Seeing her in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, brought a wave of pain to the surface.
She was pregnant.With our child. A daughter.
I clench my teeth so tight I’m afraid I’m going to break one. My jaw aches from the pressure.
How did our lives and our timeline get so screwed up?
I jam the metal into the ground again as my muscles scream. My palms burn raw as the calluses split. I’ll have new blisters in the morning, but the pain is welcomed. With the dirt dumped, I lean the tool against a fence post and turn toward the ATV I drove.
I need a cigarette.
“You know there are better ways to torture yourself, right?”
I shield my eyes with my hand and see Levi walking across the grassy pasture.
“What’d that dirt do to you?”
I grumble, walking over to the ATV and reaching into the cup holder for a pack of cigarettes. I tap the pack against my palm before flicking one out.
“Shit’ll kill you.”
Lighting the cigarette, I puff out a plume of smoke. “Something’s going to. Might as well enjoy it.”
Levi shakes his head as he leans against the ATV frame.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “I was in the area.”
“Bullshit. Nothing brings you to this area.”
He chuckles. “Dad said he had a feed delivery. Thought I’d bring it out myself.”
I turn my head and stare at him. “Really?”
“Nah, I heard a rumor. Figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”
“Jesus Christ,” I grumble. I didn’t miss the gossip train while I was away.
The constant vibration in my pocket pulls my attention. I take a drag of my cig and dig out my phone.
Messages stack one after the other.
I scan over each problem from my foreman. Busted gates, sick calves, no-show farmhands. The list of shit never slows.
I finish my smoke, snubbing it out on the bottom of my boot and tossing the butt in my cup holder, before storming back to the fence.
“What’s the rumor now?”
Reaching for the post-hole digger, I go back to digging new holes.
“Heard you carried a princess out of the bar last night, but I know that can’t possibly be true.”
I grip the handle and slam the metal into the ground, harder than I mean to. Pain shoots up my arm as the wood jars against my hands.
“What were you thinking?”
I glare at him. “I was thinking she was wasted at a bar, and I needed to—”
