What a fucking nightmare. Is this what I can look forward to for the foreseeable future? My current outcome is bleak as fuck.
Residential restoration jobs have me busting ass all day. The place I bought keeps me working late into the night. I get the honor of cleaning up my mother’s mess whenever she goes on a bender. Can’t leave out being wrongly accused of stupid shit on a regular basis. If I’m lucky, there’s a barstool at Howlers with my name on it. But that’s few and far between. I go home to an empty house, always alone.
What a damn fine way of living. Not that I’m really complaining. Anything beats the years when my pops was still around. I shudder at the memory. That man was pure evil. One glance at the wasting form of my mother is proof enough.
I’ve heard Camilla Soulle used to have her head screwed on straight. Many called her pretty, a real looker with several potential suitors. Then my dad moved into town, changed her last name, and ruined the woman she could’ve been. The revolving line of men following close behind certainly didn’t help.
If only there was a sliver of relief to be found. I snort at that. My greatest form of comfort just returned to town. I never admitted it to her, but Sutton has always been my happy something. The only one that matters. Growing up, I’d needed those stolen moments with her, juvenile as they were. She gave me an ounce of hope that everything wouldn’t turn out to be shit.
With her name, a rush of visions flood my mind. Time has granted her more beauty. How is it possible that’s she’s even more gorgeous? She’s grace and class and everything I’ll never have. When I saw her sitting right in front of me, it felt like the fantasy I’d conjured up. Her bee-stung lips parted with surprise. I wanted to kiss the shock away, and steal her breath along with it. Those blue eyes bored into mine, peeling away layers of pain and reaching depths only she has access to. My heart had threatened to burst. Tumble out of my chest and land in her lap. She owns the damn thing, might as well hand it over. The beating organ is useless without her.
But I couldn’t talk to her. What the fuck would I say? Sutton went off to school and made something better of herself. I’m stuck in the same shitty spot, spinning my bald tires. I meant what I’d said four years ago. She was better off forgetting about me. The uninhibited desire in her baby blues screamed the opposite. Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to make her mine. Wrap her in my arms and own her like she once begged for. But no. I won’t ruin her life. And that’s what being tied to me would mean. I’d only hold her back.
When Sutton left, any good went with her. Four fucking years in the dark changes a man. I’m almost ashamed of the guy always glaring back at me in the mirror. Seeing her after so long was a tortuous gift. My eyes suddenly sting with unwanted heat. I cough and choke down the unexpected onslaught of emotion. I’m typically referred to as a wall of stone—impenetrable and imposing. In this moment, I feel the opposite. I’m that lost boy rediscovering his one source of true luxury. I cover my face and groan. Getting upset about this is pointless.
I’ve made sure to avoid the Olsen ranch ever since catching sight of Sutton. That doesn’t stop the temptation from crawling beneath my skin. Every moment is an opportunity to test my control. It’s been a week of torture. Knowing she’s within reach and unable to do shit about it is a lethal strike. I’m not sure how much longer this can last.
A car backfires and the loud bang knocks me from my thoughts. Here I am, wallowing in a shallow puddle of pity. Again. Poor fucking Grady. I have no reason to imagine an existence with Sutton in it. I’ll just continue doing everything in my power to ignore her. Eventually the pain will return to a muted roar.
My mother rolls onto her side. A cloud of musty mildew wafts over from the couch. She startles at the sight of me. “Oh, you’re still around? Figured you’d up and left hours ago.”
I’ve only been here for thirty minutes at the most. I suck in a deep breath, agreeing that I’ve overstayed this welcome. “I should be going. Don’t want to disrupt you more than I already have.”
That earns me a loose grin. She lifts a shaky finger, pointing over my shoulder. “Be a good boy and fetch me a cigarette.”
Before I can even consider following through with the request, her eyelids droop and she’s out fucking cold. It’s as though she wasn’t actually aware of my presence. Maybe she never really was in the first place.
Mother of the damn year.
I glance around the debilitated trailer, a string of silent expletives spilling from my lips. This is a part of my life, but it doesn’t define me. I can’t stand the sight a moment longer. The weak floorboards tremble under my weight when I stand. I lean down and kiss my mother’s head. Hopefully she’ll eat something after this high wears off.
I barrel outside while the entire trailer rocks on its crumbling foundation. Like a lifeline, my phone beeps with a notification. The screen lights with a text from Jace.
Jace: Get your ass to Bronc. I need backup.
I groan at the name of the bar. That doesn’t stop me from hauling ass to my truck. Whatever he needs, it must be damn important.
5
Sutton
Happy something #91: Sitting on the end of a dock with my feet in the lake.
The amount of people crammed into this bar on a Wednesday is rather impressive. Everyone is seeking a bit of relief after a long day at work, me included. Through the front windows, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky. I swirl the pink concoction in my glass and take a sip. Strawberries with a bite of vodka burst on my tongue. A happy sigh escapes me while I settle deeper into the high-top stool.
“This was a fantastic idea.” I glance at the two girls sitting beside me. “I’ve missed these cocktails.”
Molly quirks a brow. “They don’t have cosmos near campus?”
“Not like this.” I enjoy another taste and lick my lips. “There’s something extra delicious mixed in.”
Lacie studies the contents of her martini. “Who knew Bronco Buck could sling better fruity drinks than ritzy college joints.”
That gets a giggle out of me. “I would hardly call them ritzy.”
She motions around the dimly lit bar. “I’m sure they don’t hang bras on the ceiling.”
I snort into my glass. “Those add to the appeal. Satin and lace are always a good choice.”
