Page 4 of Deacon

My mind goes back to all the things I heard him say to Ryland last night. He clearly knows what he’s doing. All the men I know do is talk about sex—about how good it is, how they always want more of it, who’s willing to give it freely and who’s not.

I’m eighteen, grown up. I think I’m ready.

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

What follows is the most bewildering, startling experience of my life. When he’s gone, I go inside, ball my clothes up, and push them into a grocery bag. I never want to see my perfectly broken-in pair of jeans again.

I’m spun around. Ashamed, disappointed.

Aiden gets home first, before Bittern and Ryland. I’ve just finished putting the clean sheets on the beds and getting dinner on the table. His truck rumbles, exhaust rattling as he parks it.

I pour a shot of moonshine. It’s the third since Braxton left.

Aiden walks in and goes to the sink to wash up. I hate when he does that in the kitchen, but nobody criticizes Aiden, least of all me.

I sink down at the table. He pulls his shirt off and dries himself with it.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks roughly.

I shake my head, wordless. Clearly, something is off—this isn’t my normal silence. He comes closer, still drying his hands.

“Speak up,” he orders.

“Nothing,” I whisper. “Braxton left this afternoon.”

He stares at me and I stare back at him. Aiden doesn’t like me, never has. I’m the stepdaughter left behind after his second wife became the second wife to leave him. He barely noticed me until I was an adult, old enough to start working.

But now, he’s looking, forehead creased.

“What?” he presses.

I wish he’d just go. Aiden has made my life hell. He calls me a whore and taught Ryland to do the same. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure the idea of my body being ruined from sex originated with Aiden.

“Nothing,” I say again. “He just… It’s nothing.”

My voice cracks. The room is so still, I’m aware of the sudden dilation of the dark center of Aiden’s blue eyes.

“He rape you?” he says.

I startle. He says that word like it’s nothing, but I know that’s not so. Aiden might hate my guts, but if Braxton raped me, Aiden is honor-bound by these hills to put the cold end of a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

Aiden will do it too. He cuts his teeth on violence. His rap sheet is probably longer than his inked-up arm at this point.

But Braxton isn’t a criminal. No, he’s just negligent.

“No,” I whisper. “He fucked me. I didn’t like it, but he didn’t…you know.”

In his face, something ugly sparks. We stare at each other for at least a full minute. Aiden calls me a whore almost daily, so it’s shocking to me that he doesn’t say a word. He just picks up his shirt, clearly thinking hard.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Alright.”

He turns around and walks out, leaving me open-mouthed. I regret telling him, because he’s weird around me for the next few days. Then, he disappears, saying he’s got business in Pikeville. When he returns, it’s like we hit the reset and he’s back to hating me as hard as he can.

I never mention Braxton Whitaker to anybody after that. His name comes up once while Ryland is talking a few months later, and Aiden gives him a death stare until he shuts up.

Nobody ever speaks of Braxton Whitaker again.

NOW

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