The stupid teal coffee mug she always used has been sitting on the drying rack, untouched. A half-used bottle of her coconut lotion still sits on my bathroom sink because suddenly I’m sentimental and just can’t bring myself to throw it away.
Every day is exactly the same. I wake up, go to work, and disappear into the field to work on my house. But everything feelswrong. And I know I’m not the only one who feels it.
Iris hasn’t chased the barn cats or a single car since Sadie left. She spends most of her time curled up on the porch, chin resting on her paws while she stares out at the long driveway, waiting for someone who isn’t coming back.
Monty’s been a pain in the ass, too. He tried to bite Emmett last week and has been a real dick to the other horses when we let him out to graze. He won’t let anyone enter his stall except me, but I don’t trust him anymore. He’s been a wild card.
Guess I can’t really blame him. He’s upset and hurt. We’ve both got too many pent-up emotions and nowhere to put them.
Surprisingly, other than finishing my house, working with Outlaw is the only thing keeping me sane. He’s still wildly unpredictable, but we’ve built a layer of trust that wasn’t there before, and he’s starting to open up and bond with the other horses. Slow progress is still progress.
I thought throwing myself into the build would be an effective distraction, but she’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.
In the silence. In the empty chair at the dining room table. In every sunset in the wildflowers. I can’t escape the memories or the way she’s woven herself into my life.
I’m on the back deck using the miter saw to cut baseboards when I hear rustling coming from the overgrown path. I haven’t been maintaining it now that it’s just me or Land coming out here.
I don’t look up—I don’t need to.
Only three people know to look for me here. One is in California and another is probably three sheets to the wind at Lucky’s.
I hear him puttering around and can tell he’s surveying my work. He hasn’t been out here since he sold me the land.
There’s a long pause, so I continue, marking my next cut.
Measure twice, cut once.
He blows out a long breath and I finally look up.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You built a house,” Dad says, grinning like he couldn’t be more proud, but there’s an edge to his voice.
I shrug, looking up at the A-frame my hands crafted, a sense of pride washing over me.I built a house.
“You ever think about taking a break?” he asks, voice low.
“Nope.” I lower the blade through another board, blowing away the sawdust and checking my cut.
He chuffs. “You know, son. You’ve always been stubborn, but this is a new record.”
I place the board down with the rest before turning around. His expression is difficult to pinpoint, floating somewhere between exhaustion and astonishment. There’s a folded piece of paper in his left hand. He runs his fingers along the crease before forcing it into my hands, the parchment crinkling in my grip.
“I can’t take another day of all this, Wes.” His tone shifts to a serious edge. “You’re a shadow, son. I look at you and it’s like you’re not even here anymore.”
My throat bobs as I swallow hard, guilt spreading through me like wildfire. I’ve let him down—again—but that wasn’t enough. I thought I had a better handle on it.
When everything happened with Samira, it wasn’t like this. I cared about her, I really did. She was fun, easy to be around. Made it easy to forget the noise for a little while. But I was seventeen and angry at the situation, not broken by it. Morepissed off about being shoved to the bottom of the totem pole than to be losingher.
This…this is different. This is like losing a part of myself I didn’t even realize I had to give.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
My eyes fall to the paper in my hands as I unfold and scan it.
Boarding pass. My name. One way. Destination: LAX.
“What is this?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “A plane ticket. Leaves tomorrow morning. If she’s what you want, then do something about it. Don’t let her slip away.”
