Page 63 of Eight Second Hearts

I crush her against me, hugging too tight, holding on too long, but she doesn’t protest. Not my Indie bird.

No, she’s stronger than that.

This woman who looks at three empty shells and calls them men.

This woman who looks at The Stray of Fairview Acres and reaches out her hand.

Chapter 39

Indie

I’d cried for him. Beau Rogers is not the man I thought he was. He carries himself like the world doesn’t bother him, like it should be grateful to him for existing, but when he’d told me his story, so matter-of-factly calling himself a stray, I’d crumbled.

A child. A baby. Left on the streets to survive.

“So Tripp’s dad just let you stay?” I ask once we start walking again. I’d held him together there on that street, knowing I was probably making a mistake by not shying away from his warning, but I’ve long since accepted these men are going to leave their mark on me. Why stop it at this point?

“Not willingly,” Beau admits. “Tripp refused to train unless he let me stay. He got the shit beat out of him for fighting for me, but eventually Fred accepted I was there to stay. Once Fred Senior stepped in and demanded I earn my keep, they put me to trainin’, too. I was the right color, so he didn’t mind. Ram, on the other hand, couldn’t even step inside the barn while either of them was around. Tripp and I trained him at night.”

With every new fact, my heart shatters a little more for the children that were forced to live in that environment. I’m notsure how much more I can take before I start apologizing that I wasn’t there to help them. Fuck, I was a kid myself. What could I have done? Even now, I’m not sure I can offer them anything of worth.

“Don’t do that, little outsider,” Beau coos. “We are beasts of his making, but no matter how hard he beat us, we never fit into his picture. Like trying to force squares into circle holes. Ram shoves that in his face with every win. I do with every time I step on the dirt as a rodeo clown rather than the bull rider he tried to make me. And Tripp? Well, Tripp wins every time he wins.” He tilts his head toward me. “Between you and me, Fred was never as good as Tripp or his own father. That’s why he hates Tripp so much. He’s the real legacy.”

I blink, realizing that Tripp’s accomplishments do outnumber his own father’s and his grandfather’s. Frederick Savage Senior may have started the legacy, but Tripp has kept it going out of sheer spite. Sometimes, spite is all that gets us through life. I get it.

“I just. . .I can’t imagine living in a house like that,” I murmur. “It’s no wonder Darla is so angry.”

“Yeah,” Beau nods. “She don’t deserve the way she’s treated, but she sure does make it hard these days to pity her.” He shrugs. “She’s never liked me. I remember her as a bully when she came to live at the house, all pink bows and nasty insults. I never blamed her. It’s in her blood, after all.”

All of these souls stained by one man’s legacy. God. I’d said something stupid by telling Tripp he had a good legacy. I can’t believe I told him that without understanding what really went down. He was drunk, so hopefully he doesn’t even remember that.

Which makes me realize suddenly why they don’t do interviews. For the legacy to live, it can’t be stained by reality.

Fuck.

“Hi!” someone exclaims, drawing me from my thoughts as we walk. I glance toward the voice and blink at the pretty woman standing behind the table. She’s wearing what I can only call a costume. Cow print chaps cover her jeans, a matching vest buttoned across her chest. She’s wearing a disco ball cowgirl hat, and her bright smile somehow puts it to shame. “Would you like to buy some honey?” she asks. “Fresh from Circle Bee. Last of the batch until spring time.”

I smile and step closer to the table. “I love your outfit,” I tell her.

“Aww, thank you!” she beams. “I’m a cosplayer, so it’s kind of my thing.”

“No shit? That’s pretty cool,” I say, glancing at Beau. “I think you two would get along.”

The woman looks at Beau. “Oh? You cosplay?”

Beau grins. “Let’s just say I like flashy clothing. Freddy Mercury style.”

“Right on,” she gushes, and then holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Fable Everhart. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Indie Chen,” I say. “This is Beau Rogers.”

Her smile brightens. “Ah, I know you, Beau Rogers. Or at least, I’ve heard of you. Pretty sure everyone in Steele talks about the Crimson Three at least once a week. We have a lot of legends here. It’s so refreshing being surrounded by greatness all the time.”

“You’re not from here?” I ask.

“Gosh, no. I’m originally from Florida. I moved here last fall. Showed up for a month long stay at Circle Bee, fell in love, and never left,” she says. “Where are you from?”

The man sitting behind her glances up with a soft smile toward her, but doesn’t say anything. He’s massive, tattoos along his arms and his long hair loose around his shoulders. I wave athim, and he tilts his head toward me, but that’s the extent of our interaction.

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