“Cigarettes aren’t the same as pills.”
“I know,” he says, lifting his eyes up to the mountains. Overhead, a handful of sparrows dip through the air and alight on the fence line. “I just want to be free of it all.”
I study his profile for a beat.
“You worry about relapsing?” I ask.
“On pills?”
“Nah, not pills,” he says. “But I do worry about trying to fill up that space with something else. I’m trying to be careful with staying away from drinking and shit. I’m just over it, done having shit in my system, any of it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He shrugs. “I’m good, I really am. And I’m ready for a new chapter.”
His words are careful, concise, like he’s thought about them but this is the first time he’s ever said them aloud. I like that; he’s speaking them into existence, and I’m lucky to be the one he’s trusting with them.
He shifts, his back against the top right railing. I turn, moving close until I’m sinking back into his arms beneath the blanket. His body is sturdy beneath mine. The coffee is good, and I don’t mind a bit that we’re getting some curious stares from passing wranglers.
Hell, they can just go ahead and call me Mrs. Hatfield.
This is it.
I take his hand. We don’t talk. I touch his pulse point with my two fingers.
I like the way he exists. Quiet, and yet so alive.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BITTERN
I’m on cloud nine Monday morning. I wake up, rolling over with my face in the pillow, and realize it still smells like her. That has me feeling so damn good, it gets me right out of bed and into the bathroom like I’m floating on air. I swear, I look better than I ever have in the mirror. Younger, more energetic. My eyes aren’t so dull, I think. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I buzz right through my shower without leaning on the wall and thinking about how tired I am.
I barely taste my breakfast and coffee. It’s not until I’m down at the barn and turning the corner only to run right into Andy, and I come down to Earth with a jolt. Everything I did Saturday comes rolling through my head, and it clicks—if I get what I want, I’ll be a whole hell of a lot closer than I ever imagined with Andy.
Our eyes lock, and I know he knows. Of course he does. Janie didn’t come home Saturday night.
I clear my throat. “Morning.”
His jaw works. “Morning.”
Silence, less awkward than I’d have thought but still not comfortable, reigns. He clears his throat, stepping around me.
“Alright, let’s get to getting,” he says, heading toward the stalls.
I smile, thinking I doubt anybody was using that phrase until Freya showed up. Neither of us say much for the rest of the work day. It’s cooler now, with the heat wave rolling out and making way for more reasonable temperatures. The fences are in alright condition; we ride them at a brisk pace. I’m not sure if it’s because Andy’s trying not to hold still long enough to talk or if he’s trying to be efficient.
It’s Tuesday before I get to see my girl again. I keep calling her that in my head—my girl—and it’s sticking.
We both have long days. I’m in the field, she’s in the house. I eat in the mess hall and I’m disappointed I don’t see her. I go by her parents’ house, but she’s not on the porch. As I get ready for bed, I think about texting her, but no, she’d let me know if she had free time.
I’m turning off the light when I hear a knock. My feet bring me to the front door so fast, I barely touch the floor. It’s her, wrapped in a blanket, standing at the bottom of the steps.
“I snuck out,” she says, eyes glittering, cheeks flushed.
“It’s a little cold in my bed,” I say. “Care to warm me up?”
“I think I could arrange that,” she whispers.
