Maybe it’s better she isn’t coming to the party tonight.
I need to stop looking at her. Thinking about her.
“I gotta go help Dad with the horses. If you get arrested again, I’m not covering for you this time, Dean,” Kincaid warns. “And seriously, Willa. Think about it. The movies will be fun.”
Kincaid grabs the baling wire and starts heading back toward the barn, but I stay put, leaning against the truck as I take another drag.
Willa circles, stopping beside me. “Maybe you should listen to him, Dean.”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“I know why you’re doing all this. What you’re avoiding.”
“I’m not talking about that.” What I mean to say is, I’m not talking abouther.
It’s hard enough watching my mom slowly shrink. Her eyes are so hollow, I barely recognize her anymore. But she's still there. She’s still Mom.
Soon…
My chest tightens. I can’t think about that.
Willa is quiet, staring out at the ranch. Not backing away like she usually does when I pull out a cigarette. She lets the smoke cling to her, knowing it will get her in trouble with her father and not seeming to care right now.
But I do, so I put it out.
She looks up at me, and I swear she sees past every wall. “I get you don’t want to talk, but if you ever change your mind, I’m here.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay.” She lifts off the truck and starts walking away.
“Hey, Willa.”
She stops, glancing over her shoulder. Her beautiful thunderstorm eyes meet mine, and there are a hundred things I want to say. It all chokes in my throat. Nothing comes out. I’m not even sure I know why I stopped her.
She turns and walks back over to me, once more leaning against the truck. She doesn’t ask what was on the tip of my tongue. She doesn’t say anything.
We stand in silence, a little closer this time, so our arms barely brush. And we stay like that for a while.
7
Willa
I’m just out ofthe shower when a knock comes at Dean’s door. It’s almost ten, and Dean still isn’t back from wherever he went. I’m learning this isn’t unusual for him. When he’s at the clubhouse, he avoids me. And when he leaves, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going or when he’ll be back.
He never comes to bed before I’m asleep, and although I feel his warmth join me at some point on most nights, he’s always gone by morning.
Unless he has a specific question about the ranch or his brother, he doesn’t make conversation. The distance is overwhelming. And with this constant tension lingering in the air, I’ve kept to myself, mostly hiding in his room at the clubhouse.
It’s not like anyone wants me here.
The members of the club look at me like I brought trouble to their doorstep.
The girls eye me like I’m competition.
No matter which way I turn, I’m unwanted, and I’ve accepted it. After all, feeling isolated isn’t that much different from how it’s been back home these past couple of years.
As Kincaid and I drifted apart, so did everything else. What began as friendship slowly rotted under the pressure of our growing expectations. Kincaid let Tate pull his strings while my father pulled mine. At a certain point, I didn’t know what actions were mine and what were his, just that there was no escape.
