I’m saved from showing too much emotion by the sudden presence of Deacon Ryder, blasting through the side door like a cannonball. Their puppy, Stu, follows at his heels but heads directly for the hallway, where he flops down, panting hard.Maybe they keep the air conditioning down for the dog, not Deacon.
“You gonna drink that?” he says, looking at my coffee.
“Deacon,” Freya chides, “don’t bully him.”
“I ain’t bullying anybody, sweetheart.”
I look down at my untouched mug. “I was, but—”
He’s not listening. He takes my coffee and leans on the counter, setting his hat aside.
“I got so many damn cows in that side pasture. We got to fix those fences by end of day tomorrow,” he says. “They’re all fucking jammed in there.”
“You want me to help with that today?” I say.
He runs a hand over his face. “Nah, Andy’s got his daughter home from the city, and I don’t want him feeling like he needs to help today. They’re all good for tonight. They got a place to sleep, but I don’t want them in there more than the weekend.”
“In where?”
“East pasture.”
Freya gets up and starts making me another cup before I can protest. I lean back, trying to get my legs to fit under the table. It's short. I’m not sure why Deacon switched the old table out for this one—except it fits Freya better, so that would explain it. He’s made a lot of adjustments in the last few months. Nothing drastic, but I see it as someone who’s worked on houses before. They’re all things that make the house her space too, not just his.
“I can help. Let me know,” I say.
“Why don’t you eat at the mess hall?” Deacon asks, emptying the mug and setting it in the sink.
Freya turns on me, worried frown in place again. “Where are you eating?”
“At my house,” I say.
She comes over, crossing her arms and pushing out her hip, a little bit sassy. Deacon has bolstered her confidence a lot.
“You’re working all day outside. You need to eat a real meal,” she says.
“I am and I will,” I promise.
“Bittern—”
“Freya,” I say gently, cutting her off. “I’m good. I’m not sick anymore.”
She hears the serious note in my voice and nods. I can tell she and Deacon are going to talk about me the second I leave. That’s fine. I’m used to people doing that since I’ve gotten back. Everybody’s watching, hoping I don’t crumble at the edges. Nothing I say can convince anyone I’m never fucking going back to that life. I don’t care what’s ahead—it has to be so much better than what’s behind.
I’m intimately familiar with rock bottom. It’s not a place I want to go again.
I get up, wrapping the tools and pushing them in my pocket. “I’m gonna head out,” I say. “Got some chores around the house.”
Freya hands me the coffee. “Bring back the mug. And come back Sunday when Slate is awake.”
“I will,” I say, hugging her briefly.
“I’ll let you know about the cattle tomorrow,” Deacon says, jerking his head at me.
I nod, heading down the hall, stopping to pat Stu on the head. He follows me to the door then watches with his nose against the screen while I leave. Truthfully, I don’t have any chores at home. I picked up some ready-made meals in town the other day and stacked them in the fridge. It’s easy to keep everything clean and organized when you don’t own anything.
Back at the house, I sink down on the porch and unwrap the carving set. There’s some wood stacked around the back. I retrieve a small piece and sit on the steps, taking my carving knife out.
My hands are pretty damn steady. I smile. Every day, they’re getting better. I haven’t told anyone that yet, but I noticed it.
