He steps away, and I hate to see the sadness in his eyes. My palm covers his cheek, begging for more of his skin on mine.
“Can’t we just enjoy it while it lasts?”
He swallows and nods. My smile is sad too. I don’t like to know I have less than a month with them, and if what they tell me is right, I’ll be happy to leave. It just doesn’t make sense to me right now.
“Let’s go check on Storm.” He tugs my arm in the pen’s direction.
Even from afar, Storm watches us with her black eyes. The moment we approach, she blows and shakes her head in an obvious challenge, wanting more than what she’s being given. But as we arrive at the fence, she turns her back, refusing to engage.
“Tell me why it is so important to tame her.” I put my foot in the first wood of the fence and bring myself up until I’m leaning over and watching Storm.
Derrick grunts as I move, but he doesn’t stop me. Instead, I feel his hand coming to the small of my back to keep me steady.
“It’s more of a safety reason. We want her to be comfortable enough around people so we can get the vet to check on her. She was very skinny when we got her. She’s looking better now, but we won’t be able to feed her unless she stays, and right now, she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
I sigh, watching Storm for a couple of minutes before turning to him. “But you can do it.”
It’s not a question. I know he can. I heard enough from Major himself and now from his mother to understand this about Derrick. He can do this. It’s part of who he is.
“Major is skilled enough.”
I hop off the fence, crossing my arms in front of my chest and eyeing him up and down. I’m more than a goddamn foot shorter than him, but he has the decency to wince under my stare. He shakes his head, scratching the scar on his hand absently.
It’s always a reminder, I notice. Always something in the back of his mind.
“Major can’t do it. Storm’s health is in your hands.”
“My mangled hands.”
Biting my lip, I reach for the hand he tries to hide from me. Surprisingly, he lets me take it, and I have the opportunity to really look at the scars for the first time.
His middle finger and index finger suffered the most. They have big, aggressive scars that still don’t go completely flat. Slicing across his palm is a huge, massive scar. The surgeries erased most of his palm lines, the skin stretched to its limits. I trace the scar with my finger, feeling somewhat powerful when he shivers.
“No one can read your palm anymore. What a mysterious man you are.”
Derrick chuckles. “I’ve never gotten that reaction before.”
“And what kind of reaction do you get?”
He shrugs and takes his hand away. “Pity.”
I scoff. “You’re a hot cowboy. I’m not pitying you.”
The compliment makes him happy. I watch as his face morphs into something warm. I’m greedy, and I want more than just his smile. I want him to let it go, too. If I’m going to lose him, I want to leave him feeling a little better. I want to know he’s good and thriving.
“The past sucks, but it’s gone. That’s what I tell myself every day, because if I don’t, I get paralyzed, thinking it’s my fault that Mirasol isn't here with me. I should have fought more. I should have just left Grandpa’s house years ago—”
“Veda, no…”
“I’m only saying this because I want you to do it like me. Curse the past, but fucking move on.”
I don’t curse much, and when I do, I end up blushing. This time is no different, and Derrick sees it. His mouth curls with a lazy smile.
“Fucking move on?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah, let’s fucking move on.”
twenty-nine
