Unstable (19 page)

I figure my eyes must be bulging from my disgust. “Yeah, my God. I had no idea he had such disrespect for women in general.
Snatch?
That’s repulsive.”

“Oh, Henny.” His shaking head drops for a moment, then he peers back up at me, impending doom all over his face. “You’re right, he’s a vile piece of shit, but I already knew that. Where he fucked up on a ‘bout to get yourself hurt level,’ was when he called you his girlfriend. See, that answered my question—that you guys
hadn’t
broken up, making what he was doing
not
the fuck okay with me. So I beat the hell out of him, left him whining and rolling around on the ground clutching his balls, and went home.”

He stands, cool as a cucumber, and asks, “Do you mind if I grab something to drink?”

I jump up too, my jaw somewhere on the floor, so I have to proverbially pick it up to answer him. “Sure, I’ll get you something, but you
do
know that’s not the end of that story, right?”

“No, it was.” He starts casually strolling toward the kitchen and I catch up, just…dumbfounded, scrounging up the right words to make him understand what a
terrible
storyteller he is.

I take the pitcher out of the fridge and fill a glass with ice, hoping he clues in…but that hasn’t happened by the time I set his tea in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says, with another, unsaid layer to it and a silent request in his gaze that lingers on mine.

And I finally get it.

He absolutely will not be telling me the rest of the story unless I force him to. He’s begging me to make sure I really want to know before I cause him to take the chance of hurting me.

I finally get something else too—undoubtedly. Keaton Cash truly cares about me. And he always has.

Thinking about it, almost every fight we’ve ever had was instigated by
me
, because he was looking out for me, and I wanted him looking out for her. Or he was flirting with me, and I wanted him flirting with her. Truth be told, I can’t think of a single time in my life when Keaton has ever been mean to me in any way, shape, or form.

Unless you count the first time we met, which I don’t, because he was just a ten-year-old boy repeating what he’d heard his dad say. And he was kind of flirting even then.

I pull out a chair and join him at the table, leaning toward him on both elbows. And slowly, my small smile of appreciation grows wide, full of genuine admiration. As if I’m seeing the real him for the very first time, tons of memories I’d never recognized for what they were racing through my mind. One in particular sticking out, and perfectly applicable to right now—so of course I’m going to play on it.

“Tea taste alright?” I ask simply, my agenda hidden.

He swallows and grins. “Perfect.”

“You sure?” I drawl, a coy edge now sneaking out to lace my question.

One of his brows arches and he cocks his head. “I’m sure. Why? I was standing right here so I know you didn’t poison it.”

“I wouldn’t poison you.” I roll my eyes. “Too hands-off, where’s the fun in that?”

I laugh when his eyes widen. “I’m kidding. I was just wondering if it tasted as perfect as my award-winning pie? You know, the one you bought for fifty dollars at the fair, earning me the blue ribbon?” It takes heroic effort to keep a straight face.

His eyes briefly shift down and left, because he’s about to lie to me—which he does. “Yep, just as good. Your pie was delicious, and the look on your face when you won? Worth every penny, Henny.” He winks with clever pride.

“Keaton?”

“Yeah?”

“When I got home that day and started cleaning up my mess, you know what I discovered?”

He looks away again and his Adam’s apple bobs. “What’s that?”

“The big bag of sugar I used to make it…was salt.” I let it hang in the air, while my heart swells with a new, foreign fullness.

“Really?” He tries his best to feign shock, and I can’t contain it any longer, bursting out in laughter.

When I’ve gathered myself, I look at him and assess what he might be thinking since he’s stayed silent the whole time. What I find has my breath catching in my throat. His mouth is curled with a reverent tenderness, his eyes twinkling with pleased knowing. Knowing that I’m starting to realize.

“That pie was awful, but you never said a word. Refused to take away an ounce of my happiness or hurt my feelings.” My voice is calm, his gaze unmoving. “Like you’re doing now. I’m asking you, Keaton, to trust in my strength and tell me. What was Merrick doing?”

Resolve washes over his expression and he nods, telling me he
does
…trust in my strength. “He was cheating on you, Hen.”

“How?”

“Not important.” He’s shaking his head adamantly. “Details don’t matter, cheating is cheating.”

“Keaton,
how
?” Me and my morbid curiosity again.

“He was…all but having sex with Krista. I interrupted them just shy of it.” He talks fast then slams his hand on the table. “Dammit, Henley, you didn’t need to know that much. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I even answered you.”

“So,” I cover my face for a second to muffle my snort, “his dick was hanging out while you beat him up?”

“
That’s
your immediate thought?” He chuckles too. “Not the reaction I was expecting, but I’ll take it. And no, I let him get the limp little guy tucked back in before I threw the first punch. I’m not a sadist. And I damn sure didn’t want to take the chance of that thing touching me.”

I lose it again—laughing ‘til tears run down my face. I haven’t laughed this much in a long time, and it feels great.

I never loved Merrick, I know that now, and he obviously never loved me either. He made a fool of me, and I let him. Ignoring the nagging in my gut that never went away because…it was just easier. So hell yes I’m going to take a minute to enjoy the humor to be had in this story.

And Keaton? Needing no credit, glory, or leverage to win my favor—never took the easy road, he just took care of it. Had my back while my back was turned.

