Page 75 of Bull Rush

“Can’t you? From what you told me in the past, your ex didn’t seem that much different.” Her brow raises as she assesses me.

“I’ve been angry with him. Bitter about what happened. But I also know he had his reasons for acting the way he did, just like I had mine.”

“You’re going soft on him then. Thinking about taking him back?” She puts her fork down and looks at me with pointed curiosity.

“I think that I’d forgotten there were a lot of reasons why we were together in the first place.” I feel like I’m in a therapy session, forced to say things out loud that I’d barely even let myself think.

“Huh.” She presses her lips together and takes a bite of her salad.

“You don’t approve?” I smile at the way she’s trying to contain her opinion.

She tilts her head in thought and takes a sip of the lavender lemonade Kit made especially for her stay before she answers the question.

“I just think Curtis didn’t cause you any of the problems your husband did. I’ve only seen you happy with him. I don’t understand why you’d want to even consider going back to someone who hurt you when you have someone you’ve told mehas always been good to you. I feel like you’re too serious for games like the ones your ex plays.” She pauses to take another sip, and continues, looking me over thoughtfully. “You’re like the daughter I never had, and I worry. I just want what’s best for you, sweetheart, you know?” Amelia gives me a soft smile, one that reminds me a little bit of the ones I used to get from my mother as a child.

“I know.” I look out the window, staring at the stables and the wide stretch of land beyond it. “But sometimes, working through the hurt makes the love stronger in the long run, you know?”

“Sometimes you find yourself burned again for believing him a second time,” Amelia counters, her eyes sweeping over me before she takes another bite.

“I suppose that’s a risk,” I acknowledge as I look out the window.

“That’s the part I don’t get. Why take a risk when you have a sure thing?”

It’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself since Ramsey’s been back.

THIRTY-FIVE

Hazel

When I get backto the house from my dinner with Amelia, Ramsey’s sitting on the couch in Chaos sweats and a tee with wet hair, watching football on TV. I tilt my head in curiosity as I notice an ice pack pressed to his face. As I round the corner and get closer, I can see his knuckles are scraped and scabbed, highlighted with purple bruising. I feel my stomach tumble with worry.

“What happened?” I move between him and the TV. He hits the mute button as one of the announcers loudly analyzes the previous play and takes in the sight of me in my sundress and cardigan with a smile. His lips twitch with amusement, but he doesn’t comment.

“Some guys were in the pole barn, and Bo and I ran them out.” His face sobers as he explains.

“What guys? Bo was here?” I feel my heart skip in my chest, and I have a million questions now.

“I don’t know what guys. They were in the pole barn snooping around. Have you had any issues like that before?”

“No. Things are usually pretty boring around here. When was Bo here?” I didn’t see my brother’s truck today, and I’d just been over at the inn getting work done before my dinner with Amelia.

“He dropped off my bike from the garage. They finished up the work this week. He walked out with me to park it, and we heard voices. So we went in to check it out.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I reach for his hand, turning it over so I can get a closer look at his knuckles. He lets me examine them for a moment and then pulls them back, giving me a dismissive grunt like I’m overreacting.

“You fought with them? Did you call the police?” I pull the ice pack away from his face gently next and cringe when I see the bruising and swelling on his cheek. His eyes narrow when I mention the police, and I realize what a stupid idea that is. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the parole and all. This looks terrible.” I click my tongue at the sight of his cheek.

“Thanks,” he grumbles. “One of them hit me. It’s fine. Just bruised.”

“Did you put something on the cuts?” I move toward the kitchen because we might still have something there.

“I took a shower. Cleaned up. Got the ice on my cheek. I’m good.” He takes a deep breath, and I can tell I’m agitating him with my mothering. I try to remind myself he’s spent the last five years on the field getting beat up like this on a daily basis—to him, it really is nothing.

“You’re lucky they didn’t have guns or something though. You should have called me. You and Bo going after them; that’s not smart. You’re both so hotheaded sometimes. Is Bo hurt?”

“Bo’s fine. It was a split-second decision.” Another grumble.

“Why the hell would anyone be in that pole barn?” I frownpacing back to the window to look out at it, as if somehow seeing it will give me answers.

“That’s my question. Does anyone know we’re storing stuff in there? That there might be something of value?” He gives me a curious look.

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