Page 53 of Give Me Redemption

I came out here to think about things and have some time alone.

Even though I can’t say I’m not missing Dalton. Thoughts of bringing her out here cross my mind, but it’s too damn soon for all of that, and besides, she’s been a little standoffish this past week. Ever since we kissed, actually.

I don’t know if she’s having second thoughts or she’s just busy. But hell, she works at a library. What the hell could she be busy with?

“It’s ready,” I hear Emily say. “Bryce, go get your brother.”

“Where is he?” Bryce asks.

“Right here,” I reply, walking into the vast kitchen. I swipe a piece of straw off my faded jeans and readjust my backwards baseball hat before rubbing my growing beard.

“You better take those boots off in Emily’s kitchen,” Pops says to me.

I stop and pull my worn boots off before peeling my socks away, too. My feet sigh a little relief as I walk to the sink and wash up. Tension grows thick in the kitchen, and I know it’s because of Bryce and me. They all seemed to be having a good, comfortable time until I walk in.

“How’s Frisk doing with that horse?” Pops asks me as I scrub up my arms, removing cut grass and dirt.

I nod. “Fine.” I reach over and take the dishtowel Emily offers me.

“Just fine, huh?” Pops asks.

“That’s what I said,” I reply. My mood is shit now. I really don’t want my brother here.

“Hey,” Bryce speaks up. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Fuck you,” I spit. Before I can blink, Bryce’s stool is hitting the wall behind him from being slid out so hard. He grabs me by the collar and slams me against the wall.

“What did you say to me, boy?” he seethes. My eyes burn fire, but I’m not backing down from my big, bad brother. I lift my chin and look him dead in the face. Hit me, motherfucker. Let’s do this.

“That’s enough.” Pops stands up. His baritone voice sounds deep through the house. Bryce doesn’t let up, though, and it’s Emily who makes it happen.

“This isn’t happening in here.” She drops a pan onto the stove, and it makes a loud clank. Everyone grows quiet.

My brother breathes hard, but loosens his grip on my shirt, narrowing his eyes at me before retaking his seat beside Harrison. My blood boils, my anger to beat the shit out of something so strong I could lift that fucking farm table and throw it.

I straighten the stretched collar of my shirt, and instead of sitting down, I walk over to the fridge, grab a beer, and head the fuck outside.

I jog down the porch, twisting the cap off my beer and bringing it to my lips. Licking them after, I taste salt from sweat and the noticeably wrong taste of beer so early in the morning.

Why the hell did I grab this? I toss the thing over into a barrel and head out to where Frisk is training the new horse we got in. I slip my phone from my front pocket and look down at the screen. No texts from Dalton.

I know it’s early, but she isn’t just a little curious as to why I haven’t called? I send her a text.

Hey.

She replies immediately

Hey back, stranger.

I think you’re the one who’s been a stranger.

She doesn’t reply, and I look up as the horse bucks. I see Emily has brought out a pot of coffee with some cups for the boys, so I walk over and pour a cup before leaning against the fence. Resting my forearms on it, I prop my foot on the bottom.

I exhale as I think about last night’s bad dream. I woke up pouring sweat and thrashing all over the bed. Part of me thinks I need to go talk to someone. Maybe do some group counseling with other guys who have been through the same thing I have or something similar. See how they’re coping with it.

I’m coping shitty. I drink too much, party too hard, and even though Dalton and I said we wanted to take things farther, we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.

She ghosted me.

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