Unstable (24 page)

I spin to look at him,
really
look at him, then…jump. He catches me effortlessly, laughing as I wrap my arms and legs around him, covering his face with kisses.

“My girl likes it,” he smiles, whispering in a deep, pleased silkiness.

I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh happily. “It’s…well…the best surprise I’ve ever received. I love it, Keaton. It’s wonderful, perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’d do anything for you, Henley Gene. Anything. I’m glad you like it. And pretty damn pleased with having you jump me and wrap me up, too. What room do you want me to do next?”

I laugh into his neck, thinking how cute most of the things he says are.

“What can I do for you to return the favor?” I ask.

He hugs me closer, resting his lips on my hair. “Just keep letting me in, Hen. That’s all, just let me in.”

THE NEXT MORNING, I
wake up in my new bed and…smile. A whole new kind of smile. One that requires the use of muscles in my face that feel the stretch of their stir from dormancy.

I haven’t slept so peacefully in who knows when.

I look around the room and am once again filled with a joyful appreciation and renewed spirit.

Bourbon’s up, standing at my bedside with a normal speed to the swish of his tail. Beyond relieved to see he’s obviously feeling better, I decide he’ll be alright outside today, after his pill of course, while I’m gone.

I hurry to get ready, running behind due to my night of peaceful sleep. We should already be on the road to the sale.

I skip breakfast, grab everything I need and am loading it in the truck when Gatlin walks up.

“Morning. ‘Bout ready?”

“Yep. Let’s go get ‘em loaded.”

Quicker than I expected, we get the twelve steers I’d decided to sell in the trailer and we’re on the road. Gatlin offers to drive, as always, but I politely decline. As always.

Funny how he never pulls the “man card” and argues with me about it.

I’ve got a fancy new room of my own and a growing new lease on life—I’m staying—to run my farm. Which means, I have to be able to drive pulling a trailer of restless livestock.

And I can.

We pull into a truck stop with a parking lot large enough for me to navigate the trailer safely, and run in to grab something to eat while on the road. Between that, some music and easy conversation, we’re at the sale barn in what seems like no time at all.

And it slams into my awareness. I have no idea the protocol at a sale. Gatlin offers to explain, but I stop him.

“I appreciate it, I do,” I smile, “But I
have
to learn how to do all this stuff for myself, it’s important to me. I hope you understand.”

He must, because a grin splits his face. “Absolutely. Go get ‘em, farmer girl. I’ll be waitin’ right here.”

I seek out a table with a line and when it comes to my turn, I swallow my pride and do the sensible thing—I ask questions. Only way to learn.

At first, the older man running things gives me a dubious look, practically saying, “You’re out of your league, little girl,” but I smooze him with over-the-top gratitude and
maybe
some charm, thawing him out pretty quickly.

And four hours later—I’ve sold twelve steers for a sum of over ten grand!

Ten grand!

Gatlin laughs at my giddy shock as we load up to go home, me talking a mile a minute of my plans to attend a few more sales and the payments I can make with the money I just earned.

When we cross into Goodman, the last town before home, my adrenaline rush speaks for me…words I
never
thought I’d utter. “Whadda ya say I buy ya a beer? For all your help today?”

“You’re sure? You up for going into a rowdy bar?” He double checks.

“Hell yeah! I’m pumped up. Besides, we’re a town over, slim chance of seeing anyone I know. So you in?”

“I’m in,” he laughs.

I pull into the lot of a place called “Saddle Up,” and park off to the side because of the trailer. “Do
not
let me have more than one. I gotta drive.”

“If you know one’s your limit, only have one, Henley.”

“Can you not just say ‘You got it?’” I give him a hard time—everything he says more “a lesson.”

“I could, but I’m not big on empty talk.”

“Okay, you win. Come on.”

We walk in, taking a minute to survey the situation. It seems okay, not too seedy or a blatantly open meat market, so I suggest we head for the bar. I place our order for two drafts and turn while I wait, scanning the area for an open table.

I don’t see one of those…but I catch an eyeful of something else that has my blood running cold through my veins and a voice in my head screaming at me that I’m a fucking fool!

Stupid, Henley, you knew better!!

“Henley,” Gatlin touches my arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s exactly as it should be, like it always is, and I
knew
it would be! I’m an idiot,” I explain the expected reality in an artic calmness.

He follows my stare and sighs, running a hand down his face. “Shit,” he whistles. “Listen, maybe there’s a good explanation.”

“You’re right, there’s a perfect explanation. A not at all surprising explanation,” I start, but the bartender interrupts me with our drinks. I toss him a twenty, tell him to keep the change and down half my mug in one long gulp. Never taking my eyes off
him
, who still hasn’t noticed me, and won’t, far too engrossed in his current company.

“Keaton Fucking Cash,” I go on, “as he has said himself, is a healthy, twenty-seven-year old man who enjoys a quick distraction. That girl he’s sitting with? That’s Addison, the secretary of my ex-boyfriend, who cheated on me countless times. She looks like an ideal distraction from the closed-off head case that is me. There you go, your good explanation.”

I kill the rest of my beer and head for the door. “Let’s go,” I bark.

Gatlin rushes behind me. “Henley, you want me to drive?”

“Why would I? I’m not drunk.”

