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“Find anything new up there?” I ask, pointing to the sky.
A smile blooms on Reed’s face. When I was too young to know any better, I used to love that smile, but now it makes my stomach turn to stone with sorrow. In a way, I wish I could just change, want what Dad and Reed want too. It’d make everything so much easier if I simply settled into the life they designed for me. It wouldn’t even be a bad life. Reed’s a great guy, after all. He just isn’t The One.
Shit, I sound like Emily.
But as much as I goad her about finding Mr. Right on every corner, I know there really is someone out there for everyone. I’ve seen it with Mom and Dad. And I won’t settle for less than that. And less-than is what Reed and I had.
I’m not looking for more-than, though, not right now, except with the garage.
“Nah, just searching for shooting stars and contemplating life.”
I nod, not wanting to open that door to deeper conversations. “Let me get in position so you can hook it up.” I let off the brake, pulling forward and shifting in front of the Camaro. I back up, quick and efficient, getting aligned, and then I can hear the chains rattling as Reed gets everything set. It’s a rule that you don’t tow something you don’t check yourself, but I’m breaking that rule tonight because I’m not getting out until we’re back at the garage.
The passenger door opens, the overhead light coming on and illuminating me. Reed stops halfway into the truck, one leg in and one leg out as he scans me from head to toe. I see his nostrils flare and his jaw clench. “Shit. Didn’t mean to interrupt a date, Rix. Sorry.”
He’s not sorry. He’s pissed as fuck.
“Didn’t mean to rub your nose in it. Sorry.”
I’m not sorry either. Not really.
It hurts him, I know it does, and I am sorry for that. But maybe seeing me dating and fucking other people will help him to finally move on. I know he hasn’t been just waiting on me either. He’s dated and fucked around, even bringing one girl to the garage a few times. But it’d seemed more like an attempt at making me jealous than a show of being over me. He deserves more. He should have a woman who wants him the way he wants her. And that’s not me.
“Tannen?” he asks, climbing in and buckling up. His voice is tight, strangled in his throat.
I level him with a stare. “You wanna do this?”
That shuts him up, and the rest of the trip to the garage is silent. We get the Camaro into bay two and park the tow truck.
“Take my truck home if you want. You can work on the Camaro tomorrow or Monday, whatever you want.” The dismissal is a kindness because I know he wants to get away from me right now.
“Yeah, I’ll come by tomorrow so I can see what’s wrong. Think I popped a belt, but it was too dark to tell out there.” He grabs the keys to the garage truck out of the desk drawer and is gone without a look back.
Until he gets in the truck. He watches to make sure I lock up, mostly because he’s a good guy and wants to be sure I’m safe. But deep inside, I know he’s checking to see if I’m going back out, going back to Brody.
I don’t answer the question in his eyes one way or the other, but I lower the overhead door, lock up, and turn off the light. I don’t need it to get across the garage I know like the back of my hand.
Three days.
Reed is giving me the silent treatment. Manuel is walking around on eggshells because of the tension at the garage. And Brody is ass-deep in work, splitting time between cattle care with Mark and crop work with Brutal and Bobby.
I’m not even entirely sure what all that entails, even though he told me. But dirt quality and growing seasons, calf weights and contracts? It’s like he’s speaking a different language, but the final result is that he’s so tired at the end of the day, he keeps falling asleep on me.
And I don’t mean literally on me, unfortunately, but rather after a few texts, he apologizes for being boring company and zonks out. At this point, I’m eating cheeseburgers with layers of tomatoes and lettuce in protest for the cows and crops getting all the attention from Brody that I want myself.
It shouldn’t be like this. That’s part of the deal of keeping things casual. I shouldn’t miss him after a few days.
But I do.
I miss that intense way he looks at me, like he’s thinking of filthy things to do with me. I miss the peek at his humor that he’s stingy about sharing with most people but not with me. I miss the rumble in his chest when he says my name. I miss feeling like I’m enough when I’m in his arms and the sole owner of his attention.
