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Like it’s mine?
The fact that he thinks she could be convinced to stay, to live a different life, laces anger through my veins.
I hate that in another life, I could’ve been her reason, her man, her future.
In this one, I’m nothing but heartbreak, guaranteed.
19
When Pigs Fly (Rachel)
Unsure what woke me, I lie still, listening, and realize I’m hearing voices. Hushed voices.
They’re filtering in through the open window.
Weston’s and...Marty’s?
Oh, crap city.
That’s just my luck.
Caught with my hand in the man-cookie jar by my dumb brother.
I leap off the bed, frantic to find my clothes. The pale dawn light helps me locate them, including everything that was discarded in the living room, but now sits neatly folded in the bedroom.
The fact that West is a caveman who picks up after himself makes me swoon harder for him.
I stagger around getting dressed and leave the room.
The house is silent until I arrive in the living room. Then I hear the men talking again through the window near the bookcase, which is open a crack.
“She’s found her place at the Smithsonian, Marty. You know how bad she’s wanted that as well as I do,” Weston says. “That’s not something she’s giving up. It’s not something I want her bailing on for—what, exactly? A life with pigs and two-bit monster truck shows?”
Does he want me to stay in Dallas? My heart thuds at the idea.
“I still say you oughta talk it out with her,” Marty says glumly. “The way she’s acting...I’m not so sure she wants to be out east forever, Weston.”
“No. Not happening,” Weston growls back. “If you’re worried about her getting hurt with what’s going on...look. We both know there’s no future for us. It’s nothing but a summer fling between old friends.”
My gut clenches. I have to close my eyes at the sting.
A summer fling? That’s not what I want this to be, even if it’s what I said I’d be okay with.
That’s not who I want to be to West.
“You sure?” Marty asks coldly. “You’re both grownups and it’s not my place to butt in, but fuck, man. I’d be surprised if my sister does 'flings.'”
My heart tumbles over sadly how right he is.
I also hate having my brother getting his hackles up, defending me from West.
“I’m sure. Shit.” Weston pauses, leaving the air thick with brooding. “It’s how it has to be, Marty. You know what I was like when I came home. A drunk. A wreck. A disaster. The vet programs saved my ass. That’s why I wile away my free time trying to give back, trying to keep going. But we both know I’m one bad night away from relapse. I still have nightmares about what happened over there. I told you before, I could snap like a rabid dog. I could lose my shit on someone who doesn’t deserve it—and I’ll be damned if that’s Shel.”
My spine shivers at his tone and his words.
What the hell is he talking about? A drunk? A wreck?
Never!
