A sharp inhale tightens my chest. He knows damn well I don't talk to my daddy about our relationship. Maybe that's become a problem.
An earlier headache returns, and I figure I've just about had it with the boys in my life, the indecisiveness and their childish behavior. "No. It's none of his business, and you know how I feel about that."
"Do I? Sometimes I wonder, Vickie. You know how thick in the head I am. Too stupid to breathe on my own, some folks say."
And that, right there, is all I can take. "Stop it. Stop moping around like someone went and kicked the puppy you don't have. You got drunk after six years sober, beat up Kyle - which I agree was deserved - while wrecking Sarah's house before disappearing for three damn days!"
His green eyes go wide as I step closer to the bed, one fist planted firmly on my hip. "Vickie-"
"You got any idea how worried I was? No phone call, no message - you just up and decide to go get drunk in a shit hole before getting the shit kicked outta you by a bunch of brutes who wouldn't have had a prayer against you if you'd been sober."
"Vickie, I-"
"Here's how it's going work," I hate pulling the Dominatrix card outside the bedroom, but this boy needs a swift kick in the ass. "You're going get yourself outta this hospital. You're going to go apologize to Sarah and beg her to let you stay at her place. Then, when she kicks your ass to the curb, because trust me - she's not in a forgiving mood right now - you're going to go ask Brandon for forgiveness for being a dumbshit-"
"But, Vi-"
"-and ask him for a place to stay, because yes, I'm going to New Orleans and won't be back for a week; and Ian just got himself engaged so don't you dare show up on his doorstep and interrupt the happiness he's finally managed to find for himself. You're also going to talk to Austin."
"Hell no, I'm not!"
My eyebrow raises on its own. "I beg your pardon?"
"No, I..." He falters under my glare, his eyes glancing to the side. "I'm not," he says more quietly.
Letting out a slow breath to cool my temper, I brush his unruly bangs aside so I can look into his eyes. "Sweetie, you've got to. I love you, but if you two can't work your shit out, then it might be best for all three of us if I stay in New Orleans."
His eyes dart up quickly to meet mine, and already they're full of wet sadness along with the shock. "You... you don't really mean that."
Like the brat he is, he's always gotta push that one last button to see if I'll give in. I can't, no matter how much my heart aches too see him upset. "I do, Saul, with all my heart."
He hiccups, his bottom lip fighting against its desire to pout. He's trying to put on a strong front, but I can see how tore up he is inside. It's a reflection of how I think all three of us have been feeling these past few months, and it needs to end before there's nothing left to salvage.
"I don't understand," he whispers, all the defiance gone from his voice. "What's he got to say that you can't? Why can't this just be 'bout you an' me, like it's always been?"
"Oh, sweetie, it hasn't been just you and me for a while now. You're just so focused on me, you can't see it. That's why you gotta talk to Austin."
I lean in to kiss his forehead, but in one last act to show me how upset he is, he turns away to scowl out the window. I won't give in. Clenching my fists, I turn to the door. "I'll call you in a week."
As I'm crossing the threshold, I hear the whisper that puts my heart back at rest.
"I love you too, Vickie."
I don't reply and keep on walking down the bleached, polished hallway. I hope he understands that it's just as hard for me to walk away from him right now as it will be for him to do what needs to be done. He's gotta talk to Austin. If those two can't find their middle ground, then there's no hope for Saul and I to move forward.
I'm doing this for Saul, because he needs to understand what the rest of us can already see. I'm doing this because I love them both. I'm doing this, because if I don't, we'll regret it for the rest of our lives.
Stepping onto the elevator to head home and finish packing, I lean against the mirrored wall with a heavy, heart-aching sigh. I've already got so much in my life I regret, I don't want any more. Maybe it's time I put those other demons to rest, too.
Austin
Like most things in my life right now, sleep just won't come easy. After spending another night tossing and turning, I ease out of bed, padding barefoot to the attached bathroom. The sun is barely peeking through the window over the toilet. It's a bleak, early, Texas winter morning that has my brain begging for more sleep, but those horses aint gonna feed themselves.
