Page 95 of Marry Me, Maybe?
Her shoulders gave a violent tremor before she finally nodded. A shuddering breath left her, broken, and she pressed her hand to her mouth as if to hold in a sob. When she walked past me, it wasn’t with the poise she’d always demanded of herself. It was unsteady, almost collapsing under the weight of my rejection.
But I didn’t say anything. Didn’t call her back. Just stood there in the doorway, staring at the gravel drive until her car disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Then I shut the door. Locked it behind me.
And let myself break.
21
MATTY
Irode Junebug hard across the land, the wind slashing my face, biting into my skin like it wanted to tear me apart. My grip on the reins was tight, almost painful, but it was the only thing grounding me, the only thing that kept my mind from spiraling. Every pounding hoofbeat beneath me felt like a strike against the chaos in my chest, like I could outrun all of it, just the rhythm of the ride and the power of the horse.
Junebug moved effortlessly, her muscles rippling under me, but I pushed her harder. She loved it, lengthening her gait as I gave her free rein. We were flying, the world around us a blur of green and brown, the earth beneath us swallowing up the seconds as we sped forward. It didn’t matter where we were going. The land was endless.
But no matter how fast I pushed, no matter how hard I leaned into the ride, the storm inside me wouldn’t quiet. The frustration, the anger, the ache in my chest wouldn’t go away. I was too damn frustrated. And I didn’t know what to do with it.
As we neared the lake, I slowed Junebug to a stop. Idismounted, almost stumbling, and took a moment to breathe.
I walked to the edge of the lake, my boots sinking slightly into the wet earth. My chest was tight, and my throat felt like it was closing. I loathed every hateful thing I’d said to my mother, but meant it at the same time. How was that possible?
I turned to Junebug, who was standing patiently, her dark eyes watching me. I moved toward her, not saying a word. I wrapped my arms around her broad neck and buried my face in her mane of coal.
“Just need a minute, girl.”
The familiar heat of tears welled up behind my eyes. The horse stood still, letting me hold on. Junebug whinnied, then nuzzled me gently, resting her head against my shoulder as though she could feel the weight I was carrying.
My whole world felt like one big lie. On top of that, now I had to find a way to break the news to Hudson that he’d never been married.
The sound of hooves broke the moment, and I straightened, quickly wiping my eyes. I wasn’t ready for anyone to see me like this.
“Matty?”
I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
My heart pounded as Dad dismounted from his horse and walked toward me, his brow furrowed in concern. I must have been a sight, standing there by the lake, my shoulders slumped like I couldn’t hold myself together anymore.
“What’s wrong, son?” His voice was gentle, but it hit me like a wave.
I opened my mouth to speak, to brush it off, but nothing came out. My chest felt hollow, like everything I’d beenholding in for days was finally breaking through. And I couldn’t stop it.
Dad opened his arms, and I didn’t even think. I stepped forward and fell into him like I was a kid again, like I was looking for something I couldn’t find in myself. And I cried.
I cried for the past, the parts of me I couldn’t undo, for the teenage boy who had loved with an intensity that felt eternal, only to lose everything in a matter of months.
I cried for the present, mourning the complexities of a mother’s love that I couldn’t quite grasp, for the pieces of her that I still longed to understand.
I cried for the future, the uncertainty of what lay ahead, the weight of blind trust I was asked to give again. I gave it with trembling hands, hoping against hope that the man I had placed my faith in wouldn’t betray me again. But it wasn’t easy.
“Ah, Matty.” Dad stroked my hair, pressing me even closer to him. His voice sounded hoarse, like he was close to tears. “I’m sorry you’re hurtin’, son.”
In his arms, the world didn’t seem so big, so hard. It wasn’t just the comfort of being held; it was the feeling of being small again, of shedding the weight of the world, if only for a moment.
When I was younger, I went to Dad for everything, especially when I was upset. That time I came home with a black eye, too proud to admit I lost control, he didn’t shout or ask why. He pulled me close, his hand steady on the back of my neck, like he could protect me from whatever the world threw my way.
But as I grew older, I stopped going to him. I saw myself as a man, a rancher who had to be tough. And ranchers didn’t need comforting. Like Dad, who’d never shown a tear in his life.
After everything blew up with Hudson, all I wanted was one of those hugs again, but for the first time, I had to face something so big alone. Slowly, my relationship with Dad had shifted into something more distant, more like coworkers who got along. Lately, not even that.
