Page 17 of Unstable

“I had it under control,” I gruffly lie.

“I’m sure you would have, Hen. Hard work’s never been your problem,” he says, hat back on and both hands on his hips. “I was talking about accepting help. That, you’ve always made harder than it has to be.”

It’s not what he just said as much as how he said it, like the haughty bastard he’s always been. My skin starts to tingle from the blaze of red-hot rage quickly moving from my toes to my scalp.

“How in the hell would you know?” I’m yelling, which will give him the gross misconception that I actually care what he thinks, which pisses me off worse and has me yelling even louder. “I’ve never asked you for help once in my entire life!”

“Exactly,” he lowly agrees, taking a menacing step closer. “But you could have. And you should have. Many times.”

“Oh, and you’d have just fixed everything, huh? The almighty Keaton Cash,” I mock in a loud jeer. “Please. Glad to see your self-image’s still fully intact.”

“Not everything. Some things aren’t ours to fix. But others? I know I could’ve saved you some heartache and a lot of trouble.”

Jesus, what happened in this town while I was gone? Did somebody spike the water supply? I’ve had more philosophical speeches thrown at me in the last few days than the rest of my entire life combined. And that’s saying something…seeing as how I was in therapy.

“You look exhausted.”

“Still a sweet talker too, thanks.”

He softly laughs. “You know what I meant. Can’t imagine what you’re going through, or what you’ve been through, but if you’ll let me, I really would like to help. Any way I can.”

“Why?” My question is spontaneous, but matter-of-fact and adequately edged in bafflement.

He shakes his head, staring down at the ground a few beats before raising his eyes to mine. And I look into them, really look, perhaps for the first time ever. I expect to find anything but what I do—genuine empathy, which is completely different and far less infuriating than sympathy, and no hint of any hidden agenda.

It’s new and completely shocking, so much so that I teeter, feeling a bit light-headed.

“Because I thought maybe you could use some. Because it’s the right thing to do.” His eyes seem to melt from their usual icy blue to that of gentle pools of endless, serene azure. And when he speaks next, his voice is empty of arrogance or finesse, but full of impact. “Because it’s you.”

I let out a sharp gasp, set even more aback by those three ominous words. It must be a while before I make any other noise or movement, because he starts to leave and makes sure to get in the last word as he does. “You think about it. You know where to find me. And Hen?” I peer over at him. “It really is damn good to see you again.”

Absolutely infuriating as ever…but at least he didn’t ask about buying my farm.

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