Page 67 of Burn the Wild

The look on Ford’s face tells me I should have kept it to myself.

This nice family and all I’ve done is offended them.

“Well.” Stede gives a good-natured chuckle. “I appreciate old-fashioned honesty.”

Honesty. Right. More like foot in my mouth.

“Does anyone want pie?” Dakota asks, sounding nervous.

All I want is to get out of there. The wine and the medication I took earlier sit heavy in my stomach. I feel drowsy and off, the way I feel before I go on stage. Numb, inside and out.

I feel judged, inside and out. Even if they don’t know what they see—I do.

That sixteen-year-old girl who went to Muirwood.

The spoiled country singer who drinks too much.

The lost cause who can’t get her life together, let alone her own money.

My heart pounds, tears at the back of my eyes.

“Peach. Reese?”

Blinking, I shake my head. “Sorry. What?”

Standing, Dakota gives me a kind smile. “Peach pie. Ford called me up, said you like it, so I made one especially for you.”

My face flushes.

Ruby giggles.

Again, all eyes, including mine, land on Ford.

He slumps so far down in his chair, the floor could swallow him. “You know,” he drawls with a hint of pink on his cheeks, “I told you that in confidence, Koty.”

Dakota scoffs. “Not in my kitchen.”

A chirping sound fills the air, and Charlie tenses, glancing down at the watch on his wrist.

“Shit,” Wyatt swears.

Eyes wide, Ruby turns to her husband, a silent conversation happening between them. Suddenly, she goes limp. But Charlie’sthere, quickly catching her up in his arms as she sags against his chest.

“What—” I look at Ford. Around the table. Though they wear worried faces, they sit still and watchful.

“It’s okay,” he says, his eyes tracking Charlie’s movement as he carries Ruby into the house.

“She has a heart condition,” Ford explains. I tilt my head back to meet his fathomless amber eyes. “She faints sometimes. Once or twice a year. My brother’s got it handled.” He stares after Charlie for a long moment, a muscle working in his sharp jaw, then he tosses his napkin on his plate, his expression considerably darkened.

Quietly, quickly, pie forgotten, everyone stands and begins clearing the table. Keena dives for the leftovers as Davis takes Duke inside for bed.

“No, please,” Dakota says, waving me off when I reach for a bowl. “You’re a guest.”

I nod, not wanting to cause more trouble, and hang back. When I’m alone on the deck, I turn to face the Montana wilderness. Playing with my necklace, I watch the hole above me shimmer. A sort of melancholia overcomes me. Why am I here? Does it matter? At the end of the summer, I’ll go back to Gavin. Sing my shit songs and shake my ass. Watch everyone pretend they’re glad I exist.

Sometimes it feels overwhelming to be alive.

Fallon appears and hands me a glass of whiskey. “He’s grumpy because you’re pretty.”

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