“Too bad.” He stepped forward, crowding me back into the room, and I let him—because I was a fucking idiot. The door clicked shut behind him, and then, we were close again, the air between us thick with the scent of sex and something darker. Something heavier.
Jesse exhaled, his breath warm on my face. “I don’t regret it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I panicked. We were shouting, and you weren’t listening, then you said about what your dad did, and my heart… and I freaking panicked.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the memory of his face—twisted in horror, his hands shoving me away—was still too fresh. I should never have said what I did about not being loved. That was my secret to keep.
“Whatever,” I said.
His hand came up, his fingers brushing my cheekbone, light as a feather. I flinched, but I didn’t pull away.
“I swore I wouldn’t do this,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. His thumb traced my cheekbones. “I swore I wouldn’t want this.”
My breath hitched. “Want what?”
His eyes locked onto mine, dark and endless. “You.”
“Stay away from me,” I said, then hurried down the stairs, boots on, layering up, and heading outside.
I knewwhere the graves were on the land—they were clearly shown on the map, but they were a good quarter mile from the house, and walking there would be madness, or impossible. I’d researched all the ways that they could be keptin situ, maybe make the space an oasis of calm or something, but I’d never planned on visiting.
I saw one of the hands walk into the barn and followed him.
“Gunner, right?”
The big man turned on a dime. “Yes, sir.”
“I saw you on the ATV. I need you to take me to the graveyard.” He stared at me. I might be his boss, I guess, but maybe I didn’t need to make this an order. “Please?”
“Sure thing,” he said, and a few minutes later, I was clinging to Gunner as we tore across snow and ice, the ATV skidding and correcting beneath us as if it had a mind of its own. The cold bit hard, wind tearing at my eyes, the world reduced to white ground and dark tree trunks flashingpast. I wrapped my arms tighter around his coat and trusted him not to dump us into a drift or a frozen rut, my heart thudding harder with every jolt of pain. I’d pay for this later, and I needed to fill another prescription soon, otherwise I’d get locked into a cycle of pain.
He slowed as we reached the edge of the graveyard, easing the machine down until we came to a stop beneath a huge, old tree. In summer, it must have offered deep, generous shade, a place you’d choose to rest. Now its branches had broken in the wind, shielding part of the ground so the snow lay thinner here, some of the headstones standing clear while others were still half-buried.
I stepped off the ATV and into the graveyard, boots crunching softly, unsure where to look. Headstones rose in uneven rows, names half-buried, time and snow doing what they always did. Gunner came up beside me, quiet as if he understood this wasn’t his place.
“Your grandpa’s there,” he said in a respectful, almost gentle tone, pointing. “With your grandma. I didn’t know her, but… she was loved by your grandfather.”
He’d taken his Stetson off, holding it against his thigh, blond hair flattened then springing back into place. Even with the hat hair, he looked solemn. “There’s a lot of Barretts here,” he added, as if it were an observation and an apology all at once.
Then, he dipped his head. “I’ll let you visit and be here when you’re ready to leave.” He walked back to the ATV and sat astride it, facing away from me to give me privacy.
But privacy to do what? Mourn a man who’d never wanted to know the real me? I couldn’t mourn him any morethan I could mourn my father. That grief-shaped space in me was already occupied by bitterness for both men.
I moved closer to the nearest stone.BARRETTwas carved across the top, clean and deep. It was strange, unsettling, seeing my own name like that—finished, final.
Isobel
Walter
Husband and wife at rest together, in the land they loved.
I worked out the ages; Walter had been seventy-three, Isobel forty-eight. The gap between those numbers felt brutal. Had Walter never remarried? Had he lived all that time with only memory for company?
I stood there longer than I meant to, breath fogging, hands shoved into my pockets. My leg throbbed steadily now, the pain radiating from my lower back, which was trying to compensate for my hip injury, as if it were counting time for me. I let it. Some things deserved to hurt.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” I whispered at the stone. “Why did you leave it to me? I mean, I want it. I want to sell and make things better for everyone who it could help, people like me who had no one.” I swallowed and tried for more. “You had to know I’d sell. You told me to stay away. This place means nothing!” Tears choked me. “Jesse says I’m wrong about you.”
Was I wrong?
The memory came back without warning.
