"Want to tell me why you showed up on my front porch in the back of a cop car?"
He stays silent. Dallas and I grow closer every day. Some days, it feels like we've always been together, but then there are times, like now, when it feels like there's an ocean between us. He refuses to talk about what brought him here, and because I know what it’s like to live with demons, I don't push.
My phone dings with a text.
Hollis: If she hasn't called, she doesn't want you to have it.
Trigger: She can't call. I never gave her my number.
Hollis: I did.
I stop my horse to make sure I read that right.What? Does that mean she asked for it?
Trigger: Why?
I try to play it cool even though my heart is suddenly racing with this revelation. She's had my number all this time. That has to mean she knew it was me at prom.
Hollis: I gave it to her when we were in the hospital. We didn't know when Warrick would wake from his coma, and since the two of you are neighbors, I told her to ask you for help.
Warrick's accident made the local news. It was bad enough that everyone was talking about it, but no one mentioned thecoma. I didn't know. If I had, I would have found a way to be there, to dosomething. I pinch the bridge of my nose, hating myself for not realizing how serious it was. But I can't rewrite history. I was drowning in my own family's crisis, and by the time I came up for air, it was too late.
Hollis: You should have told me it was her.
Not the answer I was hoping for, but I get it. Junior year, after the charity ride, I told Hollis about my past with Asha. I told him everything that happened on the monkey bars, her fall, and our family's rivalry. I didn't want to keep him in the dark anymore. During our talk, two different narratives were casually mentioned about why Asha was sent away. Asha's version is that Warrick did it to keep her safe, while Hollis's parents claim it was for her own good.
My mind immediately went down the rabbit hole. Why make that distinction unless he thought there was more to it? I pressed him, but he shrugged it off like it wasn't anything, and hell, maybe it's not. But in my head, his parents' version suggests something more complex. Sending someone away for their own good suggests you might be the harm they need protecting from.
Regardless, I could have divulged my suspicions that she was my secret pen pal, but I didn't. It felt like a lot to pile on in one conversation. Besides, I promised Asha I wouldn't tell him about her visit to check on me after I was kicked by that bull. Telling him any more felt like crossing a line she asked me not to. And at the time, there was still a sliver of doubt, anyway. I still thought I could have been reading into things that weren't there.
Trigger: I know.
Trigger: I'm sorry.
Hollis: If she tells you to fuck off, you listen.
Trigger: I'll fuck off.
Hollis: 364.666.1432
I quickly type out a text before I can think better of it and say too much or too little.
Trigger: We need to talk.
It's straightforward and to the point. It doesn't give anything away. There's nothing to be implied, just facts. But none of that matters because the text never goes through.
The status never updated to Delivered or Read because I was blocked. But why?
Was I blocked simply because I am the enemy, the boy next door she was told to stay away from because of the last name attached to mine, or is there more to it? Has she already written me off because I didn't call sooner?
Regardless, the way I see it, she blocked me before she could tell me to fuck off, which means I'm not breaking my word to Hollis. If anything, this is a loophole. She asked someone for my number, which counts for something. It means she thought about me.
ONE YEAR LATER
"I saw Warrick Fairfield in town last week. You should try knocking on her door again. They're probably home for the holidays," Dallas says as we finish untacking the horses we were working with today.
He's been working with my dad a lot more, helping him with his bourbon hobby. Though, I'm not sure how much longer we can continue calling it a hobby. With Dallas's help, he's converted fifty acres of land into barley, corn, wheat, and rye, and he converted an old silo into his tasting room. His tinkering has produced enough bottles that we had to start selling them just to get rid of them. It was that or pour damn good bourbon down the drain.
My brother may have horses in his blood, but farming is in his heart. He loves the land.
