Page 96 of Honey Bee Hearts

“All. Your. Fault. Should. Be. Here. Jinx. Jinx.”

Her eyes focus unseeing across the room. My fingers curl into her hair and stroke.

“It’s me. Rhett. Fable, it’s Rhett,” I try.

But she just keeps talking to Jinx as if she’s in the room with us.

When I was younger, I used to have panic attacks. My mom used to sing to me, and then when she was gone, Gunnar tried his best to do the same. Every single one of them has sung to me at some point, Trent’s badly out of tune songs and Colt’s ability to only sing one song have always helped even when it pissed me off that they had to do it. My chest squeezes. Despite all the shit we’ve been in, I really do have the best of friends. Right now, I can do the same for Fable.

I start to sing, softly at first but growing in volume when her shaking starts to ease. I sing a simple country song at first and when that one ends, I start singing another, a love song I used to hear my dad sing to my mom. Her breathing starts to slow, until she’s able to calm her racing heart. I keep singing for long after she starts to uncurl, long after she’s able to look up at me, her eyes red and puffy, her face pale. When color barely starts to grace her cheeks, I look down and slowly trail off.

I run my hand along her cheek, stroke my thumb over it. “Let me explain,” I whisper. “Before you condemn us. Before you call the cops.” I swallow. “Please.”

Chapter 52

Fable

Right now, Rhett’s face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. When he’d first started singing, it was muffled, barely penetrating through the static in my mind. Slowly, he’d pulled me out, song after song falling from his lips, until I’m able to stare up at him with clear eyes. I know I must look a mess. I know my face is probably puffy, splotchy, and covered in tears, but he doesn’t look at me as if any of that is there. Instead, Rhett looks at me as if I’m something precious.

And I don’t know how to feel about it.

Of the men, Rhett is probably the one with the best mask. Not to say that he has a good poker face, but that he’s very good at pretending everything is fun and games until it isn’t. In the barn, he’d looked angry, intimidating. Right now, he looks open and raw. It’s such a juxtaposition to the normal flirty smile and carefree attitude that it takes me a few minutes just to digest it.

“Let me explain,” he whispers when the song dies out. “Before you condemn us. Before you call the cops. Please.”

I stare up at him, at the honest vulnerability on his face, and nod. I’m not sure if I can speak. Right now, I feel both numb and like a livewire at the same time. The way Rhett is holdingme in his lap makes me want to press closer to him. Instead, I sit up, trying to have some sensibility, but I don’t move away completely. Logically, this is still a terrible situation. I want to trust them. I do. But. . .

It would be foolish to do so.

I’ve seen what drugs do to people. I grew up with a mother who always chose the drugs over me. I’ve seen the damage it does. And these people, this ranch, they have their hand in that. It’s easy to think they’re not, that they’re removed from the damage done by addiction and drugs, but that’s not the truth. Even out here in the mountains, even dealing with only a few people, they are a part of the drug machine. And I don’t know if anything Rhett says can make that okay.

Rhett blows out a breath and looks up, away from me, as if he’s gathering his thoughts.

“I was sixteen,” he begins. “I was playing football, focused on school, planning for things like college and the future, when all of that was wiped away because of a drunk driver.” He looks down at me. “My parents and my little sister were in the car. In an instant, they were gone, and still, no one came to tell me until Trent and I got off the bus from school. They waited. I went through an entire day, laughing, fooling around in school, while they were just dead.” His expression is tight. “Cop said pulling us out of school was useless. They were dead. There wasn’t anything that was going to change that.”

His fingers start to softly stroke my arm. I consider pulling away, but I don’t. Instead, I sit there almost in his lap and listen to the origins of Circle Bee.

“I was so angry,” he rasps. “Nothing Trent said, nothing anyone said, made a difference. That anger clawed its way up my throat and demanded to be let out. Good people. My parents were good people, fucking saints, and that drunk driver chose to hit them.” He swallows thickly, as if he’s fighting back tears, andI find myself reaching up to touch his hand, covering it, holding it. “I told you I got into a lot a trouble after, but. . . it was worse than that. I did everything wrong. Circle Bee was profitable when my parents were alive, but barely. We were one bad season away from trouble. When they died, I had no idea how to run a ranch. Trent didn’t either. Mel and the gang tried their best to help, but there was only so much they could do. We were sinking fast, and I was looking at the possibility of losing a ranch that had been in our family for three generations.”

“What happened?” I croak.

He shakes his head. “We were four months behind on the bills. The bank was sniffing around, foaming at the mouth at the thought of getting one of the thirteen. Realtors appeared daily, begging for a chance to sell, and all the while, I spent the time high, drunk, or both. I wasn’t capable of saving this place, had no idea how I could get us out of the hole. I asked Steele Mountain for help, and they gave it, saved us for a few more months, but there was only so much goodwill I could rely on.” He looks away. “I considered taking the easy way out at some point. Loaded the gun and everything.”

I freeze, my eyes on his face as he looks away from me, as if he can’t bear to meet my gaze. “But you didn’t.”

He shakes his head. “I was too drunk. Passed out before I could. When I woke up, there were no bullets in the gun.” He laughs, the sound strained. “I always assumed it was Trent. Turns out it was Colt.”

Rhett shrugs, his voice rough as he relives his memories.

“So how did. . . how did this happen?” I ask, gesturing to the door. He understands what I’m asking and sighs.

“You know Colt was a cop?” When I nod, he closes his eyes. “He had. . . connections. Some bad guys that he knew how to get ahold of. We were drowning, and there were no other options. No one would give us a loan because they wanted one of thethirteen for themselves. I couldn’t ask Steele Mountain for any more money. So. . . we cooked up the idea to work with a gang, The Eight Balls from the west coast. At first, we were only supposed to be doing guns, but they stopped trafficking those at some point and switched to drugs where the real money was. Within a year, we were okay. We saved the ranch. But. . . you can’t just leave that life once you get in it. We’ve spent every year since trying to think of ways out, only to dig our way deeper.” He frowns. “A year ago, we were approached by The Crows, a mafia level gang from the east coast. We took their offer and began double dipping. We’ve been scrambling ever since to find a way around this, to get out, but Circle Bee isn’t as big money as Steele Mountain. We can get by. We can even do well, but like any ranch, two bad seasons can destroy us if we’re not careful.”

I study Rhett, the look on his face, and I can tell he’s being honest and open with me. I believe him that it was never supposed to be this large scale, that they never wanted to do this, but they were a bunch of desperate kids trying to be adults. I get it.

But it doesn’t change things.

“You can’t just. . . get out?” I ask, watching him carefully.

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