“I don’t think that’s how it goes.”
I hear her laughter as she descends the stairs.
Seven o’clock comes.
And goes.
Five minutes later, I tell myself he’s running late. It’s a ranch. Things happen. Horses throw shoes. Cows get loose. Fences get breached.
At seven fifteen, I start checking my phone for messages.
At seven thirty, I feel stupid.
At seven forty-five, I grow angry.
At eight, I finally text him.
Me: Hey, you okay?
No response.
I try calling. It rings twice and goes to voicemail.
“Of course,” I mutter.
By eight thirty, worry starts to crawl in, pushing past the anger. Waylon isn’t careless with Ruby. He’s not careless with work. If he said he’d be here, something must have happened.
I text Caison.
Me: Is Waylon okay?
He replies almost immediately.
Case: Yeah. Why?
I stare at the screen, my heart sinking.
Me: We had plans. He didn’t show. Was just making sure he didn’t get trampled by a herd of cattle or something.
I add a laughing emoji to the end to save face.
There’s a pause.
Case: No. No stampede to report.
That’s it.
No explanation. No apology on his behalf. Just confirmation that I’ve been sitting here like an idiot for over an hour for no reason.
By nine, I’m not even mad any longer. Just over it.
I block his number.
It’s a petty, impulsive thing, but I don’t care. I don’t want to see his name light up my phone. I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want to give him the chance to hurt me again.
I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed, staring at the ceiling.
A soft knock sounds on my door.