Stripping off my boxer-briefs, I step into the shower and turn it on, purposefully shocking myself awake with a blast of cold water. I shiver for a few moments as the water slowly warms, the old pipes in this old house knocking gently against the wall. It's a sound I've become accustomed to hearing in the morning. It's a sound I think I'll miss, come Spring.
Four more months.
I dunk my head under the shower spray, letting the warmth pound into my scalp and roll down my tattooed back. My eyes fall to my right arm where Los Lost Boys stares right back at me against darkly tanned flesh. I think the first thing I'm gonna do come Spring is get that old tat covered up.
It's not that I want to forget where I was four years ago, but I think it's time to move on. Joining that gang was the stupidest decision of my short life. At the time, I thought it was as good a place to hide as any. I thought, maybe, I'd be safe there - hiding who I really was in plain sight, right under the noses of the boys who'd been such a threat to me in the first place.
'Stupid faggot!'
The memory stings as the water turns hot, and I reach for the soap to try and scrub it away. I can't though. It sticks to me, seeping into my skin and poisoning my blood.
Julio's snarling as he raises the bat he just broke over Brandon's arm. Martin's boot arcing in a sweep towards my ribs. Brandon's tight-throated 'thank you' whispering in my ear.
The soap slips from my hand, clunking down against the tiles at my feet. Suds swirl into the drain, pulling my heart down with them. I'd stood by and watched for so long as they beat him, but in the end, he'd thanked me for trying to stop it.
Over and over. Thank you. Thank you.
A hiccup stutters past my chest, my eyes and jaw clenched shut against the demons raging inside. Anger and bile rise as my shaking hand reaches for the knob. It squeaks, the water stops, and I slump bare-assed against the tiled floor. Pulling my knees to my chest, I try and quiet the demons for another day.
Four more months.
I'm still fuzzy on the details, but I'm pretty sure I've made up my mind. Come April, I'll be off probation, which means I'll be off the leash. I think it'll be best for everyone if I pack up my demons and leave.
I'm more grateful to Brandon than I could ever hope to express. I think he knows that, so I hope he won't see my leaving as a slight against him. Heck, he could charge me rent and make me work for free, and I wouldn't complain. I owe that man more than I can repay.
He helped me get a second chance. He's helped me understand and be okay with who I am. He forgave me for what I did.
For what I'm still doing.
With a groan, I peel myself off the bottom of the shower and stand back up like a man to dry off. No way around it - I'm still messing up that man's life. I may not be beating him with a baseball bat, but I'm causing his family trouble. I'm getting in the way of him and Emma having the house to themselves, and I'm causing rifts between his friends.
Four more months.
A heavy exhale deflates my chest as I yank on a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. Maybe I can just duck my head real low and avoid Victoria and Saul for that long. Keep up my work at the barn, tend Brandon's horses, help with the club and keep my plans of leaving to myself. Last thing I need is to start a ruckus about that.
Last thing I need this morning is to walk into the kitchen to find Saul sitting at the table with a bowl of
Emma's Fruit Loops, but there he is, disheveled blond hair and all. Man, Fate hates me.
Shit. I take that back. Fate wants to destroy me.
Saul sets down the El Paso real estate magazine I must've left on the table last night. I'd been groggily leafing through the pages, dog-earring a few prospects while sipping on a glass of warm milk. I'd say it wasn't mine, but I'd already called a few places and some of the notes are in Spanish.
Saul glances from the magazine to me then back to the page he has open, and I can tell instantly he knows I'm planning to make a run for it. He's not as happy-looking about it as I thought he'd be. Fuck. I need some damn coffee.
"Good morning," I stumble out as I head for the Keurig machine Ian bought us for Christmas. There's silence as I try to focus on the twenty different flavors of coffee Ian also bought. Whatever happened to good ole coffee-flavored coffee?
The silence drags across my skin. I can't stand it. "You're here early. Thought Brandon gave everyone on the job-sites the week off?"
"He did."
And that's it. That's all he gives me. Holding in a heart-aching sigh, I reach for the only flavor I see that has the word coffee on the label. As I get the fancy-ass machine going, my morning vastly improves to the point of absolute suckage.