“I always suspected.” I wipe my eyes. “I guess, deep down, I just never actually cared enough to care. Thank you, Keaton, for caring.”

“No thanks needed, Darlin’. Always have, always will. And I gotta say, again, you’re taking this much better than I thought you would. Is this the deliriously numb stage and any second you’re gonna fly into hysterics? I don’t want to relax if fireworks are coming.”

“Nope, I’m good. I lost faith in Merrick a long time ago, if I ever really had any. I am a little confused though.”

“About what?”

“If he never gave a shit about me, why’s he been so good at helping with my mom’s affairs, her Will and stuff? Just the other day I saw him at the store and he told me he’d taken care of paying the mortgage on this place for the month. That’s pretty thoughtful for someone who didn’t think very much of me. You think it’s guilt?”

He frowns, his lips pressed so tightly together they blanch in color. And then, he speaks in a voice of pure stone. “No, I don’t think he’s capable of feeling guilt.”

“Me either,” I nod. “So weird, right?”

“Yeah, weird,” he rubs a hand over his jaw. “You got everything squared away, all signed?”

I dip my head and brace for the upcoming lecture. “Not yet. I’ve been busy, but I’ll go by soon. He didn’t have it all ready the first day I went in to see him, and I haven’t had a chance to go back.”

“I’m not gonna gripe at ya, but I need you to look at me, Hen.” It’s strained, his tone pulled taut between trying to stay calm and barely managing not to scold me, which is precisely what he wants to do.

I glance up at him and almost laugh at his desperate, horribly failing attempt at a smile.

“Don’t go see Merrick yet, and
damn
sure don’t go without me. Promise me, Hen,” he pleads.

“Why? Keaton, I’m not naïve or stupid. I saw the picture of Krista in his office and didn’t buy a word of his ‘always loved me, never cheated’ speech. It’s just business now, I don’t care about the rest. I can handle it.” I cross my arms over my chest in defensive mode.

“I know you
can
, but I’m asking that you don’t. Just,
please
, trust me on this and wait until we can go together.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “Promise me.”

“Whatever,” I sigh. “You’re overreacting, but it’s fine. Makes no difference to me, I guess. If you’re dying to come with me, suit yourself.”

“Holy shit!” He whoops and slaps his leg.

“
What
?” I look at him like he’s crazy.

“Henley Gene Calvert just let me have my way, and pretty easily too. Never thought I’d see the day.” He stands, chuckling softly to himself. “I’m gonna leave while I’m on a roll. It’s late anyway. Come lock your door behind me, Darlin’.”

I stand in place long after he’s left and I’ve locked up, reviewing everything in my head. I end up at the same, simple thought I always do, but this time…a smile hints at the corner of my mouth when I think it.

Keaton Fucking Cash.

THE NEXT MORNING, I
wake up with such an overwhelming joy in my heart that I embrace the sun, shining in my eyes
again
, and take a second to appreciate the fact I’ve been graced with another day to enjoy it.

I’d had another extraordinary dream last night. This time I was talking to
my mom.
I don’t care if it was real or not—it felt real—it felt fantastic! She was
right there
, telling me she loved me and was so happy to see me starting to find my way back to the person I once was. And proud. She’d praised me for being strong, a survivor, asking that I give myself the same credit.

It was magical. Healing. The best thing that’s happened to me since the last time I
actually
spoke, kindly, to her.

I spring off the couch,
more
than ready for the day, actually looking forward to it. I take my time in the shower, reliving every word and moment of the dream, then get dressed, braid my hair and cook myself a real breakfast.

When I’m finished and step outside, a tremor runs through me. Call it wishful thinking, or reading things into what you desperately want to be true—but there’s definitely a new chill in the air. The first hint of the cold snap my mom told me about last night.

Soon it’ll be time to start feeding hay.

And also like she’d advised, it’s past time to have sold off some calves.

“Gatlin!” I yell, hoping he’s close by enough to hear me.

Bourbon is and comes ambling up, the first time he hasn’t already been waiting for me. “You’re moving kinda slow this morning, boy. You okay?”

His tail wags when I pet him, but not as fast as usual. Something’s off. I make a mental note to take him to the vet as soon as possible. He’s getting up there in years, and I have no idea when he last had a check-up.

I open my mouth to holler for Gatlin again, closing it when he comes out of the barn and walks up the driveway.

“Mornin’.” He smiles. “Little nippy today.”

“Noticed that. Got to thinking too, might go to the sale barn with some calves. Would you wanna help me with that?”

“Sure. When you planning on going, this weekend?”

“Good as time as any. We can leave early Saturday morning.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“We can fit what, twelve, in the trailer?” I ask as I cringe. Twelve at a time means a lot of trips to the sale, and I should’ve already started.
Thank you, Mom, for getting me in gear.

“Yeah, about. You could probably squeeze in up to fifteen, be tight though.”

Three isn’t a big enough difference to jam ‘em in like sardines. Twelve a sale it is. Gotta start somewhere.

“Okay. So what are you working on today?” I ask, wondering the same thing of myself.

“Still gotta finish that fence. You busy?”

“Nope. Lemme grab a jacket, and I’ll be ready. Oh, and gloves,” I laugh. “Not a fan of smashing my thumbs. I’d like to avoid a repeat of that if possible.”