Page 14 of The Life We Left Behind

My head tipped back against the headrest of my seat as I watched the front door. There was no sign of Chelsea. Hopefully, she’d restrict her chaos to the kitchen. At least it was easier to clean up, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to do it. At this point, I might as well invest in plastic dishware. At least then I wouldn’t have to keep replacing it all the time.

“Can I call you in a couple of hours? I won’t know what my schedule looks like until I get into the office.”

It was a lie. I knew exactly what my schedule looked like because I had one of the best assistants around. I didn’t want to think about this right now, and by the sound of Ethan’s voice, he was thinking this was my tactic to back out of the whole thing.

“Sure thing, Trace. If I don’t hear from you by lunch, I’ll be giving you a call though,” he warned.

“I can live with that.”

“Okay. Speak soon, buddy.”

I disconnected the call with Ethan as I backed out of the driveway and turned my car to head out of town. There were two people I’d always sought out as a refuge away from this madness, but I couldn’t go to Dex right now. Dex had grown up with us and become one of the Farrington boys by default. He owned the garage in town now, and even though he loved that place, there was no way he’d be working already at this time in the morning. Which left Booker, the only blood brother I had left in town. The only one besides me that hadn’t run from this place at the first chance they had.

Booker had a farm on the edge of town that he’d turned into a horse sanctuary. He was the eldest Farrington son, but he’d managed to escape our mother’s expectations as soon as she’d come to the reluctant realization that Booker was never going to be an indoors type of guy. Booker was only ever happy with his hands in the dirt, and even if he had to spend his childhood being constantly reminded about what a disappointment he was, at least now that he was an adult, he got to be free.

I’d had that once. That feeling of freedom, of being able to make your future into what you needed it to be. It had all been a lie, though. My life was always going to end up this way. It had been mapped out like this since before I was born. Someone had to shoulder the burden of our family legacy, and most days, I did it with pride. Willowbrook had only been able to become what it was because of the way my family had guided it and encouraged its growth. This entire town was our legacy, and now that I’d had the time to mature, I could see what a privilege it was to carry it on.

By the time I was turning down Booker’s driveway I already felt lighter. Whether that was clearing my mind and concentrating on the responsibility that shaped my day ahead or just driving onto my brother’s land, I wasn’t sure. This place had a healing quality to it.

Maybe this was what I needed. A place on the edge of town. Somewhere with land. Willowbrook wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but there was still a quietness to being out here that appealed. It might be something worth looking into.

I pulled up next to Booker’s truck and headed through the side door, which led straight into the kitchen. It was never locked, and I knew Booker would already be up and getting his breakfast ready. He’d probably already been out doing chores for a couple of hours, knowing him. He was never one to sleep in.

Sure enough, Book was standing at the stove scrambling some eggs when he glanced up and saw me walking in.

Val left the dog basket in the corner of the kitchen and ran to my side, whining as she pressed against my legs. Dex and I had bought the Australia Shepherd for Booker four years ago, and she hardly ever left Booker’s side.

“Fucking hell, Trace. How is this still happening?”

He pulled the pan off the stove and opened the cupboard under the sink, grabbing his first aid kit which had seen far too much use. I’d forgotten about the blood on my face after everything that happened.

“How bad is it?” I asked, taking a seat at the breakfast table as he gripped my chin and tilted my head back to get a better look. Val’s chin rested on my leg, and my hand automatically went to the top of her head as I petted her softly.

“Is that glass?” He shook his head, dropping the kit on the table as he opened it up. “Of course it is. I don’t even know why I’m asking.”

I didn’t say anything as Booker went to work, pulling a small piece of glass from the side of my forehead and then gently pressing a dressing to the wound as he kept tipping my head from side to side, checking if there was any more glass inside.

We’d done this far too many times before. I couldn’t even remember the last time he’d lectured me while he did it. He gave up long ago.

“I called the police. Ethan is picking Chelsea up, and I’m pressing charges.”

Booker frowned as he dug through the first aid kit and pulled out some alcohol wipes. He didn’t say anything as he cleaned me up and then readied some butterfly strips.

“Hold this here until the bleeding stops,” he said eventually, as he pressed the dressing pad back against my forehead.

I pressed my fingers over it, holding it firmly in place as he moved back to the stove, putting the eggs back on the burner as he slowly stirred them with the spatula.

I didn’t press him. This was how Book processed stuff. After everything, he’d unquestioningly been at my side. He’d given me his advice but never tried to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do or anything I wasn’t ready to do. Instead, he stoically waited, and then when I was ready to make the first step, he’d been there every step of the way.

It wasn’t until he was putting a plate of food in front of me that he finally broke his silence.

“You need a restraining order.”

I shoveled the fluffy eggs into my mouth and groaned at how good they were. I could never replicate these at home, and it was one of the reasons why I came to Book’s house as many mornings as I could. Everything seemed to taste better when it was made in his kitchen for some reason. Val was obviously in agreement as she dug her chin into my thigh as if to remind me that she was still there. I slipped some bacon off my plate and pretended not to see the scowl on Booker’s face.

“Yeah, I’m going to speak with Ethan this morning once she’s been processed to confirm I’m pressing charges, and then I’ll speak with my lawyer.”

“You using the family lawyer?” He tried to ask it casually, but I couldn’t help but miss the slight growl in his tone.

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