"Morning," Brandon yawns out the word as he walks in wearing only a pair of pajama pants. He must be making Emma breakfast in bed again. He stops short, just inside the doorway, and rubs a hand over his face, like he's not entirely sure what he's seeing is real. "Saul?"
"Did you know Austin's leaving?"
The fuck? That damn blond-headed brat! Of all the things he could say, he starts off the morning with that?
I glance over to him, and I see why. His glare is full of accusation, as if we're all keeping more secrets from him. It's so damn hard for me to stay mad at him when all I wanna do is walk over and hug him or try to make him laugh. I hate seeing him all tore up and confused.
"What?" Brandon's one eyebrow quirks high as he tilts his head at Saul like the boy's lost his mind. "I think the Fruit Loops are goin' to your head. What're you even doing here, eating Emma's cereal at seven in the morning?"
"Need a place to crash," he mumbles into his cereal, bangs covering his eyes. "C-can I? Stay for a bit, I mean."
Brandon looks over at me, but what can I say? It's not my house. I give a light shrug and pick up my coffee mug, giving it a sniff. It smells like coffee, at least.
"Sure," Brandon finally replies and I watch Saul relax into the chair. Just when I'm about to allow myself the hope that it can't possibly get any worse, the other shoe drops to kick me square in the sac. "So," Brandon looks at me again. "What's this about you leaving?"
It's too damn early to be having this conversation, but there's one thing I'll never do, and that's bullshit Brandon. "My probation ends mid-April. Thought I might get outta your hair so you and Emma can have the place to yourselves."
"Oh?" Brandon nods, as if that idea is acceptable. "If you need help finding a place-"
"He's movin' ta El-fuckin'-Paso," Saul interrupts, holding up the magazine with a shake for emphasis.
Ai, mierda mi vida. I hold the bridge of my nose, cursing my luck as Brandon crosses his arms. Well, it's outta the bag now, and no way will I lie to him. "Sorry, boss. I was gonna wait 'till I had everything settled before saying anything."
"El Paso?" he asks, and I can hear the hurt on his voice.
"Yeah," I look up at him, but avoid Saul's heated glare. The last thing I expected was for Saul to be angry about me leaving. After what happened with Victoria, I figured he'd be helping me pack before giving me a swift kick onto the plane.
"My cousin flips houses out there," I explain. It'd sounded like an okay idea at the time, but as it's gotten closer, and as I stand there under their stares, my voice loses its confidence in the plan. "He said he'd help me find a fixer-upper to get me started. It's... It's not really what I want to do... Construction, I mean, but it's work," I end in a shrug, my own body retaliating against me to give away what I really think.
"You're welcomed to stay," Brandon takes a step towards me, offering me a way out of this choice I don't want to make. "Stay on and work with the horses and the club. I'd even give you a raise and help you find a place of your own, but you don't even have to move out. You know Emma and I are happy to have you here."
"I know, boss," and I do. How can one man be so full of kindness? "It's just something I'm thinking about. Maybe a fresh start, or..." My voice trails off as I feel my throat swelling. My eyes betray me and glance to Saul, but he's staring at his feet. "Nothing's set yet."
"You'll let me know?"
I look back at Brandon, the compassion in his eyes telling me he knows all about why I'm running. "I will. I promise."
I take a sip of the coffee, curse silently because it's got some sort of sickly sweet aftertaste, then gulp it down because I know I'll need all the caffeinated help I can get to make it through the day. Setting the mug in the sink, I grab my denim jacket and my gray Stetson off the peg next to the back door. "I'll go see to the horses."
"Alright," Brandon lets it go for now. "Em and I are going shopping for the New Year's bash, and then over to Ian's for dinner. The man's actually cooking stuff now that he's got a fridge."
I laugh at that, trying to picture Ian in an apron. That man aint exactly Betty Crocker, and I know neither is Charlotte. "I'll make Saul and I something and leave some leftovers in the fridge." I laugh a bit more when Brandon grins in relief at that. "They still planning on moving Charlie's stuff next week?"
"If the weather holds."
