Page 63 of Live for Me

I kissed her this morning for fuck’s sake.

“Alright, Pop,” I muttered, clapping him on the shoulder.

I could give her grace. I could play nice for a few days while Red Snake did their thing.

Then, when Abbie left Hallow Ranch again, I’d finally be free of her.

“Slow, boy, slow,” I commanded gently as I pulled back on the reins, following Denver down the small hill.

We were on the far side of the ranch, about four miles west of the main house and two away from Mason and Harmony’s place. The closest thing to us on this side of the ranch was Mags’ cabin, which was perched at the end of the next field over.

Denver waited for me at the bottom of the hill, and once I was beside him, he pointed northwest. “It’s hidden in those trees,” he told me.

My eyes followed his finger, and realization dawned. I looked back to him. “You mean to tell me this entire fucking time…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

Denver smirked. “Yeah, bud. This entire time.”

I swallowed, meeting his eyes. “You sure you’re okay with this?” I asked. “Knowing the history of this place?”

A deep, slow sigh left his nose as he looked towards the tree line. “You deserved to know about it years ago. You deserved to know about it the second Jigs said to give it to you. I just—” He cut himself off, looking back to me. “With everything that happened with Mason, I needed time.”

I nodded, understanding.

“There was a moment, during all the shit with Moonie and Mason, when I thought about giving it all up,” he confessed. “The second I found out about what my father had done to my little brother, I wanted to burn this place to ground.”

I held my breath, my heart nearly stopping altogether as his confession drifted through the warm air around us, shining in the sunlight for the whole world to see.

Denver wanted to give up Hallow Ranch?

“Of course,” he finally continued, looking back to the tree line. “Hallow Ranch wasn’t just my home. It was yours, Jigs’, the twins, Mags’, Caleb’s. I may be a selfish son of a bitch, but I could never be that.”

I stared at his profile for a just a moment. “Could never be what, Denver?”

His throat worked as a cloud above us blocked the sunlight.

“A monster,” he whispered before clearing his throat and snapping Ranger’s reins. The horse took off, following Denver’s wordless command, leaving me frozen on top of Spirit. I stared at my friend’s back, wondering what the hell I’d done in a past life to end up here, at a ranch sitting atop on a foundation of pain, run by two brothers who deserved everything but.

“Let’s go, boy,” I said softly, snapping my reins.

Spirit didn’t fight me, trotting forward for a few seconds before breaking into a run, carrying me across the field to the place meant to be my home.

After tying Spirit to a low branch beside Ranger’s in the shade, I turned to face the cabin.

It was simple two story cabin with a generous front porch that looked out into the field, giving whoever was sitting in the rocking chair by the door a beautiful view of the sunset every morning. It had a dark green metal roof, matching the front door, allowing the cabin to blend into the trees all around it. The front of the house had an even number of windows, two on the top and two on bottom. It looked like something out of the old storybooks Pop used to read to me as a kid. It wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small. Old pine needles covered the ground around it, but Denver was brushing a small paved path with his boot that led up to the porch steps.

My eyes drifted up, focusing on the trees looming above the structure and finding a hawk perched in a nest, staring down at me.

“When’s the last time someone has been out here?” I asked, pulling my eyes away from the momma. She had nothing to fear from us. We weren’t here to bother her.

“Once a month,” Denver answered, pulling out a key from underneath the worn, faded mat in front of the door. “Since Mason has been back, we both take turns.” He looked at me over his shoulder. “You know, turn the water on, check the lights, air it out.”

There were more questions on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask them. Instead, I took a deep breath and walked up the porch steps. Denver turned the key and pushed the door open, letting it go. He stepped to the side, holding out the key to me. I took it, muttering a thank you.

He jerked his chin to the doorway. “Go ahead.”

My fist wrapped around the key as I walked by him, stepping over the threshold. I expected to smell something rotten, but instead, the scent of fresh pine greeted me. The stairs were directly in front of me, a row of hooks on the wall to my right, the living room to my left. Denver stepped in behind me as I surveyed the small living room, sunlight poking through the drawn curtains. He flicked the light switch, and something settled on my shoulders as I took in the brown leather couch against the window, the armchair in the corner, the empty bookshelf on the wall.

“There are two bedrooms upstairs and a full bath. The half bath is down the hall, past the kitchen,” he informed me, stepping into the living room and pulling off his hat. He turned to face me, towering over the handmade coffee table beside him. My eyes dropped to it, recognizing the handiwork.

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