Page 23 of Stay for Me

“We don’t have to do this,” I told him, folding my arms over my chest. “My life before coming here isn’t worth getting into.”

He looked at me then, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Your life is your life, Mags. I consider you a friend, which makes it worth getting into.”

I said nothing, grinding my molars to the point of pain.

“I also can’t make you tell me shit, but know that when and if you’re ever ready, Mags, I’m willing to listen.” His offer was earnest, sincere, and rocked me to my fucked up core, but I still didn’t tell him anything.

“I’m solid, Kings,” I told him through my teeth, craving a damn cigarette. I hadn’t had one since coming to Hallow Ranch, and right now, I was willing to dive head first back into addiction.

Eventually—thankfully—-he dropped the subject, and we talked about meaningless things, ate our dinner, and drank more whiskey.

It wasn’t until three months later, when half the herd had been auctioned off and Hallow Ranch was in the middle of one of the harshest winters in its history, that I finally opened up to him.

There was no other choice, really.

Kings had found me in the middle of the field, knee deep in snow, screaming at the sky. I’d been sucked back into the hell I’d thought I left behind, mourning the future I was promised. Memories of almost losing my best friend, bombs going off, a bullet ripping through my shoulder when we were ordered to fall back, the desert heat, the orphaned children, the endless flames, and most of all, the three months of darkness when I came back home, my body permanently damaged…

It all came back to me when I didn’t expect it, knocking my feet out from underneath me.

I was yanked under, running out of air when Kings pulled me out.

Then, he got me some help. Years later, the tables turned, and he was the one who needed help.

In the end, everything always came back full circle.

Chapter Four

Diana

Istaredatthecourt documents, my eyes feeling dry, stinging.

“For heaven’s sake,” I muttered, lifting my head and closing my eyes, tears filling them as I shoved my hands into my hair.

I had a love-hate relationship with spring and summer. I loved the warmth, sunshine, and the colors. My sinuses, however, hated everything about them. We were weeks away from autumn, and then it wouldn’t be long after that when the temperatures would start to drop. The animals would go into hibernation, taking my seasonal allergies along with them.

Opening my eyes, I twisted my neck to look at the blue hydrangea bush outside my living room window.Oh, how I loved her.

You love the things that could kill you the most, apparently.

My mind immediately went to the cowboy with hair black as night and dark eyes to match. Goosebumps scattered across my skin, and I chewed on my thumb nail, silently cursing myself. It had been over a week since I’d made a fool of myself at Hallow Ranch, and since then, I’d been a recluse. I’d also made some horrible decisions in a poor attempt to forget said incident, which, as always, never panned out for me. Still, I did things I shouldn’t have, and now, I felt like I was two steps back when I should be four steps forward.

Regrettably, I rose from my spot on the couch to close the curtains, my eyes unable to handle the sunlight right now, and when that was done, I turned on my air filter in the corner, the steady hum of it reminding me of a hospital. I tilted my head back and rolled my neck, stretching it like my physical therapist taught me, feeling a twinge of a pain on the right side. I winced and pressed my hand against it.

I was falling apart in my thirties. Everything Jennifer Garner taught me inThirty, Flirty, and Thrivinghad been a lie.

My phone dinged with a text from Thomas, and I scooped it up.

Thomas: Mr. Weatherford called. Apparently, the parents’ lawyer advised them to drop the case.

I had the phone to my ear within the next second, calling him. He answered on the second ring. “I knew I should’ve called, but I didn’t know how you were feeling,” he greeted.

“Don’t worry about me, Thomas,” I told him, brushing it off, the clogs in my mind already turning. I chewed on my thumb nail a for a moment longer, fully prepared to get lost in what I called: The Harper Law Black Hole of Work-aholic-ness. Then, Thomas’ voice cut through.

“Someone has to,” he replied, his voice soft, making my heart jump into my throat.

Thomas, sweet Thomas.

A man too good for this world and definitely too good to be working for me.

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