My car crests a knoll, and the ranch comes into view. A swinging wooden sign hangs suspended at least twenty feet in the air and spans the width of the driveway, bearing the Wells Ranch name and brand—the same brand Chase has scarred deep into his chest. I’ve traced it so many times with my fingertips, I can perfectly picture the feel of his soft skin on mine.
The driveway winds past a large, white farmhouse without a single light on inside. Still decorated for Christmas, garland and twinkle lights encase each banister of the front porch railing. Then my car crawls past a two-storey, partially finished house, which must be Austin and Cecily’s new place. The lights are out in every building—not surprising, given the fact it’s after midnight. I’m just about ready to turn around and go home, pretend I didn’t drive out here uninvited like a deranged person, when I notice an orange glow around the edges of double barn doors. I pull my car up next to Chase’s truck and step out into the cold night.
With less than a dozen streetlights in Wells Canyon, we have a great view of the starry skies. Certainly better than I’ve seen when visiting Blairin Vancouver. But out here? Unmatched. Like God got carried away while painting the stars—flicks of white leaving little blackness in the sky. The moon’s hung low, kissing snowy treetops and lighting my route to the barn.
I tuck my jacket around myself, following a well-worn footpath. I’m unsure if I’ll find Chase, and equally unsure what I’ll say if I do. But I have to try. Giving it a tug, the metal handle on the barn door sticks to my clammy hand. It shimmies open a bit, so I pull harder. The overpowering smell of horses nearly knocks me down as the clunky door slides along the overhead rail.
Even with his back to me, I know it’s him by the auburn hair and the way he leans against the stall. It’s the same stance he frequently has while standing in my bedroom door frame. Popped hip, hand in his pocket, sinking all his weight into the wall. In my house, he usually wears a cocky smirk while he watches me get dressed… or undressed, depending on the time of day. But tonight I doubt he’s smiling, and his voice is barely audible as he talks to a horse.
“Chase.” I pull the door shut behind me.
He spins to face me with a half-hearted, wavering smile. “Hey, you.”
Chase makes no move toward me, relying on the wall like it’s the lone thing keeping him upright. I rush down the cement barn alley to him, then slide my arms inside his unzipped Carhartt jacket and around his waist. His hand combs through my hair, moving to grip the back of my skull and tugging me into him. A move he’s done so many times before. I bury my face in his neck and allow myself a deep inhale. The smell of his skin calms me in the same way coming home does. Steadying my heart rate and removing all the weight of the day. If somebody had told me that one day I’d be driving all the way to Wells Ranch to breathe him in. That one day this man would be responsible for me feeling so many big feelings. I’d tell them they were crazy and kick them in the shin for good measure.
“You came all the way here,” he says. “I thought you weren’t free until Sunday.”
“Of course I came. Denny told me about your dad.” I rest my cheek against his collarbone. “I’m sorry. Sorry you’ve been dealing with it alone. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Bullshit.
“Are you okay?” I repeat, lifting my head to look at him. “Honestly.”
Eyes dropping to the floor, he draws in a long breath before speaking. “I don’t know if I am. And I fucking hate that.”
“It’s okay not to be okay. Even though he wasn’t who you deserved him to be…” Letting a hand leave the warm space inside his coat, I run my palm across the rough stubble of his jaw, begging him to look at me. “You can be angry with him and still be sad about him dying. It doesn’t have to be black and white.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely not that.” His tongue darts out, leaving his bottom lip glistening.
“Nothing ever is.” I lean into him, relishing in the rise and fall of his broad chest, his hand cradling my head against him.
“Do you think I’m like him?” he whispers the words against my hair. The warmth of his breath travels down my neck with a quiver.
“No.” The answer comes quickly because, no, I don’t think he’s like him. Not a single sliver of my heart believes he’s like his dad. I wrap the fabric of his T-shirt around my fingers, wanting him closer. “Do you?”
He swallows, and I feel the bob of his Adam’s apple on my temple. His voice is heavy and ragged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not black and white.”
“Why did you hit Landon Wiebe?”
He’s quiet. The only sound around us is the slow snoring of sleeping horses.
“Chase, tell me. I don’t want to believe you did it for the thrill of a fight. But I need to know why. I deserve to know, after all that shit. I’ve been struggling to give you the benefit of the doubt because you were so quick to shut me out that night. Please tell methe truth.”
“He said some disgusting shit about you, us, Little Spud. I warned him, but…” His voice quakes, his breathing suddenly uneasy, as if he’s reliving that god-awful moment. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for hitting him because he’s a motherfucker and deserved it. But Iamsorry for starting a bar brawl, pissing your dad off, and leaving you to deal with my bullshit. I should’ve dragged his ass outside first. I shouldn’t have left afterward. I acted like an asshole and a goddamn coward.”
His hands wrap around my forearms, and he places them at my sides. Taking a few steps back, he leaves me alone and cold and worried it was a big mistake coming here. Maybe I waited too long to talk to him.
“Dave said some shit that might not have been entirely true, but he got into my head. And I just… I just couldn’t face you right then. Maybe I’m not quite as bad as my dad—at least, not yet—but I’m not flawless.” Chase shrugs half-heartedly, letting his shoulders slump even lower than they were before. He looks close to becoming one with the cement floor, his body too worn down to bother continuing to stand. I want him to let me hold him up. “If you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t take a second glance at me. Hell,even now, you could walk away and find a guy who would be perfect for you. Somebody who can give you everything you want. Somebody without a fucked up childhood and a shitty reputation. That’s what you and the baby deserve. Anyone but me.”
I swallow the saliva that’s been building up in my throat the entire time he was talking. His eyes are so vast and wistful and full of love. He runs a hand through his hair, then leaves it resting on the back of his neck, not breaking eye contact for a single second. And I can’t remember what Joe Thompson looks like off the top of my head, but I’m confident he’s never looked at anything except liquor with this much passion.
With a step toward him, I open my mouth. “You’re—”
“Cass, please. I’m not done. I just…”
I nod slowly, but don’t step back. The space between us is warm. Wrought with emotion. If I stumble forward slightly, I’ll crash into him. If I swing my arm anxiously, our hands will touch. “Okay. Take your time, and I’ll talk when you say you’re done.”
