Page 66 of Rope Me In

From the dates on the pages, this has been in the works for months now, going back to when I was healing from my accident. Some may say I should be happy they used my ideas, and I would be—had they included me. Instead, this only makes me feel more like an outsider.

I exhale a heated breath, the anger I’d managed to turn down to simmer after my time with Presley returning to a boil. I wish I had one of those sticks she likes to suck on, but since I don’t, I turn my thoughts to her. I think of her beaming face when she sat atop Big John today. How I got to see her truly smile, a smile that showed her teeth and lit her sapphire eyes like the sun shining on spring water.

She was so proud of herself, and I couldn’t help but be proud of her, too. It was nice to be part of the reason she smiled like that, to see her conquer her fear and do it with trust for me in her eyes.

I place the papers back on the table, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t have the desire to drink or drive into the city to find someone to scratch an itch. I just want to go back to Presley. Come to think of it, I left Dad’s flask on the dresser in the room after I’d showered yesterday and forgot about it.

“Look at what the cat dragged in.”

My short-statured Gran walks into the kitchen with a sense of determination, Momma right behind her. Gran’s expression looks neutral, while Momma’s pink lips are pursed, and her eyes are sullen as if she wants to cry or yell at the sight of me. Neither of which feels great.

“I was just leaving,” I say, moving to walk past them, but Gran grabs my bicep. She’s strong for a woman in her eighties and has never been the type of woman to back down. I’ve always admired her for it, and our relationship was good until the night of the accident, when she, too, took Gavin’s side. Or at least she made me feel that way.

We talked and played cards while I was on the mend, but just like with most of my family, our conversations did not get that deep. And she hasn’t tried to speak with me since my doctor’s appointment last week. To be fair, I haven’t sought her out, either, but I knew our conversation would go nowhere and I’d end up with another family member pissed at me.

Gran’s hazel eyes stare softly into mine for a moment, then she moves her focus down to the ice pack on my forearm.

“Are you hurt?” She crosses her age-spotted arms over her chest, and Momma makes a little noise of concern at her question, tucking a piece of silver-blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine,” I say honestly.

“You’re overdoing it,” Gran chides.

“It’s only muscle pain. Really, I’m fine.”

The women who have always been two of the most important people in my life stare up at me with doubt in their eyes, and I know they don’t believe me. While small, this interaction reminds me why I can’t stay in this house, why I like to drink and be numb. It’s not a good feeling knowing my family never takes me at my word, that they always think I’m just a young kid who doesn’t get it. They think I lie and do what I want without considering the consequences for others.

They’ve been so blinded by my brother and my dad before him, by their “honest country boy act,” that they don’t see I’vealways been the one telling the truth. I’ve never tried to hide who or what I am. They just don’t like what they see all the time.

“Please tell me you’re not overworking that city girl, too,” Momma says. “Gavin told me she fainted when she first started.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, her comment shooting an arrow through my heart. On a different day, maybe I’d fight back. But I don’t want to fight with my family any more, and I don’t want my temper to get the best of me.

“Presley is fine, too.” Their disapproving gaze has me wanting to reach for the bottle again. It’s my cue to leave. “You may have already figured it out, but I’m staying down at the hands’ quarters. I’ll be there if you need anything from me.” I take a step back to tap on the papers on the table. “But it seems like you’ve already got everything handled.”

“Kade.” Gran sighs, running an exasperated hand through her short gray hair. “Don’t try to force the puzzle pieces together. Let’s sit down and talk so you don’t end up thinking things that aren’t true.”

“Maybe if I had all the pieces, I’d be able to put the puzzle together. Can’t do that when they’re being withheld from me.”

“Kade, please, let’s sit.”

I shake my head, knowing that if I sit down, I’ll either end up saying more things I regret or find myself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. This time, I give myself a wide berth to exit around them so they can’t stop me.

As I walk back toward my new quarters, nobody follows. Nobody calls after me. And I can’t decide if that’s what I want or not.

Chapter 22

Presley

Night Hawk is burstingat the seams, just like I expected it to be. Kade is teaching an early line-dancing class while the band that played last week is here to provide live music. Later, they’re doing late-night bull rides.

I feel better equipped to handle the very enthusiastic crowd this shift, and Stu is working the other end of the bar while a new guy named Dan is on tables. He’s only here for the fall—someone’s friend from a neighboring town—and Jake roped him in to help.

Jake checks in on me now and then, but otherwise, I’m on my own and doing great. The comforting sound of the fiddle player and the smooth baritone of the lead singer’s voice helps me keep a nice rhythm. The tempo helps ease the anxiety I felt returning to work after yesterday. Thankfully, I haven’t seen Marié, though I didn’t think I would two nights in a row.

I tap my foot to the fiddle player’s version of “If You’re Gonna Play in Texas (You Gotta Have a Fiddle in the Band)” by Alabama—a classic for a place like this, a fun one people like to dance to. I serve a customer their gin and tonic then pour multiple tequila shots to a group of women who are talking about Kade. His Southern drawl—which he’s laying on thick for the crowd—reaches the bar as he calls out dance moves into a microphone.

A blonde woman in the group squeals. “I stuffed my number in the back of his jeanspocket.”

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