I grit my teeth and keep walking, desperate to outrun a sentence I’ll never hear the end of.
Chapter 12
Jane
Kitty opens her door before I can knock twice, as if she’s been waiting for me.
“Jane!” she exclaims brightly, pulling me inside as if I belong here. “Come in. You look like you could either cry or commit arson.”
I laugh too loudly. “Arson is still an option.”
Kitty’s smile softens. “Okay. Shoes off. Sit down. Hot chocolate or coffee?”
“Hot chocolate,” I reply automatically.
Kitty beams. “Correct answer.”
Her cabin is cozy in a way Tex’s isn’t. Not better, just different. Softer and lived-in, with a few framed photos on the walls, a blanket thrown over the couch like it’s been used and loved. A goat sleeping by the hearth, and?—
Wait—
“Why is there a goat in your cabin?”
Kitty chuckles as she plunks a mug of hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun in front of me, then settles across the table. “That’s Biscuit. Thinks he’s a dog. It was Tom’s idea to introduce goat farming at the ranch and, well, it kind of took off. Cheese Puff and Pretzel usually pop in at some point during the day.” She winks at me. “I think Cheese Puff and Biscuit have a thing for each other.”
“Of course they do,” I say, as if discussing goat sex over hot chocolate and cinnamon buns is an everyday occurrence.
“So,” Kitty says, her eyes brightening. “How's Tex?”
I choke on my drink, nearly spewing hot chocolate from my nose.
“Fine,” I manage, wiping my mouth.
Kitty’s eyes glint, then soften as she really looks at me. “That was a very loud ‘fine,’ Jane.”
My face heats. “I don't know what you mean.”
Kitty falls silent for a moment before saying gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here if you want to.”
I groan and stare into my mug. Kitty waits patiently, as if she knows that silence makes me honest.
I inhale slowly. The words are stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat, sharp-edged and humiliating. But if I don’t say them, I’ll explode.
“Can you... help me?”
Kitty’s expression shifts from playful to alert. “Of course. With what?”
I swallow. The word feels pathetic coming out of my mouth, like I’m twelve and trying to impress a boy at a school dance. “A makeover.”
She frowns. “Why?”
My fingers tighten around the mug until it hurts. The warmth burns my palms, but I need the grounding. If I tell her the truth—therealtruth—it becomes pathetic. It becomes the thing I’ve been running from my entire life.
But Kitty’s gaze doesn’t judge.
“I heard him,” I murmur. “On the phone. Talking about me.” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. “He said I’m everything he didn’t want.”
Kitty goes very still. “Did you hear the whole conversation?”
