I sit alone by the creek for about an hour before heading back in. After leaving the stables, I notice her car is no longer where it was previously parked.Shocker.
Walking back toward my parents' house, I hear someone shout my name and footsteps rushing behind me. Stopping, I spin around to see none other than Mark, one of our ranch hands.
“Hey,” I say roughly, turning back around, continuing to walk.
“Wait up, would ya?” Mark says breathlessly as he runs up beside me.
Mark is my age and has been working on the ranch for a few months now. I’ve always known of him, but when we were younger, I didn’t care to get to know him. We went to high school together, and we were never necessarily friends. He ran with a different crowd than I did. Where I was into sports, Mark was into drugs. We didn’t exactly have much in common.
One day, on my way back from town, I found Mark curled next to a dumpster. He was high, beaten, homeless, and at his lowest. I’m no savior, but something in me shifted that day. This guy I barely knew, and didn’t know many good things about, needed someone… Anyone. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
We made an agreement that day. He was to get clean, stay clean, and he could work and live here. The more I got to know Mark, the more I understood him. His parents were drug addicts who were abusive to him. He was kicked out at seventeen, left to fend for himself. He was desperate and knew no other life than the one they’d introduced him to.
My parents welcomed him with open arms. That was weird for him, but he’s been like family since.
“What?” I snap, unable to focus on anything but my frustration and disappointment.
“She cried.”
“What?” I ask, shocked, stopping in my tracks and causing Mark to bump into me.
“Yeah. I don’t know what happened out there, but Izzy pulled in on Harry Trotter, crying. I’ve seen Izzy here a bunch, and shewasn’t herself. She asked me to stable Harry and tell you she’s sorry.”
And that’s all it takes to keep me utterly and wholly invested in her.
This isn’t easy for her. I want to knowwhy. Hell, I want to know everything there is to know. It kills me that I don’t, constantly feeling like I’mmissing something. Like she’s this mesmerizing puzzle I just can't quite seem to solve.
“Thanks, Mark.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks, nudging my arm.
“What I always do when it comes to her.Wait. She has to come back to me on her terms.”
“Doesn’t that shit get old? Playing by her rules?”
I know he doesn’t mean harm, but his question pisses me off. “Nah, man. It doesn’t get old. When something or someone is worth it, you do what you have to do to make it work.”
“I guess so,” Mark says, shrugging as he turns and walks back toward the barn.
Mark walks ahead of me, pulling open the doors to Backroads Barn, the only bar in our small town of Tylertown, Mississippi, and I’m immediately met with the scent of cigarette smoke. My stomach churns, gagging inwardly. I’ve never cared for the smell—it’s repulsive. Which is a major reason I rarely ever come here.
The bar is an old barn. True to its name, it sits tucked off on the outskirts of town, off an old back road that’s really onlytraveled by locals. The inside is nicer than what the peeling red paint on the outside leads you to believe. There are clean, yet worn, wooden floors, exposed wooden beams that appear to be repurposed, and weather-galvanized metal wrapping the bottom of the bar. If it weren’t for the terrible smell, the rustic setting would be almost cozy.
“Remind me again, what the fuck are we doing here, Mark?” I ask, grimacing.
Mark chuckles, patting me on the shoulder and pulling us to stand side-by-side. “Well, it’s the only bar in town, and they happen to not give a shit how old we are. And you, my friend, have been a dick and a bummer to be around for the past two weeks. Ever since Izzy left. You need to blow off some steam. It’s time to move on and—”
I throw him a glare, stopping his words short. “You can take that thought and shove it right up your ass.”
Mark sighs. “Jett, she isn’t the only girl out there, man.”
“Fuck no.”I turn away, now facing the bar. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Fine.” Mark releases his hold on my shoulder, tapping a hand on the bar to get the female bartender’s attention. “Hey, Carlie. Get us two whiskeys neat and two Bud Lights.”
“Whiskey and beer?” I scoff, throwing my hands up. “How bad off do you assume I am?”
“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Mark chuckles, picking up his glass of whiskey as soon as the bartender, Carlie, places it down.
