Page 68 of Ashes of the Past
“Clay, if this isn’t about our daughter—”
“No!” he roars, cutting me off. “This isn’t about her! This is about you screwing with my life!”
“Then I’m hanging up,” I say calmly, my voice a sharp contrast to his fury.
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, you—”
I press the red button and slip the phone back into my pocket, my hands trembling slightly. The barn feels quieter now, the tension from the call lingering in the air. I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off. Clay can yell all he wants; I’ve got more important things to focus on.
Anxiety claws at my chest, tears pricking at my eyes as I remember that fear isn’t something that I can just shake off. No, the memory of Clay’s abuse is still deep in my body.
I squat down, my fingers feeling the cold wood of the stable floor. I close my eyes and focus on inhaling and exhaling. I listen to the sounds around me, paying attention to how the cold feels on my fingers.
Lane is probably just taking space because he probably doesn’t want to listen to his brother yelling at him, either. I’m sure he’s fine.
“Lane isn’t your problem,” I hear Nick say behind me.
I stand quickly, turning around to see him watching me carefully. “How did you—?”
“It’s hard not to hear that maniac screaming through the phone. I’ll have Sheriff Clark run a check on Lane, but he’s not your responsibility. I know that it was easier to hire him to shut Clay up. I also know that you thought him working here would keep him away from the drugs that he got involved in out of high school. You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.”
“Can you tell Clay that? He seems to think it’s my responsibility.”
“Clay is a piece of shit. Whatever happens to Lane is not your fault; it’s his choices and actions that put him wherever he ends up. I know it’s easier said than done, but you don’t owe him anything.”
“He’s Olivia’s father.”
“I think of you like a daughter, Brynn, so I’m going to say it like I see it because I know you can take it. Clay is a sperm donor; he’s never been a father to that little girl, and she knows it. You’ve got a big heart, and I know that you’re hopeful he’s going to change and show up for that sweet girl, but he won’t. If he ever does, it’s only to get back at you. Stop playing nice with him and allowing him to get in your head.”
I suck in another breath and fight back the tears. He’s right, I know he is, but it doesn’t make any of it easier to digest.
I don’t have time to mull over it, though. I’ve got a full day ahead of me and can sort it all out later.
“Let’s saddle up and check the fence line,” I say.
I need to think about something else for now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jack
I’m not too proud to admit defeat. Paperwork is my least favorite thing, but it’s all I can really do right now.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, not being able to be as active and hands-on as I normally am. I have to listen to my body, though, because I’m not going to risk being out longer than necessary.
If I can’t be out there lifting bales of hay or hammering boards into place, I’ll do the next best thing: tackle the mountain of paperwork that’s been piling up. With all Brynn has on her plate, this was the least of her worries, I’m sure.
I can go through it, like I told her earlier. It’s part of the job I was hired to do even if I hate it.
Friday morning, I walk into the office on the first floor of the old farmhouse. I’d gotten quite a bit done yesterday, but there’s still so much to do. I sit down in the leather chair in front of the old oak desk. I pull open the first drawer and immediately regret it. Receipts, invoices, and random scraps of paper spill out like a waterfall. I let out a low whistle.
“No wonder she’s been stressed.”
The morning passes in a blur of sorting and filing. It’s slow going, and every so often, I have to stop and catch my breath, my lungs still protesting from the fire. But it feels good to do something useful, to make even a small dent in the chaos.
My mind keeps drifting, though. Back to Brynn. To the way she kissed me in the barn, her hands roaming my body like she wanted to devour me. It’s all a bit much. I’d shut my heart off a long time ago, convinced that it was safer that way. And in a matter of days, she’s managed to melt the ice around it.
She’s in my head. She’s been in my head since the moment I touched her, since the moment she looked at me with those wide, uncertain eyes, her breath catching when my hands skimmed her skin. I tell myself it was just one night.