"A'ight. See you later, then," I glance to Saul, but the boy's still staring at his damn sneakers. Fuck. I was not expecting him to be this upset about me leaving. He's got me so dang confused. I'm looking forward to some time alone with the horses. At least they always make sense to me.
Saul
The screen door creaks as Austin exits to the porch then the backdoor shuts, leavin' me alone with Brandon. I can hear his breathing as I stare at my soggy Fruit Loops. I don't guess he's exactly happy ta' have me here this mornin', but I knew he wouldn't turn me out. He's too good a man for that - a better man than I'll ever be.
"Where'd you sleep last night?"
I leave my Fruit Loops to their milky demise, but can't meet Brandon's gaze. "My truck."
"Stubborn," he sighs. "You should'a come to me yesterday, right after Sarah turned you down."
"You know 'bout that?" Of course he does. Brandon Peters knows everything. 'Cept, it seems, 'bout shit havin' to do with Austin.
I stand from the table and stretch, debating my options. Brandon's gaze flicks to the bowl on the table, and I can hear the command inside his head. Picking it up, I put the cereal away and clean up my own mess for once.
"Why don't you go give Austin a hand," he says in a vocal nudge.
I get it. Austin and I need ta have words, but I just found out the bastard's leavin' for El-fuckin'-Paso. I don't know if I can have words with him right yet without yelling them. My bastard best friend is up an' leavin' my sorry ass behind, and he wasn't even gonna tell me about it.
Just to spite him, I toss the magazine in the trash then dump my soggy Fruit Loops on top of it. Seein' that makes me smile. Brandon chuckles quietly behind me.
"You know," Brandon says as he starts taking shit outta the fridge. Guess Mr. Husband 'a the Year is making Miss Emma breakfast. "If anyone can stop him from leaving, it'd be you."
I slam the lid down on the garbage can. "Horseshit."
"Well, yes, you could certainly go help him with that, too."
"Funny," I muster up a scowl, but that has my lip twitchin' ta smirk. He's also lookin' at me again like he knows somethin' I don't. Guess maybe it's time I go find out what that somethin' is, so people will stop lookin' at me like I'm one scarecrow short a brain.
"Oh," I pause as I slip on my U of T hooded sweatshirt. Hook 'em Horns. "Your order for eggs seemed off, so I told
Jake to double it."
"You told Jake to double an order for forty-two eggs?"
Forty...? Shit. I dig Brandon's list from last week out 'a my wallet and read it twice, squinting at the numbers.
Eggs. Two-four. Twenty-Four... No... They haze out then focus back in, in the correct order this time. Forty-two. "Ah, hell! I'll call-"
"Hey, it's okay," Brandon sets down the milk carton in his hand and pats my shoulder. "I can make some deviled eggs for the party. Rabbit loves those things."
I glare at the list in my hand a second longer before stuffing it into my pocket. "Sorry, boss. Simple thing a' orderin' groceries, and I keep messin' it up."
"Not your fault," his fingers squeeze into my shoulder. "Would it help if I started spelling out the numbers?"
I shrug, not really knowin' what might make a difference ta my cross-wired brain. "Maybe. Dunno." I shuffle my feet, my head stooped down so low it's made Brandon taller than me by an inch. "Thanks. Fer lettin' me stay an' all."
"You're welcome. Now, go help Austin with the horses."
"Yes, sir." I nod and head outside, not even lettin' my bratty-ass nature argue with Brandon's request. He always does right by me, even when I think he's doin' wrong. Maybe he had a good reason for not tellin' me 'bout Kyle an' Sarah. Maybe they all did, and I'm just too dumb ta see it.
What I do see, as I walk into the barn, is Austin - his profile back-lit by the open rear-gate and lookin' like he stepped out of a Wranglers commercial. Damn, I think he's wearin' Wranglers, too, and his Stetson's angled just right so that it's shadowin' his eyes. I swear, if he wasn't straight and I wasn't with Victoria, I'd...
My hands fist. Best friends don't ogle best friends. Even when they're fucking fine in a tight pair of jeans with a swagger that could tempt a nun.