Unstable (16 page)

My head drops and the dread of knowing what’s coming leaves me in a loud breath. “Sure,” I say monotonously.

“You and Keaton, more than friends? Or maybe in the past?”

“No and no.” I fill the sink with bubbles and throw him a towel. “You dry. And why do you ask?”

“Because there’s something there. He wanted to kill me, for being alone with you. And you try to act like he annoys you, but that’s not annoyance in your eyes when you look at him, Henley. There’s this palpable thing between you two, and honestly, I felt like an intruder.”

I hand him a plate and dunk another one. “Keaton is very…alpha. He wants to be
the man
in any room, and honestly, he always has been. He was the best at everything while we were growing up. Quarterback, most popular guy in school, rodeo champ in Calf Roping and Bull Riding, rich, good looking. He’s cocky and always will be.”

“And yet, you enter a room and he humbles, because he thinks
you’re
the best thing in the world.”

My head snaps his way and I drop the plate. “What? You’re reading way too much into pure machoism.”

“Am I?” His voice holds a lilt of defiance.

“You got all that from the five minutes you spent with him?”

“No, I got all that in the first five seconds after you two walked in the room,” he laughs. “After that, I figured out he’s a good guy, Henley. He worships you and would always put you first, take care of you with everything he had. Why do you pretend to hate him?”

Yes, it’s been awhile since I’ve been “in the game,” or whatever the hell you want to call it, but I don’t recall guys building up other guys to girls ever being “a thing.”

“What’s your angle, Gatlin?” I bite out the accusation.

He rubs his hand over his mouth, my guess to hide his smile. “I don’t have one. You’re a good girl, Henley. You need to realize that and embrace life. That guy? He’d make you happy.”

“But what about—”

“Hadley?” he speaks it for me and I nod. “Come on, leave the dishes and let’s go and sit on the couch so you can tell me about that. We’ll figure it out. Something tells me it’s more you browbeating yourself than an actual issue.”

“WHERE DO YOU WANT
me to start?” I flop onto the couch, deflated and already slinging insults at myself in my head. But astonishingly, I’ve decided I’m gonna tell him—everything he can stand to listen to. Because not only does Gatlin give off an irrefutable vibe that you really can tell him anything, but if I don’t unload soon, I’m going to self-combust.

“You were identical twins, right?” He sits down, leaving a comfortable gap between us.

“Not according to Keaton,” I snicker ever so slightly, and wince in guilt just as quickly. “But yes, we were.”

“And she passed away, young?”

“Damn,” I snarl at him. “Go right for the gullet much?”

His expression immediately becomes somber. “I apologize. Never mind, let’s—”

“Oh no, you can’t reel that shit back in,” I say loud and tartly. “It’s out there now. Yes, she died when we were seventeen. I killed her,” I confess in eerie calmness.

“Then why aren’t you in jail?”

I cut a razor-sharp glare at him. “You gonna try to be a tough-love therapist, tossing out self-discovery questions or let me talk?”

He waves a hand out in a “go ahead” gesture and then acts like he’s locking his lips.

“My sister rode in the Grand Entry at the rodeos. She set the flag pivots, her and Whiskey. Do you know what that is?”

He nods, lips a tight, sealed line.

“Well then you must know, there are horses and riders flying in and out from both directions. They’d done it a hundred times before, and I always stayed in the background, helping her get ready. Checking her mount.” I inhale sharply, the scene flashing in my mind just as it has so many times before, retracing my steps and scrutinizing down to the exact moment where I went wrong.

“She got onto me that night, said I was overdoing it with all my fussing and spooking Whiskey with my nerves. But something just felt “off.” She wouldn’t listen and shooed me away to find a seat. Not that I’m blaming her, at all,” I clarify in a weak whisper. “So, I didn’t do one final check, and the girth on the saddle must’ve been loose, that’s the only explanation.”

I can't take it and jump up, pacing the room like a caged jungle cat. My hands tug at my hair and my chest aches. A chill zings up my spine and I shiver, lowering my arms to wrap them around myself.

“The saddle must’ve slipped to the side and when she tried to overcorrect, Whiskey veered out of his lane, colliding head on with another horse and rider.”

I feel myself start to fall, but am helped gently to my knees instead.

“The other rider had some broken bones and a concussion, but Hadley,” the horror bubbles up in my throat, and though I swallow several times, it won’t go down, so I choke out the rest past it, “Hadley’s head and neck injuries were too severe. They couldn’t save her.”

“Sshh. It wasn’t your fault, Henley. Accidents happen. Freak accidents, even when every precaution is taken. It wasn’t your fault. Tell me, if it had been you, would you have blamed Hadley?”

I snap my head up and speak clear and adamantly now. “God no, of course not. She was the other half of my soul. She’d never, ever put me in danger. She’d have died for me. And I her.”

He says nothing, letting his arched brows and communicative eyes do it for him. He waits, for me to say it…but I won’t, and I don’t. So he gives in with a loud sigh and speaks. “Henley, twins share a connection that only they can truly understand. If you are so steadfast in your belief in Hadley, why’s it so inconceivable to you that she felt the exact same way about you?”

“Both the horses had to be put down.”

“Okay. That’s awful, but I asked you a question, about you and your sister.” He keeps his voice even and void of any emotional maneuvers.

