ‘Cause I’m damn sure itching to. What the hell are you thinking?”

Keaton Fucking Cash.

Yelling at me from the window.

This
cannot possibly
be her idea of “a sign.”

“Leave me alone, Eatin’ Ass! I’m talking to my mom! And you’re breaking and entering! How’d you even know I was out here, stalker?”

“
And
you’re drunk? Oh, Henny,” he snarls, “you’re severely testing me right now, Darlin’. Don’t move, I’m coming to get you.”

“What?” I sit up, my head spinning. “You’re not touching me! Go home, Keaton, or I will spike this bottle off your head.”

“You just try it. Your aim sucks, and there
will
be repercussions, that I’ll thoroughly enjoy, so let ‘er fly. Damn, this is a tight fit,” he grumbles, twisting his way through the window.

“I said leave me alone!” I start to stand, my anger matching the rumbling thunder.

“Sit. Down. Henley. You’re gonna fucking fall. I’ll come to you,” he barks his demand, wasting no time making his way toward me.

“No!” I crab-crawl backward, away from him. “I told you, I’m finally talking to my mom! Please leave me to it.”

“You’re drunk, on a roof in the middle of a Goddamn storm! Now stop fucking moving! I’m serious, Henley. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“But…I…” my anger instantly dissolves into drunken sorrow. “I’m waiting on her sign. To tell me she loves me and wants me to stay.”

“Oh, Hen,” his voice gentles. “
I’m
your sign. She sent me, to save you from yourself. Now, give me your hand.”

I hadn’t realized, I’d stopped moving and he caught me.

“She wouldn’t send you. I hate you, remember?”

He laughs. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, Darlin’. But you’re the only one buying it. Get in front of me,” he instructs as he maneuvers us around carefully, “and crawl to the window. Don’t try to stand, it’s too slick up here. I’m right behind ya.”

“Fine,” I snipe, giving in because he won’t give up until I do. “But you are
not
my sign.”

I KNOW HE’S WAITING
right outside the door,
pain in my ass,
which is why I’m still hiding out in here. He brought me dry clothes, including panties which he made sure to lay right on the top of the pile so I’d have no doubt he saw them,
bastard
, and somehow bossed me into taking a hot bath…and now I’m done, ready to go back downstairs and sleep on the couch, but he’s looming out there.

I can feel it.

And I’m also now completely sober, which sucks. Seems wine has no staying power and the quick buzz it delivers morphs even faster into just a dull headache.

“I’m not leavin’ ‘til you come out, Hen,” he taunts through the door.

“Keaton, please.” I rest my forehead against the wooden barrier, my voice wrung with emotional exhaustion. “I just want to go to bed. I’m tired. Go home.”

“Then come out and go to bed. As soon as I see you do that, I’ll leave.”

“I’m sober now. I won’t go out on the roof again. Promise. So just go,” I argue back. “And just so you know, this is not a negotiation, Keaton. This is a bitchtatorship. I’m the bitch,
especially in my own house
, and I’m demanding you leave!”

“You remember that time when you stepped in the fence post hole and damn near broke your ankle, twisted it real bad?”

Of course I remember, it hurt like hell and I felt like a clumsy fool…and he’s bringing it up now because…?

“Tried to act like you were fine, got up and started hobbling home by yourself,” he continues, and I can practically
hear
him shaking his head and smirking. “What’d I do about that, Hen?”

I can’t hold my tongue any longer, the memory infuriating me as much now as when it happened. “Acted like a damn barbarian! Tossing me over your shoulder and carrying me home!” I yell through the door. “Do you
see
how long you’ve been a pain in my ass, Keaton? Why do you get off on torturing me? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

“Ha!” He cuts out a sharp laugh. “Henley Calvert, I could ask you the same damn question. In fact, I
am
askin’. What’d
I
ever do to
you
, besides always look out for you and treat you like a queen?”

That’s it. Enough beating around the bush. He’s obviously as sharp as a butter knife, so I’m gonna have to spell it out for him—once and for all.

I fling open the door and meet his wide, shocked eyes with my own, slitted in anger.

“It’s never been about
me
, Keaton! What you did, or didn’t, do to
me
!” I slap my own chest. “It was about her. Always. Her. And if you can honestly stand there and look me in the face and try to pretend you didn’t already know that, then I…well…I don’t even know how you’re able to walk and talk at the same time.”

His ice blue eyes pop stark and vibrant in comparison to his darkened expression as he prowls closer. When my back hits the wall in counter retreat, he looks down at me, his gnarled words hot on my face.

“Just because you never put yourself first, doesn’t mean nobody else did. Can’t help what I feel, Hen, what I’ve always felt. Doesn’t make me a bad person. I
never
, not once, was blatantly inconsiderate of her or her feelings.”

I cross my arms over my chest, a blockade between us, and arch a brow. “Oh really? What about the Sadie Hawkins dance? Do you know how nervous she was to ask you, an upperclassman? And you said no, you had plans. What
plans
were so important that you couldn’t go with her, huh?”

“You.”

His instant, simple answer confuses me more than anything he’s ever said. My face must tell him exactly that, because he adds, “My plan has always been you, Henley.”

“WHAT? YOU’RE INSANE.” I
wave off his crazy talk and amble down the stairs, done with this entire day.

He’s right behind me in a nanosecond, his big, booted footsteps far from subtle, unwilling to give up. “Don’t walk away from me. I
finally
got ya talkin’. By God, we’re finishing this conversation, if I have to tie you down!”