Page 134 of For Cowgirls and Kings
He huffs, looking up at the ceiling, and for the first time ever he looks…nervous. What the fuck?
Then it hits me, like a bag of bricks. McCrae only cares about two people in this world. And one of them may actually be replacing him with myself. In the ways that matter at least. “This is about Gus.”
He continues to stare at the ceiling, his Adam's apple rubbing against the skin of his throat as he swallows. “Does Stetson or him need anything? For the baby, I mean.”
I stare at him, my mind,and lungs, empty.Who is this man, and what has he done with the reaper I’ve become so familiar with?
“Uh—” I lean forward, grappling with a response. “No, I think they’re fine.” In truth, I know they are. Gus has gotten anything Stetson might need or want for the baby, their house practically overflowing at this point, so much so that she has put him on a baby buying ban. They were having a very heated, yet comical, argument on the front porch two days ago when I swung by there on the way to my place, about the three different car seats he was trying to smuggle into the barn.
But I’m not about to tell McCrae any of that. It feels too much like giving him a reward he has no business receiving. Not with the way he’s treated Gus, or Stetson for that matter.
“I get it,” he finally huffs, pinning his eyes on me once more. They’re softer somehow, and hollower than any eyes have the right to be. So much so, I’m afraid if I keep looking at them, I might just fall inside and never come back out.
“Have you tried talking to him?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Every day for thirty-six years.”
I shake my head. “No, like adults. Not like an older brother trying to control—” I bite my tongue. “Trying to protect their little brother. But like a man, talking to a man, that’s also abrother that he cares about? You know with respect, understanding, and kindness?”
“That sounds like sappy, girl-shit,” he sneers.
“We do it all the time. And I’m the one he considers a brother.” I don’t mean for it to sound so harsh—okay, maybe I do—but the weight of the words lands like a physical blow across his face.
“Well, fuck.” His chews on his bottom lip, like he’s actually stumped. Like he actually heard, and understood, what I’m saying.Which like, what the fuck? Am I being punked?
“You alright dude?”Dude? Do I have a death wish?
His raised eyebrow says the same thing. But then he shakes his head. “I’m getting too old to let beef come between me and my family. I just want—” He licks his lips, “I want to be a part of his life. Of their life. Fuck, of the baby’s life. My parents…” I wait, oxygen strangled in my throat. I should have recorded this fucking confession for Gus. He’s literally never going to believe me. “My parents would probably beat the ever-loving shit out of me for the way things are between us. I honestly don’t know how things got so bad.”
“Maybe forcing him to continue riding was a bad start?” I really should bite my tongue.
“For many years it was out of anger and hatred. And then it was because I didn’t know how to turn it off. I just, oh fuck it, you wouldn’t understand.” So much of that sounds like jumbled words—a hidden meaning I can’t begin to unravel.
“Trying to ruin his relationship with Stetson?—”
“Only pushed them together, and you can’t convince me otherwise,” he says, punching his finger into his knee like a period.
“Delivery needed some serious work.”
He shrugs. “I lost my parents when I was nineteen, and became one on the same day.”
“He blames himself.” I bite my cheek—I should not have fucking said that. Especially because we’ve never discussed it again, and I don’t even know what it means.
McCrae blows out a long breath. “That’s my fault. I had my own shit I needed to work out, and didn’t, that I continued to live with until, well, I still am.”
I seriously regret not recording this.
“Can you start dealing with it?” I ask him, even though I’m not sure I’m ready to accept this new version of a man I’ve convinced myself to hate forever.
He looks me dead in the eye, and by deadI mean it seriously.“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do?”
I nod, ready to talk about anything else, when McCrae leans forward, his voice barely above a whisper, “What’s the deal with that Faith girl?” If I wasn’t sitting, I’d fall out of my chair.Faith? How does he…
The memory of their strange prolonged eye contact over a couple of very dead bodies flashes through my mind, and my eyes flick to his. “What about her?”
He stares at me for several heart beats, seeing beneath my skin in that way only he can do, and then he abruptly stands, shrugging. “Never mind.” Before I can say anything else, he strides from the room.
FORTY-EIGHT
