Page 94 of Burned & Bound

Horses.

Cows.

Fencing.

All of it was normal shit.

So, what the hell was today?I replayed his ranting in my head. It wasn’t his birthday. His mother died around Thanksgiving. He’d run away in June when we were kids.

All that was left was…fuck.

The realization of what the date had to be for him punched the breath right out of my lungs. There was only one fucking day that I could imagine would make him deteriorate like a landslide.

“Fuck,” I muttered. I parked on the side of the road and hopped out, chasing after him. Rolling around in my truck and yelling at him wouldn’t help a damn thing.

“Get the fuck out of here,” West snarled as I fell in step beside him. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. What the hell had he done? Drink the whole damn bar?

“No,” I said.

“I don’t fucking want you here.”

“I know.”

“So, go the fuck away!”

“I am going away,” I retorted. “This way.Which just so happens to be the same way you’re going.”

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“My mama always told me I was stubborn to a fault,” I told him.

“I don’t fucking want you here!” he continued to rage. I let it roll off my back, knowing full well he didn’t mean it. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dense.”

He stumbled, and I resisted the urge to catch him as he tried to right himself. It took everything I had to keep my hands to myself, but there was a damn good chance he’d hit me if I touched him.And I hated that.

“You’re going home, and I’m—”

“You don’t have a fucking clue where I’m going,” he interrupted roughly. I pressed my lips together and counted back from ten to keep from saying something stupid. Even with everything I knew, his pushback was getting under my skin.

“Where else do you have to go, West?” I asked.

“Fuck you.”

“I know, I know.” It was a low blow. He had nowhere to go if he didn’t come home to the ranch. “Now, we’re both going to the ranch. Either we can walk the whole way there, or you can get in my truck and let me take you home.”

“Fuck you. I don’t need your stupid fucking help.”

I held my tongue.Yeah, we fucking established that.There was no point in fighting him. It’d get me nowhere except further away from my fucking truck.

“I know.”

“I don’t need your goddamn pity.”

“I don’t pity you, West,” I told him quietly. But my heart did break for him. There was so much pain built up inside him that I couldn’t begin to touch or take away for him. It killed me. I wanted nothing more than to help him and I couldn’t.

“Fine,” he relented. He stumbled as he turned, and I clenched my fists to keep from reaching out.Fuck, I hated this.

I kept my distance as we walked back to my truck—close enough to intervene if I absolutely had to, far enough to remind myself where my hands belonged.

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