I again ignore his question; he and I both know the answer he wants to hear, I’m just not sure I can truly acknowledge it yet…although I know he’s right. My sister had a heart of gold. Instead, I say what I’m comfortable doing so, errant thoughts spilling out.

“I didn’t deal with it very well, so my mom sent me to an impatient therapy center in California. I never talked to her again, I couldn’t. I took her daughter away from her.”

“The only daughter you
took
from her was you.”

“You know, the counselors at the Healing House weren’t quite as brutally blunt as you are,” I snip.

“And you stayed gone, sequestered in your own inflated, misplaced blame, for eight years. Forgive me if I’m calling bullshit on their effectiveness. Henley, you’re not God, or some witch. You don’t have the power you give yourself responsibility for. Things happen. By no one’s doing or fault. Is it my fault my dad died, ‘cause I didn’t get there sooner?”

“No,” I mutter.

“And Hadley’s death isn’t your cross to bear anymore, either. You can be sad. You can be mad. But the fucking pity party has got to end.” He’s talking louder, a bit like a scolding, and it’s damn sure effective. “Nobody likes a martyr, so knock it off.”

“Please tell me you never plan to be a counselor of any sort, or volunteer as a crisis help-line operator,” I deadpan. “I’m not sure you have the ‘manner’ they’re looking for.”

“No worries. I’ve been saving up, gonna have my own farm one of these days.” He grins and I send up a silent prayer that his dream comes true.

“So now you know it all, except the part about Keaton,” I groan. “Oh, and my weird dream.”

“I’m still listening, but let’s move back to the couch. This floor is killing my knees.”

I laugh, an odd reaction after everything we just discussed and go and sit on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me.

I tell him all about Keaton, from the first time I met him, to today. About Hadley’s crush and what Keaton had to say about that. And finally about my dream…and the diary.

“Wow,” he lets out a low whistle, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I knew he wanted you, but damn. If he said they talked about it, I believe him, Henley.”

“You
believe
him? You don’t even know him,” I scoff.

“Call me a people reader,” he shrugs, “but the man’s not a liar.”

“But why wouldn’t
she
have told me?” I counter right back.

“Would you have told her?” He does that knowing grin thing again.

I don’t like this game. I’m getting my ass kicked at it.

“Not outright, no.” I let out a long exhale of defeat. “She had a boyfriend—Justin. He’d been crazy about her since she took him out in dodgeball in the seventh grade. I dropped hints, too many times to count, but I didn’t want her to pick him because she knew she could have him. I wanted her to discover for herself that she wanted him just because. Make sense?”

“Perfect sense. And once again, I challenge you to remember back, tune into your twin intuition. Did she ever drop hints to you about Keaton?” He puts no effort in schooling the satisfaction in his question.

I close my eyes and hone in on the darkest recesses of my mind, the place I keep everything most deeply buried.

“You missed a great party tonight, sister of mine. Keaton whooped this dumb bastard’s ass.”

“Whose?”

“It was dark, a big crowd. You should ask him yourself.”

I didn’t ever ask him. But…
no
, surely not.

And then another one hits.

“Keaton sure is lookin’ fine in that uniform tonight, isn’t he? Not as hot as my man, but damn close. Poor Merrick, I wonder if he’ll even get off the bench tonight.”

Oh. My. God.

“Gatlin?”

He pops up, already walking that way. “Yep, I’ll go get the diary for you.”

While I’m waiting, convincing myself this isn’t a gross invasion of privacy and she really did give me permission—in a dream—my phone pings from somewhere in the room with a text.

Hmm, I wonder who it is…except, not at all, and I wipe my clammy hands on my pants as I go and search it down.

Irresistible Neighbor: You okay? Wonderin’ why you haven’t called yet.

Me: Because I’m about to lower myself to abhorrent standards and decide if you’re telling me the truth before I talk to you. Also, I’m changing your name in my phone as we speak, but you did spell it right. Kudos!

Cocky PITA: I have no idea wtf you were saying before, but I’ll wait up for the verdict. And what’d you change it to?

Me: Guess you’ll have to hijack my phone again and see, if, after my reconnaissance mission, I let you near me.

Cocky PITA: Again, no clue what you mean, but I’m not worried.

Me: Ttyl,
maybe
.

Honestly, I’m not worried either. Eatin’ Ass is a lot of things, but somehow, omnipotent Gatlin is right, a liar isn’t one of them. I’m more concerned about what kind of deplorable human being it makes me to read my deceased twin’s diary.

My only excuse a dream.

“Got it,” Gatlin comes bounding into the room, holding the diary in the air. I quickly silence my phone and shove it under the couch cushion.

“You’ve been so brutally honest all night,” I chew on the side of my thumb, “don’t patsy me now. Do you really think it’s okay for me to do this? Read her private thoughts?”

“Let me ask you this, did you know where she hid her diary before?”

“No,” I answered immediately and completely truthfully.

“Then yes, I believe in powers beyond, and it’s no coincidence you suddenly knew right where to look. She really did tell you to read it, Henley. There’s something she wants you to know.”

He hands it to me and I smooth my fingertips over the soft, worn leather, pretending I can feel her spirit by doing so. “Gatlin, thank you for everything tonight, but, I’d like to be alone for this.”

“Of course. I’ll lock the door behind me. Goodnight, Henley.”

“Night,” I speak to the air, staring at the diary in my hand. “Hadley,” I talk to the air once again, “if you don’t want me to do this, send me a sign right now.”