Page 30 of The Little Things

I let out a weary sigh. “Look, Rae,” I started as I pushed to my feet, noticing for the first time that they were bare, “About what happened last night.”

“Oh, Zach. Don’t worry about it. You don’t?—”

I cut her off, forcing the words past my lips. “It was a mistake.” She froze in the midst of grabbing a coffee mug from one of the cabinets. Her back was to me, so I couldn’t see the look on her face. I wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, I wanted to know how she was feeling, what she was thinking, but on the other, I was scared of what I might see. If she hated me for the shit I pulled the night before I didn’t want to see it. I wasn’t sure I’d survive seeing her look at me with disdain. “I sincerely regret what happened, and it’ll never happen again,” I continued, the bitterness on my tongue having nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with what I was saying.

It took several seconds before she moved. Her shoulders raised toward her ears as she closed the cabinet and placed the mug she’d retrieved on the counter. When she finally turned to face me, the expression on her face was indecipherable. Usually Rae gave away everything she was thinking or feeling with a single look, but I got nothing. I’d never seen her look so blank, and I could only assume I was to blame.

“Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

I studied her closely, looking for anything at all that might tell me how she was feeling. “You’re sure?”

Her lips curved upward, but the infinitesimal smile didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. “Absolutely,” she assured me. “You were drunk. It was nothing.”

Hearing her disregard a kiss I wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon was a punch to the gut, but I appreciated her letting me off the hook. How I’d behaved the night before, kissing her without permission, taking advantage of my position of authority, was deplorable. I hated myself for it. The hangover currently splitting my skull and churning in my gut was the least I deserved.

“Exactly,” I agreed, the words making the twisting sensation in my stomach even worse. “Nothing at all.”

Silence enveloped the cabin, the atmosphere growing thick and tense. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to do us both a favor and get the fuck out of there before I made everything even worse.

“I should head out. But I appreciate you taking care of me last night. You didn’t have to do that.”

She dipped her head like she was hiding from me as she spoke softly, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Maybe not to her. But it was to me. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.” I threw my thumb over my shoulder awkwardly. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Zach,” she called out when I turned and started for the door.

Hand on the knob, I looked back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

She pointed at something near the sofa I’d slept uncomfortably on last night. “Your boots.”

“Shit. Right. Thanks.” So much for a graceful exit, I thought as I snatched my boots up and made quick work of pulling them on before bolting out the door. I headed straight for the shower as soon as I got home, washing off the stench of bourbon, the remnants of Roam’s stall floor, and the shame from my body, scrubbing until my skin was bright pink.

The hangover was still in full force as I got dressed and downed a couple pain relievers with a cup of black coffee before grabbing the keys to my truck and heading out. It was only a matter of time before word of my behavior at the store yesterday, then my bender in the barn, spread around, if it hadn’t already. I knew my parents would be upset if they found out about it through the grapevine instead of from me, so as badly as I wanted to head toward my spot by the river, I guided my truck in the opposite direction toward their house.

As it always was, the door was unlocked, opening wide for me as soon as I twisted the knob. “Anyone home?” I called out, pausing at the entryway and listening closely before moving deeper into the house. I’d walked in on them doing things no son should ever see his parents doing one too many times in my life. I knew better than to barge in when it wasn’t a planned visit.

“Hey, sweetie,” I heard my mom call back. But that wasn’t good enough.

“Everyone’s dressed, right? I’m not gonna see anything that’ll cause me to need even more years of therapy, am I?”

Rory appeared in the entryway—fully clothed, thank the Lord above—drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Hi, honey. This is a nice surprise.” She moved toward me, raising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my cheek. I returned the gesture, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of her head. “I’m making breakfast. You hungry? It’s blueberry pancakes.”

Rory’s pancakes were the first thing she’d ever cooked for me, and they had been my favorite since that very first day twenty-three years ago. No matter how sick I felt, there was no way I’d say no to those pancakes.

“You already know the answer to that.”

She smiled and waved me in. “Good. Come on in. Want some coffee? Just finished brewing a fresh pot.”

“Definitely wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Hey, bud,” Cord greeted as soon as I entered the kitchen. I moved to where he was sitting at the island and leaned in to give him a hug.

“Hey, Dad.”

He leaned back, his eyes drilling into me, seeing beneath the surface like he always had. The first time I met Cord Paulson, he’d been chasing me down after I threw that rock through the window of the Tap Room. I could still recall the very visceral fear I felt as he ran after me. Cord Paulson was the biggest guy I’d ever seen. Not only physically, but his presence as well. He was strong as hell in every single way, and he made sure he was that way so he could take care of his family. That had included me from the moment he pulled me back into the bar and I’d given him and Rory my story. The whole ugly thing. That was the moment I’d become theirs.

“You look like hell,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone, letting me know it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good to lie. “What’s going on?”

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