Page 131 of For Cowgirls and Kings
“Faith, please. Can we just talk?” Nathan begs, and the poor guy wobbles where he stands.
“Say what you need to say,” she finally squeaks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words seem to hurt him more, his face screwing into a sour look.
“In front of…” He looks at the table.
“They’re my friends Nathan.”
He sucks in a ragged breath, his head sagging. After several very awkward, very tense moments, Nathan raises his head, running a hand through his hair repeatedly.
“I just want to be able to start over.”
Faith turns to him then, tears glistening in eyes that seem far too angry for a girl as nice as her, and snarls, “You just want to own me.”
There’s a long weighted pause that settles over the table, and I scramble to think of anything to fill the growing silence. Before I have to though, Stetson shifts her attention from Faith’s face, to Nathan’s, her remaining compassion melting away.
“I think you should leave,” Stetson states, her voice grave. And Nathan doesn’t even fight her. Without another word, he walks away, disappearing out the front door.
We all wait in strangled silence for Faith to say something,anything,but after several moments, it becomes obvious she has no plan of sharing. Not that I blame her–—there’s a lot more going on there than what meets the eye.
“Faith?” Dale finally asks.
“Not now,” Faith whispers, taking a shaky sip of her drink. I look over at Gus’s stone cold face. When he catches me staring he shoots me a look that all but screams his want to run out after Nathan and pummel him.
Wait…
“Is that the guy you beat up and went to jail over?”
There’s a small smirk that flits across Gus’s before he locks it behind a stony expression once more.
“You what?” Faith squeaks, her eyes widening. All eyes turn to her, and I instantly feel bad for bringing it up.
“We need to have another girls' day soon,” Stetson states, instead of answering, and Faith just nods.
The sound of the restaurant, and all of its patrons clinkingforks and chatter fill the now heavy fog that seems to be floating over our table.
We all have our demons, that much is obvious. Trauma’s like death—unavoidable, different for each person, and no less final and fatal than the next person’s.
Gus stares at me, his eyes cutting through my exterior like a hot knife through butter. I take the final swig of my margarita, setting the glass down on the nearly empty table. The girls all went to the bathroom, leaving Gus and I for a stare off that I’m not sure I’m winning.
Sighing, I lean forward. “What?”
“You know she’s going to leave.” It’s not a question, and I don’t act surprised. As much as it guts me, I know. I’ve known and dreaded it like the plague. “What’re you going to do about it?” His eyes narrow, like he can’t decide whether to be annoyed or sympathetic, or annoyed by his sympathy—probably a normal battle for him.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to stop her?”
I don’t know what answer he’s hoping for, but I can only offer him the truth. “No.”
His features remain stoic, but I don’t miss the spark in his eyes. “You’re going to let her go?”
I run an annoyed hand over my face, “No, I’m not letting her go.”
“What the fuck are you going to do about it then?” he hisses.
“I thought you’d be glad she was cutting me out.”
Gus’s eyes narrow before he rolls them exaggeratedly and leans back. “Don’t be a puss. Or dramatic. I can’t stand that shit. I want Dale to be happy. You make Dale happy.”
