My new favourite place on Earth is wherever Cassidy Bowman is.
Nothing could’ve cleared that up for me like being out of cell service last week. My body was moving cattle with the boys, but my mind was right here with her. When somebody made a funny joke, I wanted to text Cass. While I made dinner, I wondered if she was eating the meals we saved in her fridge. Falling asleep at night, I pictured her watching TV alone. We haven’t talked about whether she missed me—not that she would ever break and admit to it, anyway. But the moment we returned to the ranch, my phone went crazy with incoming delayed text messages to the point Colt and Denny both made snippy comments about mebeing whipped. It seemed she texted me every single random thought that popped into her head over those three days.
Tonight, it’s late. I should leave, yet I make no move toward the door. Instead, I tuck her frozen feet under a blanket while she flips on our nightly reality TV binge. I’ve never been a big television guy but I can get behind sitting here with her every night. Rubbing her feet when she says they’re sore, talking about our friends, planning a nursery. And, as fucked up as it is, I’ve unwittingly become invested in all these women competing to date one guy.
“Imagine making it all the way to the hometown episode, then discovering the other person’s family is completely off the rails.” Cass gathers a section of her golden hair between her fingers like she’s creating a paintbrush and begins toying with the ends. “Do you dump them because of that, or just accept the insanity?”
“Who am I to judge? My family’s a fucking train wreck. I’d be the one getting dumped after the episode, not the other way around.”
“I’m sure your family can’t be that bad. Your brothers always seemed like decent guys. I know your dad’s a drinker, but your parents are still together, right?”
I snort. “They shouldn’t be. My dad’s not a good guy, Cass. Way beyond the drinking.”
She pauses the TV and turns in her seat, worry filling her pretty blue eyes as she considers my words. “How bad are we talking?”
I waffle between telling her or not. My family situation isn’t a secret, per se. Austin, Jackson, and Denver know all of it because they were there. Even still, I usually prefer not to bring this shit up. Although the anxious look on her face tells me she genuinely wants to know. She wants—and probably deserves—the honest answer, as the mother of my child.
“I don’t want you to think less of me.”
She squints, shaking her head with a small, confused smile. “Why would I think less of you because of your dad?”
Why wouldn’t she? That’s the better question.
“I don’t want you to question who I am as a person.” I look down at my lap, sliding my calloused palms together until they’re fiery. “And I really don’t want you to wonder if I’ll be the same type of dad he was.”
“Never. Promise.” The soft kindness in her expression and the quivering corner of her lip ease my worry. A gentle nod encourages me to talk.
I grab her hand and run it over the circular scar on my forearm. It’s covered with thick, black tattooing in a pine tree design, but you can feel the raised, scarred skin underneath. Her eyes narrow, searching for an explanation of why I’m making her feel an old wound. “This is where he burned me with the twelve-volt lighter in his truck. I was ten and left the window down a crack on a night when it rained… so when we got into the truck the next morning, my mom’s seat was wet.”
“Jesus Christ. Did your mom know he—”
“She was sitting right there.” I suck my teeth.
Her shoulders drop, and she blinks up at me with doe-like, watery eyes. I feel bad sharing this with her. Worried Cass hearing about my shitty upbringing would make her regret letting me be involved with Little Spud, I didn’t consider she might feel empathy for me.
“W-why didn’t she try to…” Her voice trails off, silently answering her own question.
My hand fully covering hers, I move her fingers toward my wrist. “This scar here, I had surgery because I broke my arm when I was twelve. He smacked my mom, and I charged at him. He shoved me pretty hard, and I fell down the front porch steps of the house we lived in at the ranch.”
“God,” she says under her breath. “I can’t imagine.”
Good. It’s good she can’t imagine it. It’s good she didn’t have to deal with anything like that. It’s so fucking good she knows what it’s like to have a loving, safe parent, so she can teach me how to be one.
“None of us were safe. When it came down to choosing between us kids and Joe, I guess she thought it was better in the long run to side with him. Keep him happy or whatever.”
She tosses the blanket aside and crawls across the couch cushions until she’s practically on top of me. Tight against my side, cradling my armin her hands. She leans in to study my skin, suddenly noticing all the scarring I’ve done a great job of disguising behind tattooed trees, horses, and heavy shading.
“Is that why you have your tattoos?” she asks in a whisper.
“I got my first at fifteen and, when I realized it was a way I could cover up my past, I started spending every spare dollar on them. Until my body, and my memories of him, were nothing but a canvas for something better.”
“That’s really sad… and beautiful.” The pads of her fingertips trace my tattoos, stopping briefly each time she feels the uneven texture of an old injury. I can’t even breathe with her hands on me, and the fire in my veins feels like I’m pounding back hard liquor. Her touch is a fucking drug, and it’s no wonder why I’m addicted. “Are all these scars from him?”
“No, no. A lot of them are from growing up on a ranch and working on one. I’ve gotten my fair share of cuts, scrapes, and broken bones just from roughing it with the Wells boys. But I think that only made the shit my dad did less noticeable. Teachers and nurses and doctors couldn’t tell when my injuries were from something stupid I did versus something he did.”
She licks her lips, blinking away the glassy sheen in her eyes, then presses her cheek to my chest and tucks her arms around me. I breathe in her hair like I’m trying to get high off her scent. Sharing my secrets comes with a weightlessness I’ve never experienced before. My heart’s so light it floats, bouncing against my sternum like a balloon hitting the rafters; her embrace the singular thing keeping me from floating away. And,fuck, her hug’s infinitely more healing than the liquor and weed I’ve previously numbed my pain with.
“I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of what you went through. And somebody should’ve stopped it. I wish I’d known the pain you were in.”
