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“No.” I stand up, having to close my eyes for a minute to keep myself from puking, but I can do this. I just need to rally. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let you do it all yourself.”
I open my eyes and see Adam staring at me with concern swimming in his. “You can barely stand.”
“Fuck you. I’m great at standing,” I say, trying to force a smile onto my face, but I’m pretty sure I look green because I’m about to lose whatever I have left in my stomach. I sway slightly on my feet but try like hell to appear okay. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t buy it even for a second. He knows me far too well. “Lie down. I’ll go get you some water and painkillers.”
I look at his face—his perfect, chiseled jaw and stern mouth—and realize quickly I’m not winning this battle. I take a very careful and tentative seat on the edge of the bed, and he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a glass of water and ibuprofen.
I take them with as big of a drink as I can handle. “Lie down. I’ll be back in a bit.”
His gruff tone isn’t threatening, but it holds a hint of warning—telling me I need to listen to him. I do as he says and climb under the covers yet again, letting my eyes drift close as I try like hell not to think about Adam out there shoveling out the barns and slinging slop for the pigs.
His father will likely join him, along with his younger brothers. But I know I should be out there helping him out. He does too damn much.
He has since we were kids. Jameson—he never really cared about the farm and let it be known recently that he wanted nothing to do with it. But Adam was always different. He wants to take the farm over for his father.
Let him retire and rest. That’s his damn goal, and I swear, he’s gonna kill himself trying to do that. The farm is large, and they don’t hire out. It’s just Bates and friends working the damn thing.
I groan because I feel like shit, knowing they need help, and I drank myself stupid last night. Making myself useless for the day.
But I think I needed the very brief escape. Not that my life is all that damn hard, but between Chloe, my sisters, my mom, and my stepfather, as well as a very deep secret I’m so tired of hiding, I was close to breaking.
I needed the break.
Not that I feel any damn better today.
I’m not sure that’s ever actually going to happen.
And I don’t think I deserve it anyway.
THREE
ADAM
I finish my chores and head back inside, with my little brothers grumbling and moaning about how tired they are. Which I get. It’s hard work, but I love the burn my muscles have right now. The sweat pouring off me after a morning full of strenuous activity.
Always have.
“Boys, it’s not that bad,” my dad tries, but they’re still a grumbling mess as they make their way into the kitchen, both plopping down at the table. The smell of bacon fills my nostrils as I breathe it in.
“Boys.” My mom looks at them, nearly distraught. “You’re a mess. Go clean up before breakfast.” She looks at the mud on their shoes and their faces with horror, and I try to stifle my chuckle. Mom hates messes. She keeps a clean house, but with four boys and a husband, she never had a chance.
They head off to clean up—which I’m almost certain will only be them changing their clothes and splashing water on their faces—as I give my mom a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to go get a shower in. Save me some bacon.”
“Adam, is Zach here?” she asks as I head toward the stairs.
I turn to face her with a slow nod, not that I’m worried she’ll be upset—they treat Zach like their own. So much so that my father was irritated he didn’t come down to help this morning. I told him he wasn’t feeling well, and he grumbled but let it go. “Yes.”
“Is he okay?” Her face is full of worry. I know my parents aren’t completely naive to all the things going on with Zach’s family, but she usually doesn’t ask about it.
“Yeah. He’s okay. Just needed a night away.”
Her mouth is drawn in a firm line, and she doesn’t look satisfied with my explanation. I know my mom. She wants to mother him. She wants to make it all okay, but I’m not sure she can do that with Zach. He’s stubborn as all hell and kind of rivals me when it comes to the strong silent type.
“He’ll be okay, Mom,” I try to reassure her, but all I get is a stilted nod, which I take as I exit the room and head up to my bedroom.
I find Zach still in my bed, but he’s awake. His eyes meet mine as soon as I walk into the room. My bed is a mess, the sheets and comforter thrown around like he couldn’t get comfortable. He’s still shirtless, the blankets covering his lower half. And for a brief, slightly weird moment, my eyes sweep over all his bare skin.