“But you’re upset.”

“Nope, not that either. Just disappointed in myself.” I climb in the truck and start it, belting out a flippant laugh. “You wanna know what’s really pathetic? I was actually wondering earlier why I haven’t heard from him all day. Thinking
maybe
he was up to another surprise for me. And I was excited to tell him how well the sale went. That’s funny shit, right?”

“Um…no…not at all. Henley, maybe—”

“Don’t,” I seethe. “Don’t talk to me with pity or offer up any lame scenarios like I’m stupid. Keaton’s been good to me and we had no commitment, by
my
choice, so technically, he did nothing wrong.
I did
. I let my guard down, read more into things than I should’ve. Keaton feels sorry for me and wants to help, but he also wants to get laid. It’s no big deal. Another lesson learned. The hard way. That’s sorta my thing. I
only
learn things too late, in the hardest way possible.”

“So what are you gonna do?” He talks quietly, no doubt scared of my reactions at this point and maybe his life—I am driving, pulling a trailer, and having a complete mental overhaul all at the same time.

“Not a God damn thing. Oh, except for go back to sleeping on the couch.
And
return a belt buckle. Unless you want it?”

“Thank you, but no. You bought it for him. Maybe you should
talk
to him, Henley. I don’t want to make you mad, but think about it. Isn’t your biggest regret in life waiting too long to talk to people about how you feel?”

I glance over and give him a glare that could set fire to kindling. “Do you want to walk the rest of the way home?”

“I can. Needed to be said,” he retorts quickly with no hint of regret.

“Oh, look, we’re home!” I chirp sarcastically as I turn into the driveway. “Thank you for your help today, really, but talking time is over now.”

AFTER THAT SOLITARY, GLORIOUS
night in my new bed, in my new room, this couch feels lumpier than ever. But I’d sleep outside on the gravel, with no blanket or pillow, before I’d step one foot back into that farce of a gift from
him.

Great
—now more than half the house is off-limits.

I was full of shit on all the garbage I fed Gatlin. I
am
mad. Furious. It
does
bother me. So much so that my head is throbbing and my stomach has a hollow ache—just like my chest—from the torture I keep putting myself through. Analyzing and examining every single word, look, act in my mind, trying to figure out the precise moment I crossed into a foolish state of misinterpretation.

And Keaton
did
do something wrong too. He convinced me, unmercifully so, to open up, give him, life, and
hope
a chance. Who does that? Targets someone who’s already fragile, and toys with their emotions?

That’s just…evil. And among any other characteristic or criticism I’d ever labeled on Keaton, evil had never been one of them.

Guess I was nothing more than a lifelong challenge for him to finally concur…so he could check me off his list of accomplishments and move on in gloating glory. Another Ashfall girl fallen victim to his snake-charming ways.

Letting him touch me, kiss me, call me “baby” and “his woman.” Never really laying into him about his “rules” of how things would work if we were together. Agreeing he could come with me to finalize things at Merrick’s office.

Played right into his fucking hand—and when he could taste the win—he folded. The real victory had in ending the game while I still thought I had a chance.

Maybe it was just a ploy for vindication, getting me back for all the years I fought with him, goaded him…made sport of antagonizing him. But I never purposely
hurt
him. I didn’t catch him at his lowest and pretend to care.

Gotta give it to him though—he’s damn smooth, because I actually believed he was sincere.

Oh well, I’ll just go back to the way things were—a world of cynical isolation. It won’t be a long trip.

I flop over again, trying to get comfortable, finally accepting defeat. Sleep’s not gonna happen without some help, so I head to the fridge in search of alcohol.

Half a bottle of pear wine left way in the back. That’ll work.

Pear’s my least favorite flavor, but desperate times…

I don’t bother with a glass, getting settled on the couch again and tipping the bottle back like a wino…who loves pears. I just need to fall asleep and regroup tomorrow.

But the bastard has other plans, my phone dinging with a text. I shouldn’t read it.
Ignore him, Henley.

Yeah right. That was never gonna happen. Curiosity killed the cat ya know…and I want to see how he’s planning on playing this out.

Cocky PITA: Hey, you up?

Well shit, that doesn’t give me much wiggle room. If I ignore him, I find out nothing more. If I say yes, I’ve answered, but gained no advantage.

I wait several minutes, then construct my reply to my gain.

Me: Why?

Cocky PITA: We need to talk, asap.

Me: Not tonight we don’t. Had all day to talk, we didn’t. Now it’s late and I’m too tired. Night.

Cocky PITA: I had a busy day, sorry about that. What’d you do?

I
could
snip back and say,
again
, that I’m too tired to talk…but I’d rather get a dig in. Petty? Nope, I don’t think so.

Me: Gatlin and I went to the sale barn. Very successful. I had a great day.

Cocky PITA: That so? Wow, I’m proud of you. Good job, baby.

What in the actual fuck?
I haven’t had
that
much wine. He’s really not only
not
throwing a fit with his “come to me for help” bullshit, but he’s praising me
and
has the nerve to call me “baby?” After he no doubt just finished climbing off of Addison?

He’s
worse
than Merrick! At least he was
consistently
distant and indifferent. And didn’t insert pet names in the same breath he used to lie!

Cocky PITA: Did I lose ya?