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He interrupts. “Called? Texted? Emailed?” He lets out a sharp breath. “Would you have responded? Honestly?”
I open my mouth and my jaw works before I nod my stubborn head. “Yes. I would’ve.”
“Liar,” he says and seems delighted, and he’s not wrong. “You went to all this trouble to disappear. Kept your name, sure, but you’re not online, you’re not on any social media, no websites, no addresses, nothing. I found an article about this new little horse breeding venture—” He gestures at the barn and the paddock beyond it. “—And saw you standing in the back of a picture. I only bothered clicking because Ford posted it, and Ford’s always posting the most inane shit. The paper didn’t even mention your name, but I recognized you. Even after all these years. It was pure and stupid luck.”
“Why?” I gasp at him. I feel like my head’s floating away. “Why are you here?”
“Four months ago, your father hired me to find you,” he says simply like he’s delivering a lecture on history. “I’m supposed to take you home.”
I back away from him. My hands come up and wave in the air like I can make him disappear. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. War’s supposed to be some random piece of my history—painful maybe, but harmless—he’s not supposed to be connected with my family, the people I’ve been hiding out from all this time.
He doesn’t move, only watches me, and I think about turning and running, but what will Ford and Kat think? I can’t just ghost them and I can’t just abandon everything I’ve built here, not like I did when I ran away from home back in the day—that was too violent, too painful. I gave up everything and rebuilt my life and I’m finally,finallystarting to feel like I have friends and a family and a purpose again at this farm with Ford and Kat and everyone else—and I can’t just turn and vanish.
Except the thought of going home makes me want to scream.
“I won’t,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m not going back. I don’t care what my father told you, I’m not going back.”
War’s face softens. His smirk disappears and he pushes off the wall, coming a step closer, but stops when I flinch. I recognize the way he’s leaning toward me, like I’m a spooked horse about to bolt, and he’s afraid that one wrong move will set me off, and he’s right. I’m on the edge of panic. I feel it building in my chest, bleeding into my limbs. War’s lovely mouth opens and I hear crickets screaming in my ears, eating at my skull, ripping my brains to mush.
“Melody, your father’s dying,” he says and I think a piece of my spine cracks as I back away. “I’m sorry. It’s true. You need to go home.”
I stare at him, my mouth open, his words like fists pummeling my skull, trying to flatten me, bloody me, kill me—
I turn and sprint away, running out across the field, deeper into the grass, and as far away from War as I can get.
Chapter2
War
The bar’s dim and quiet. Basketball plays on a flat-screen in the corner. Nobody’s watching. Only a few other folks sit hunched over their drinks, everyone keeping their distance from each other. I sip the beer in one hand and lean on my elbow, head propped in my other hand, spinning a coaster around and around. I’m in denim and a jacket, not quite blending in with this local dive, but not standing out, either. That’s how I like it—invisible until I’m not.
The bartender brings me another when I finish. I suck the head off and glance at the TV, watching the shapes flash down the court. I don’t really see anything—I keep thinking about the look on Melody’s face when I mentioned her father.
I expected anger. I expected sadness. Instead, there was a deep, horrible terror, like I told her vampires were real, and they’re coming to town tonight, and they feed exclusively on girls that like horses. She turned and ran so fast I thought she might trip over and hurt herself, but she kept on going, deeper into the fields, over a fence, and away.
It was the most bizarre thing I’d ever seen.
Over the years, I’ve delivered bad news—but I’ve never seen someone actually run away.
Ford didn’t know what the hell to make of it. I tried to write the whole thing off as some joke, but I doubt he believed me. His wife kept giving me this hard, skeptical stare, not that I can blame her. I wiggled my way out of the paperwork, claiming illness, and they didn’t press. They’re smart people—they can smell a liar, even if I’m very good and they’re not totally sure what I’m even lying about.
With me, it’s always a fair bet to assume the worst.
A person takes the stool next to mine. I glance over and Melody’s sitting with her back straight, her face pale, her jaw set like she’s facing down a very painful surgery but determined to be brave. “Want something?” I ask her and she orders a soda water and lime when the bartender comes over.
“I’m not staying long,” she says and glances at me, turning the glass between her hands. “I just wanted to come and tell you not to contact me again.”
I nod to myself, not surprised, and keep on looking at her. She doesn’t like when I stare. She’s probably not used to having someone from her old life around again considering the steps she took to sever ties. But it’s hard to keep my eyes off her. Melody was always pretty—soft, full lips, dark hair and dark eyes, with a lovely figured even back then—but the years have hardened her, chiseled her down into something leaner, something tougher. Gone is the baby fat I remember, the freckles, the awkward bangs. Melody’s a woman now, a beautiful woman, with sun-browned skin and sharp eyes and a fuck-you glare like a whip crack. It’s attractive and totally unexpected. She looks like she can take a punch. She looks like she can dish one out.
Women like Melody, they don’t end up working on horse farms. Oh, they ride horses, they preen over horses, they do all that stupid horse shit, but they don’t end up training animals.
Women like Melody from good families with lots of money marry respectable hedge fund managers and pump out babies and do Pilates and get lip injections.
Except Melody’s not like that at all. Whatever she is now, she’s something of her own making, and an intense curiosity’s keeping me here in this stool.
“I figured that’s what you meant when you ran off the other day,” I say and try not to smile. If it wasn’t such a pain in the ass, it would’ve been hilarious, watching her sprint down the field like I was the specter of death chasing after her.
She grimaces and stares at her drink. “I shouldn’t have done that, okay? That was pretty embarrassing. You should’ve seen the look Ford gave me when I came crawling back.”
