Page 102 of Roped

“Well, don’t you want your sister back?”

My chest is heaving now, and I’m starting to get angry. I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know what he wants me to say. But then he speaks and I realize why he keeps asking this question.

“I do, yeah,” he says, his eyes somehow both aloof and penetrating. “Just don’t get why you want her back so bad you want me to use you as bait. After everythin’.”

“After everything,” I repeat, my hands fisted.

He dips his face. “Yeah.”

I take a deep, deep breath then. But only because I want to fly over to him and punch him in the face. And then do it again. And again until I can make him understand why. But I’ll give it one more try before I resort to violence.

“Before this moment, I kept telling myself I needed to be patient with you,” I begin, “but you’re making it really hard for me to do that. You’re making it really hard for me to not be angry and violent, and… Listen to me, Radisson, okay? Listen. You’re not a monster. Not on the outside or on the inside. Not for your scars that you got from trying to save your parents; not because you had to learn how to speak again when you were fifteen or that you still have trouble with words. You’re not a monster for sending your sister away because you were grieving differently. And you’re definitely not a monster for killing convicted criminals who have hurt others.

“What you are is in pain. You’re in pain, Radisson. This is pain. It’s like you’re still in that burning car with your family. You’re still trying to save them and then beating yourself up over and over because you can’t. You can’t change the past. You can’t bring them back. So you stay back, you stay with them; and if you have your way, you’ll always stay there. You’ll never move on. You’ll never heal. You’ll burn yourself in that car with them. And I don’t know your parents, other than what you’ve told me about them, but I don’t think they wanted that for you. I don’t think your mom, who taught you how to treat a girl; or your father, who taught you about the land and how to be a cowboy, wanted you to burn in a car with them. They didn’t want you to think it was your fault that you weren’t able to pull them out in time. You were fifteen. You were in a car wreck that injured you too. You did your best and it hurts so bad that your best wasn’t good enough. That your best was just you and your sister surviving. But you did, and I don’t think they would want you to just do that, survive and nothing else. They’d want you to live.”

I take in another shaky breath and wipe away my tears that I didn’t even know had started to fall. “So I’m sorry to say, but you’re not a monster and I can’t have you believing that. I can’t have you punishing yourself for that, thinking you have to pay your dues because you’re a bad man. The only monster in this whole scenario is my father. He’s the one who ruined your life. He’s the one who ruined your sister’s life. Him and no one else. So I want you to use me as bait to get your sister back because you deserve it. Because my father doesn’t get to win this one. Because I don’t care that you stole me or blamed me just because I’m related to a monster like him. I don’t care. I don’t hate you for that. I never did and I’m not going to, and you can’t make me. So I’m going to help you and you’re going to take my help.”

After I finish, the silence seems louder than it was back when I started, along with my heartbeats and my breaths. But Radisson, for some reason, appears unchanged. Except for the slight tensing of his jaw here and there, he appears unmoved. His breathing appears to be relaxed, and his stare seems as blank as before.

I don’t like that. I don’t like his no reaction. It means I haven’t made my case and I begin to speak again at the same time he does. And his question is the same as before: “Why?”

My temper explodes. “Oh my God, are you—”

He keeps at it. “Why don’t you care?”

“You—”

“Why don’t you blame me?”

“Radisson—”

“Why can’t I make you hate me, Peyton?” he growls.

And I scream, “Because I love you, you…”

As soon as I say the words, he flinches. I finally realize what he’s been asking me. All this time. What he wanted me to say. He wanted me to tell him the truth. Didn’t he? He wanted me to tell him what’s in my heart. I should’ve known. Because I did the same to him. Up on that cliff when I wanted his truth. When I wanted to know why he’d kill for me, for the Turner Princess. The daughter of the man who murdered his family and ruined his life.

He did give me his truth, so I guess it’s only fair I give him mine.

“I love you,” I confess, and I watch his chest move with a deep breath. “I’m in love with you. Okay? That’s why. I can’t hate you because I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. Because you’re the only one who makes me feel alive. You’re the only one who makes me feel safe. And I’ve never had that. I’ve never felt safe anywhere, with anyone, the way I do with you. Before I met you, I was so afraid. I lived my life in fear. Day in, day out. I never felt safe enough to dream even. To hope, to wish for things like other girls, but you… you make me do that. You make me dream. You make me hope. You make me…”

Something else occurs to me then. Something monumental that simply bursts to the surface, and I realize I’ve been lying to myself. These past few days I thought I was trying to seize the moment. Hoard memories, collect them like never before. Maybe even show him what his life could be like if he simply stopped living in the past. That all his fantasies could come true. But I was living my fantasy too. I was living my dream. The dream I never dared to weave. Living with him, loving him, building a life with him. Working side by side. Hoping, praying, wishing that I would get to have this. That I would get to have his love.

That my father didn’t ruin this for me too.

I thought I’d gotten brave when I started going on rides with Radisson, when I kissed him before the storm. But I hadn’t been brave until this moment. Until I accepted that I want more. I don’t just want to disappear from his life. I don’t want this to end. I want to be with him. I want to find a way to build something between us, despite blood, fire, and tragedy.

“No,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.

“What?”

His body has become larger somehow, more unforgiving than before, than it ever was. The scar on his face stands taut and his jaw is so firmly set that when he speaks, his lips barely move. “Don’t need your help. Don’t want it. That’s all we’re gonna say about that.”

With that he picks up a discarded shirt and starts striding over to the barn door. It takes me a few seconds to realize he intends to leave. He intends to simply go away. He’s leaving. After I poured my heart out to him, he’s just… leaving.

“Radisson,” I call out. “Stop.”

He doesn’t.