Jenny squeezes my fingers back before releasing my hand. She dabs at the last few tears clinging to her lashes as I push up from my seat, and I feel something warm blossom in my chest.
I can’t leave this behind. Any of it. I can’t leave the ranch, or Jenny. I can’t leave Everett.
Passing up on the hotel contract may be something I regret, but I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is. I make enough money to live comfortably, and I like my job. I won’t walk away from the only thing that I’ve ever cared about like this just for a career opportunity. Something else will come my way, and I’ll take it when it does.
I don’t know where any of this will go. I don’t know if I’ll be able to salvage something with Everett, or if Jenny and I can remain friends after this.
All I know is that I won’t give up, and I’m not going to let Everett give up, either. If all I walk away with is the knowledge that I helped save the ranch he and his wife built, that’ll be plenty for me. I want him and Jenny to be happy.
I want to see this through, regardless of the cost.
“Mary?” Jenny says, looking up at me. “I’m trusting you.”
I smile, feeling more sure of myself than I have in a long damn time.
“I won’t let you down.”
EVERETT
Ihear the sound of footsteps rounding the shed behind me, and I ignore it.
Any of the guys know better than to bother me when I’m like this, and my head is too much of a mess to talk to either Jenny or Mary right now. I bring the ax down hard on the log in front of me and hope that whoever it is will get the hint and leave me the hell alone.
My luck seems to be on a losing streak today.
The shuffling of bare feet over smooth concrete tells me exactly who it is. Mary is the only person who’d be walking around the ranch without shoes on. My jaw clenches tighter in frustration, and I knock the split log off to the side so I can replace it with a fresh piece of wood. I’m not in the mood to be careful with my words, but I don’t want to upset Mary. My best bet is to just keep my mouth shut and wait until she leaves.
I’m good at making people give up on me. This won’t be any different.
“You didn’t finish your breakfast,” she says from behind me.
I split the log straight down the middle, grunting with exertion. It’s a hot day, and I’m sweating even in the shade of the trees back here. The little concrete porch off the shed is indirect sunlight, so it’s probably scorching beneath Mary’s feet. I can hear her shifting her weight, but she doesn’t make any move to step closer.
I continue on with the log, splitting it into quarters before tossing it off to the side and pulling a new piece up.
She doesn’t say anything else, seemingly happy to have reminded me of my lack of breakfast. The silence stretches on, interrupted only by the crack of my ax against wood. My skin starts to itch under her steady gaze, and I frown, realizing that she’s going to outlast me in this game of patience.
“Lost my appetite,” I grunt, snagging another log.
“I heard,” she says. “Seems like Jenny lost her appetite, too.”
I pause, adjusting my grip on the ax before swinging it again. It’s not a surprise that Jenny’s upset—even I’m not thick enough to miss that—but hearing such blunt confirmation of how badly I fucked up isn’t pleasant.
“I thought you might want to talk about it,” Mary continues.
Her voice is calm and casual, and it only serves to make me feel more guilty.
“Not at all,” I say.
I slam the ax down again, but my aim is off, and I cut the log unevenly. The sight of it makes my jaw tick in annoyance, and I do my best to refocus my attention on the task at hand. It’s not like this really needs to get done, but I’m not calm enough to be around anyone right now. I need to work off this anxious, frustrated energy that’s boiling in my gut, or I’m only going to fuck things up further.
Mary hums thoughtfully from behind me, and I close my eyes, searching for some semblance of control.
I want to shout, and I want to run away from all of this. I want to turn around and wrap Mary up in my arms and promise that I’ll keep trying no matter how many times I ruin things.
They would only be words, though, and words are cheap. I can say whatever I want, spin her pretty poems and swear to do a million different things, but the truth is that I’m only good at so many things. Fixing my mistakes isn’t something I’ve ever been good at, but I know if I turn around and see her face, I’ll try until I wreck everything around me.
I don’t want to keep causing damage, but it seems like that’s all that happens when I try to do the right thing.
