Page 67 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

His jaw tensed. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

I reeled back, stunned. “I didn’t think…” My mouth opened and shut like a fish gasping for water. “Do you think about killing yourself?” I whispered.

“Everyone thinks about it sometimes.”

“A lot of people think about it,” I said slowly. “But I don’t think that’s an argument against seeing a therapist. I think that’s an argument for an increase in mental health services.”

Zack snorted. “What’s a therapist gonna tell me, duchess? That I should be grateful I’m not dead? That there are plentyof other ways to be happy? To stop feeling sorry for myself? I already know all that. I’m trying. I should be grateful that I can still ride a horse at all, and I know there are many people who aren’t as lucky as I am. I always have a place at Lodestar. What does it matter if I can’t get excited about a lifetime of the same ranch chores every damn day? It’s an honest living.” He blew out an angry breath. “Why can’t I just be fucking grateful? Why does it have to feel so…bad?”

I stared at him, baffled. He sounded so…guilty. But he had nothing to feel guilty about. These feelings weren’twrong. They were painful, but they were perfectly valid.

“Mom would have given anything for even one more boring day at the ranch,” he said quietly. “Just an ordinary day with her family and the horses, a day where she felt good enough to be outside with the sunshine on her face.” The lines of his throat bobbed in a swallow. “I owe it to her not to be a little bitch about my own problems. I don’t evenhaveany fucking problems.”

Self-loathing coated his words and made my chest feel tight.

“I didn’t know her, but I doubt she would be disappointed in you for being sad,” I said carefully. “You lost something you loved and you’re grieving. And not that long ago, you lost apersonyou loved, and you’re still grieving that, too. That’s…that’s a lot of grief, Zack. There’s no shame in getting help to manage it.”

“You don’t understand. This is who I need to be for my family. The happy-go-lucky clown who could make them laugh when they were feeling down. And we felt down alotwhen Mom was sick.”

“You weren’t the clown, Zack. You were the linchpin. You held them together because youcould. But that doesn’t mean you don’t ever need help yourself.”

“Maybe,” he said, but it was clear he didn’t believe it.

I sighed. “Would it be okay if I talk to Chloe and ask her for a recommendation? She probably knows someone you can talk to.”

Zack grunted. “No, I’ll ask her myself.”

I had the feeling he was putting me off. “Promise me.”

He grunted again. I tapped his thigh, and he glanced at me. “Promise me,” I insisted.

He sighed. “I promise.”

As if to prove to me how fine he was, and how little he needed help, he kept up a stream of entertaining nonsense for the rest of the ride home.

27

ZACK

Zack:

What are you wearing right now?

Hannah:

It’s 11 p.m. What do you think I’m wearing?

Zack:

I need you to describe it. Every detail.

Hannah:

It’s a light blue nightgown with a ruffled hem that hits right above my ankles. There are three pearl buttons down the chest.

Zack:

You’ve got it buttoned up to the very top, don’t you.

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