Page 87 of Slow Burn

His words go straight for the jugular of the impossible standards I hold myself to, and they cut deep. Still, they don’t hurt as much as watching Lyla walk away from me earlier, the uncertainty that I might never get her back.

“I love her, man,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m in love with her. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to start shit without really knowing. But I would do anything for Lyla, you know that. All I want is to make her happy.”

Austin’s jaw ticks, the muscle in his cheek flickering. At his side, I notice his hand flexing, curling into a fist and then uncurling.

“What can I do to make this better, Austin? Do you want to punch me? Huh? Fucking punch me. I know you want to.” I point at my cheek, jutting my chin toward him to give him the opening I know he’s looking for.

But Austin doesn’t take the shot. He reaches up and scrubs a hand down his face, shaking his head.

“It’s not even fucking worth it,” he mutters, walking out of the barn and leaving Willow and me standing there alone.

Chapter 33

Lyla

Please tell me you’re both just as pathetic as I am and have no plans tonight. I want to go out.

SKYE

I’m in!

SUTTON

I’ll be working later, something came up at Tate’s.

SKYE

Good luck with that. Don’t do anything to piss him off. He might feed you to the pigs.

SUTTON

I’ll need a stiff drink after, I’m sure. I’ll meet up with you later?

Just don’t show up smelling like manure and we won’t pretend we don’t know you.

SUTTON

Will shower first

“So, what’s the deal with Tate?” I ask Skye, who is sitting across from me, sipping on a strawberry daiquiri I wasn’t even aware Lucky’s served.

“Oh, he’s fine, I’m sure,” Skye says. “No one around here knows much about him, so there’s all these rumours about his past. You know how you see those shows about cowboys who dump bodies at the edge of town when someone gets in their way?”

She makes a motion like she’s slicing her throat with her pointer finger, and I laugh for the first time all day.

I’m grateful for a night out with the girls, even if I am going to tell them I’m officially leaving Sage Valley tomorrow. It took more makeup than I normally wear to cover the red splotches around my eyes from crying, and a few ice cubes to make the puffiness go down. I’m just hoping the conversation, and the alcohol, will keep my mind off of Beck.

So far, focussing on Skye’s theories about the silver fox of a cowboy I met the other day is doing the trick, but barely.

“Yeah, I guess,” I answer.

“Well, that would be Tate. I don’t think he’s actually dumping bodies, but you know how the rumour mill starts spinning, and when you don’t know anything about a person, it’s easy to get carried away filling in blanks.”

“I don’t know, I’ve learned not to jump to conclusions about people, and not to take them at face value,” I say. There it is, the thought I haven’t been able to escape all day. It sends a dull ache through my midsection.

The argument I had with Beck in the driveway has been playing on a loop like a broken record in my mind. It’s not unusual for me to spend hours fixating on a conversation, replaying what I said and beating myself up for every poor choice of words.

He pushed me, he poked at me until I did the very thing I told myself I wasn’t going to do. I blew up. I had the same kind of outburst toward Beck that I did with my old boss, except he had me removed by security. It was humiliating, mortifying. If Beck had security guards at Wild Sage, I’d be willing to bet anything he’d have had me removed from his property too.