Page 5 of Live for Me

Mags didn’t move—not a single inch. He wasn’t fazed by my anger. “It’s been six years,” he reminded me.

I scoffed and threw the rest of my whiskey back. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Well, who else are you going to talk about it with?” he pressed. “No one else knows about the pain you’re in. You spend the majority of your time hiding it.”

Closing my eyes, I bite down, feeling the muscle in my jaw jump. “I know that.”

“Then do I need to remind you of the night you snuck out of the bunkhouse with a bottle of Jack and a gun? Who followed you out into that field and talked you off the ledge?”

Leave it to Mags to get straight to the point.

When I didn’t answer, he clipped, “Tell me who, Beau.”

I bent my head, letting out a breath. “You did, Mags.”

“Right. I also forced you to tell me everything about her. Remember that?”

Twisting my neck, I looked over at him once more. “I remember everything,” I murmured.

His eyes flashed, and he looked back to the field. “Today has been six years. That’s why I asked you over, dumbass, not to help me with the fence. I can handle my own fucking fence.”

“Remember when you first got to Hallow Ranch ten years ago and you barely spoke a word to anyone?” I quipped. “Can we go back to that?”

He didn’t even blink. “Yeah, right after you tell me what’s going through your fucking head so I know you’re alright.”

I looked away from him, studying the mountain. “I’m okay, Mags.” I blew out a breath, feeling my chest deflate. There was no use in trying to hide it from him. The fucker was like the world’s best detective. He could read anyone like an open book, and it pissed me off.

The man had enough demons, but he wanted to fight everyone else’s.

“You haven’t gone to Denver in a while,” he noted.

I looked down at my feet, jaw tight. “Haven’t needed to.”

“Haven’t needed to or haven’t wanted to?”

God fucking dammit.

I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to talk about it, trying to stall this conversation for as long as I could. If I was a smart man, I would just get up and fucking leave. I wasn’t being held here against my will, and I didn’t have to tell Mags anything. We both knew that, and yet? My ass was still planted in his fucking rocking chair. A few more minutes passed before I answered his question.

“I haven’t needed to,” I repeated, swirling my glass slowly.

Every other weekend or so, the boys and I would head into Denver to let off some steam. The twins did it to get laid, fucking whoever they could and leaving the next morning. I always started off the nights with them, going to a bar or two but not drinking much. Then, halfway through the night, we would part ways and I’d go to Brandy’s Coffeehouse. I’d stay there until two am when it closed, sitting in her favorite spot and sipping her favorite latte. Over the last six years, it was the only way I could be close to her without invading her life.

Then, when the coffeehouse closed, I would drive across the city to the neighborhood where we’d talked about starting a life and park in front of the house I wanted to buy her. It was vacant, had been for year. It needed a ton of renovations to make it livable again, but I would’ve done it. I would’ve busted my ass to make that pile of rubble into a home for her—for us.

“Do you think you could move on?” Mags asked, lifting his glass to his mouth.

A huff escaped me, a sound mixed with disbelief and a shred of hope. “There’s no moving on from a woman like her, brother. She was my one and only.”

We left the conversation with that, sitting in silence for a little while longer until the sun was finally set. I rose from my seat andgrabbed my hat from the porch post, flipping it onto my head as I set my empty glass down beside his on the small table between the chairs.

“I need to hit the sack, man,” I said, walking past him.

He grunted a reply and rose from his seat as well, holding his hand out to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

I took it, giving it a firm shake as I clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I’m alright.” I walked down the porch steps, heading to my truck. “What’s that stupid saying? Time heals all wounds?” I called out over my shoulder.

“That’s a damn myth,” he replied, his voice echoing through the night.

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