Page 93 of Deacon

“Bittern,” I blurt out.

He stops, looking up. Another tear seeps out.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

He swallows. He’s in his sweats too, his undershirt stained. Slowly, he runs a hand over his face and lets out a sigh.

“I’m fucked already,” he says.

All at once, it’s too much. The smashed kitchen, the rattle of Bittern’s chest, the venom in Ryland’s eyes, the unspoken fear of when Aiden will wake up. The house closes in around me, squashing me until I’m heaving for a breath.

I turn, my boots crunching on the glass, and burst out the side door. Bittern follows. I feel him hover over my body as I sink down on the stoop.

“Hey, Frey, don’t worry about me,” he says, almost sheepishly.

I wipe my face with my palm. “How can I not?” I whisper. “Aiden shouldn’t be buying land out here with all that money. He should be sending you to the doctor. We shouldn’t even be here, Bittern.”

He’s quiet. I look over my shoulder, and he’s squinting out over the hills. The mountains sprawl out, the same ones in the far off distance that I can see from Deacon’s bedroom. I turn back around and close my eyes, squeezing them shut.

I want to go back to Ryder Ranch.

But I’m so afraid.

I’m paralyzed that, under everything, Deacon’s the same kind of man I swore I’d never touch. And yet, I think it’s slowly dawning on me that he’s not. He’s only ever touched me gently. He listens to me, he holds me, he says all the words I want to hear.

I want to trust him.

And yet…if I do, I’m trusting that, in twenty years, I won’t have a daughter who sits on her back porch, biting back tears.

It’s all happening so fast, I’m struggling to process how I feel about Deacon after the last few conversations we’ve had. Butsomething changed when he came to get me. I saw the stark difference between him and Aiden. Now, I have to grapple with my misjudgment and wonder if there’s a path forward.

He thinks there is—that’s clear. I might not think I’m his woman, but he thinks he’s my man.

Bittern clears his throat, jerking me out of my thoughts. “You want me to clean up the kitchen?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it and make breakfast before Aiden gets up.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Bittern says.

I push myself to my feet, looking up at him. “What?”

“Aiden doesn’t hate you,” he says, not looking me in the eye. “He hates her, and you look just like her, you know. I don’t know if anybody ever told you that, but you look just like your mama.”

I know this, but today, the unfairness of it all hits deep. I can barely nod my head before dropping it to hide my frustrated tears.

He walks down the steps and goes past me. I see him digging in his pockets, but he left the cigarettes on the porch railing. Quick as a flash, I go and grab them, pushing them in my pocket.

“I’ll let you have one after breakfast,” I say.

He sighs. I go inside and get back on my knees and pick up every damn piece of glass and porcelain. When everything is in a bucket and hauled to the trash, I sweep so I don’t wake Aiden and mop until the floor sparkles. Then, I put everything back together, load the dishwasher, and set the table. By the time Ryland walks back through the front door, the bacon is done, and I’m finishing up the eggs.

Bittern comes in and leans in the side door. He looks down a lot. I think it started when he worked in the mines.

He used to be so easy-going and happy. Now, he doesn’t look above anybody’s shoes. Deacon was right in saying he’s thirty and he should be able to take care of himself, but he doesn’t understand Bittern like I do. He doesn’t know that Bittern is gentle and that life was brutal to him.

I want him to live, but I’m scared because I think he’s just waiting to die.

“I’m gonna go wash up,” I say.

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