Despite the huge weight being lifted off my shoulders, I’m in no mood to celebrate.
“I said no.”
Remy appears from behind the barn. “Is he being difficult?”
“Yes!”
“No!”
Rebecca and I talk over each other.
“You’re coming with us.” She grabs my left arm while Remy takes my right.
I yank against their grip. “The hell I am.”
They don’t release me and drag me backward, away from the fence post I’ve been murdering for the past ten minutes. My boots dig furrows in the dirt.
“The fuck,” I growl. “Let me go.”
“Nope.” Rebecca’s grip tightens. “You need a night out, whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Noted.” Remy clicks his tongue as if he were spurring a stubborn mule forward. “Getting drunk anyway.”
I could break free. I’m bigger than Rebecca and stronger than Remy. But they’re tag-teaming me, and honestly, I’m too damn tired to fight them off. I’ve barely slept this week, fighting to outrun the thoughts that chase me. Her face. Her voice. Her lies.
My jaw clenches.
They shove me toward my truck. Rebecca opens the driver’s door and points.
“Go home, take a shower. Put on some decent clothes. We’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“And if I don’t answer the door?”
Remy snorts. “We’ll kick it down. Your choice.”
They’re serious. Both of them wearing identical stubborn expressions.
“Fine.” I get behind the wheel. “What about Rhys?”
Rebecca has an answer for everything. “He’s at Mom’s, already set with an overnight bag.”
I scowl. “How long have you been planning this?”
She doesn’t reply, just grins and slams my door shut, mouthing, “One hour.”
I stand under the hot spray in the shower until my skin goes numb, watching dirt and grime circle the drain. Wishing I could wash away the past two months just as easily.
I turn off the water and yank a towel from the rack, praying for a way to stop thinking about her.
I dry off, throw on jeans and a clean T-shirt, and flatten my hair under my good cap. I still look like hell, to quote my sister. Hollowed, with shadowed eyes and three days’ worth of stubble I don’t bother to shave.
My phone sits on the bathroom counter. I pick it up out of habit, and my thumb hovers over the messaging app.
No need to open it to be haunted by the last message she sent on Monday.
Faye
