Deciding too much is better than not enough, I split the bale in three equal parts, carrying the first stack to Snicker andthe second to Mistic—the two horses I’ve grown to like. They’re friendly enough and don’t spook at every little thing.
Unlike the third horse, Flynn I think, who’s afraid of everything, pawing at the door impatiently, his hoof making the metal and wood panels rattle. He snorts, and I watch the whites of his eyes flash as he becomes frantic. I freeze, my own fear pumping anew through my veins—this horse could kill me if he wanted. He’s more powerful than any man I’ve ever faced, and yet, the fear pouring through me isn’tof him,butfor him.
“Easy,” I coo, raising the hay in his direction as a peace offering. He instantly settles, craning his neck to get a bite before I even reach him.
He wrenches the pile from my hands, and it goes spraying around me in a dramatic plume, small flakes of it embedding into my curls.
“What. The. Fuck,” I hiss, looking down at the mess around and on top of me. He begins to paw again, but when I look at him, he doesn’t look so angry—more like he’s laughing at me. I swear, I’ve never wanted to punch an animal until this moment.
My fist quivers with the need to do it too.
Instead, I do my best to scoop the pile up and toss it in his face, most of it landing inside the gate, where he’ll be able to eat it at least.
“Eat shit,” I growl, stomping away, picking one of a million flakes from my unruly hair.I’ll be lucky if it ever comes out.
Deciding the horses are safe and fed for the night, I look around for any excuse to stay in the barn a little longer. The sun’s high in the sky, filling the air with an oppressive kind of heat, and even though I’m used to being alone, something about being in that house makes me anxious.
With McCrae and Santos both gone, it’s just me. Me and my demons, and I’d rather avoid them as long as I can.
I pull out my phone and look at the still unanswered texts I sent to Mateo a week ago.
I’m so tired of being ignored and not being good enough. I’m tired of getting the shit jobs and never any thanks. I’m tired of selling myself to make other people happy—I’m just fucking tired.
I begin sliding my phone back into my back pocket when it vibrates in my hand, and I pull it out, answering it without even looking.
“Are you on your way back yet? It’s getting creepy as fuck around here.” I scoot my foot through a loose pile of hay, expecting McCrae to answer.
“What?”
I pause, caught off guard by the voice. “Mateo?”
He grumbles something unintelligible and then says, “You said you wanted to talk.”
“Yeah, last week,” I huff, the anger I’m used to living within flaring to life once more.
“I was busy last week, Valentina. I’m calling you to talk, as requested. Maybe not on your timeline, but not everything has to be.”
I stiffen at his hostile tone.
“Who fucking pissed in your Cheerios?” I snap.
“Valentina.” He barks my name, and I freeze, his voice far too similar to our father’s. My skin begins to flush, as if I’m still a little girl being scolded by my father for talking out of turn. And then he sighs, regret and pity filling the line so thickly, I nearly drown in it, the reminder that he’s the one who put me here, the one who took everything from me, the one who got everything and never paid the price for itwashing over me.
Cold hatred courses through my veins, freezing any loving or tender feelings I once had for him in my heart like shards of glass.
I forget the peace I felt only moments ago.
Anger—rage—it’s what I’m comfortable with, what I’m used to. It’s my way of being brave in the face of my fears.
I can’t stop the words pouring from my tongue, even as I don’t want to say them. “Do you seriously not care about anyone but yourself now, Mateo? Is that what we’ve become? When will I be good enough? When will I be deserving?” It feels weak to admit it out loud, but if I don’t, I’ll surely wither into nothingness.
“I care about you.” The sentence comes tied to a brick of annoyance.
It’s always the same.
“Bullshit,” I spit, squaring my shoulders. “What about McCrae? He took a fucking bullet for your sister, and you don’t seem to even notice.”
“I talk to Gus, and Gus said he’s doing good. I also saw him riding out of the ranch a few minutes ago. He can’t be too hurt.”
