“I don’t know. You can rub it in my face and mock me for the rest of forever?”
“Well, that does sound satisfying, but I want one more thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“You help me in the pigpens. You take half of them to clean yourself.”
He groaned. “I’m more of an overseer of the pens. I haven’t cleaned them in years.” That was one of the perks of being a manager on Eres Ranch, I supposed. You handed out the jobs, but you didn’t have to get your hands too deep in the dirty work. But if Ian wanted my help, he’d have to come down to my level.
“Well, that’s my deal. I’ll help you with the lyrics if you help me with the pens. How bad do you want that dream of yours, Ian?”
I could tell from his stare how bad he wanted it.
Really freaking bad.
I held my hand out toward him and smiled. “Do we have a deal?”
There was a moment of pause until he walked over to me and shook my hand.
“Deal. Just promise me one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“No lady boners in the pens.”
If my face could turn any redder, I’d be a dang tomato.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine. But before we move on, can you say that one thing again?”
“What one thing?”
I pushed my tongue in my cheek. “That I was right.”
He rolled his eyes so hard that I was certain he was going to damage his vision. “Shut up, darling.”
Before I could reply to his comments, the doorbell rang, and Ian hurried over to answer it. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah, rumor has it Hazel Stone is crashing here,” a deep voice said, making me look up toward the front door.
Garrett stood there in all black, looking moody as ever. My stomach flipped as the two of us made eye contact. A fire blazed in his eyes, and within seconds, he barged into Ian’s place and gripped my arm. His embrace was tight. Too tight.
“What the hell, Garrett? Let me go,” I hissed, trying to pull my arm free, but he wouldn’t let it go.
“Heard the craziest rumor today,” he sneered, his voice coated in anger and alcohol. “It seems someone snitched on Charlie. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
My heartbeats sped up as I kept trying to rip my arm away from his hold, but I couldn’t. “No,” I lied, feeling my emotions building more and more with each second that passed.
My plan . . . it worked. It really freaking worked.
“Why do I feel like you’re full of shit right now?” he asked.
“Let me go,” I ordered once more, cringing at his tight hold against me.
“That was my uncle, my family. All of us were a unit, and you went and fucked that all up.”
“He beat her! He beat my mom all the time, Garrett. He was going to kill her!” I cried, mostly from that truth, slightly from the pain of his fingers digging deeper into my skin. What was happening? Garrett wasn’t like Charlie. Never once had he hurt me physically, only mentally; he’d never laid his hands on me. Not until now. Now, he looked so wild in the eyes that I hardly even recognized him.
“Yeah, well, sometimes a bitch needs to be handled.”
Acid rose from my stomach and sat in my throat as I built up enough strength to shove him away from me. “Fuck you, Garrett.”
“I did you a favor giving you a minute of my damn time. You think anyone else would’ve put up with dating your disgusting ass? And then you go ahead and screw over the only family you ever had. Only three people in this town outside of Charlie knew about the drop location.” He grabbed both of my wrists in his hand this time and pulled me in closer to his body, pressing himself against me. His hot, intoxicated breaths brushed against my cheek as tears burned at the backs of my eyes. “Do you know what happens to snitches, Hazel Stone?”
It felt like a threat, but I knew it was more. Garrett didn’t come from a family who offered empty threats. They always turned out to be more like promises.
Before I could reply, Ian rushed over and shoved Garrett, knocking his hold away from me.
“What the . . . ? Back the hell off,” Ian ordered, his chest rising and falling.
Garrett stumbled back a little, taken by surprise. Yet when he regained his footing, he rolled up his sleeves and cranked his neck. “You know, I’m real sick of you preppy bitches thinking you own this town. Hazel and I were having a conversation that was none of your business.”
“Yeah, well, it looked like Hazel wasn’t really in the mood for talking, and seeing as how it’s happening in my house, that makes it my business.”
Garrett’s hands formed fists, and he moved in closer to Ian. “Well, if she’s not down for talking, maybe you and I should have a conversation, asshole.”
Ian rolled up his sleeves. “I’d love to hear what you have to say.”
“You guys, stop. Please,” I begged, stepping between them both. “Just leave, Garrett.”
He huffed. “Fine, but don’t think we’re done here, Hazel. You’ll be hearing from me again.”
That thought alone terrified me.
As he began to walk away, he turned back and flipped his lighter on and off in his hand. “Whatever your plan was with ratting Charlie out went sideways. He wasn’t the only one busted, you dumbass. Your mom was there too. So congratulations. You got your mother locked up too.”
11
IAN
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, knocking on Hazel’s closed bedroom door. Since that Garrett guy left, she’d locked herself away in her bedroom.
I was still trying to piece everything together, but listening to Hazel sob on the other side of her door was fucking sad as hell. The past few days, her life seemed to be in complete turmoil, and I hadn’t a damn clue how to help her.
But if she needed someone to listen, I was all ears.
“I’m fine,” she sniffled. Her sniffles were enough reason for me to know she was lying. “I just need to get some sleep.”
I didn’t know her well enough to push her, but man, did I want to. I wanted to make sure she was all right and give her anything she could’ve needed to feel a tad bit better, but I had a feeling she wasn’t going to leave that room anytime soon. So I gave her the only words I could think of.
“I would’ve done the same if it were my mom,” I offered up. “I know whatever your plan was didn’t go as expected, but I would’ve done the same thing. Think of it this way—as long as your mother is locked up, Charlie can’t get to her, and she can’t get into more trouble. It’s a chance for her to get a restart.”
I remembered when my parents used to go MIA, I’d hope that the cops would pick them up. That way, they’d have a place to sleep that night, and they couldn’t get into more trouble.
“Haze,” I sighed with my hands pressed against the wooden door, “if you need anything, I’m next door.”
A soft thank-you was all I heard before I walked away to give her some space to think and reflect. I had a feeling she’d be up all night, thinking and reflecting too much.
I would’ve done the same thing.
When the door opened, I was surprised to see a puffy-eyed Hazel looking my way. I’d been convinced she wasn’t going to come out until morning. “You know what would help take my mind off everything?”
“What’s that?”
“If we made music together. I just need a distraction, and I think writing songs with you could help.”
“Of course. We can hang out in the living room and start messing around with some stuff I’ve been working on—and failing at. I’ll go grab my guitar and some pens and paper, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
I began to walk away—and froze as I felt two arms wrap around me from behind. I looked over my shoulder to see Hazel holding on for dear life, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” she murmured, still holding on to me. “I just needed something to hold
on to for a second.”
“Go ahead.” I turned to face her and pulled her in for a tight hug. “Hold on for two.”
We stayed up well past two in the morning with one another, making lyrics that sometimes worked and other times didn’t. Hazel asked me questions that were hard on my soul to answer—I wasn’t one to dig deep with my emotions—but I tried my best to do it for her, because if anyone was having a shitty day, it was Hazel. She didn’t need me being a hard-ass to her while she was trying to help me.
“What was the hardest day of your life?” she asked me, lying on the couch as I sat in front of her with a notebook in my hands.
“That’s an easy one. When my parents walked out on me.”
She tilted her head and stared at me with the most genuine eyes. “Tell me about it.”
I swallowed hard. It was the worst day of my life, and I didn’t like talking about it. Even though it had happened almost fourteen years ago, it still felt like yesterday. But again, for her, I’d try. “They said they were going out for food and I was old enough to stay home alone for a while. So I hung out all day, waiting for them to come home. When the morning came, I started getting nervous, but I still waited, because no matter what, they always came home.” I scratched at my chin and cleared my throat. “Except this time, they didn’t. I sat in that house alone for forty-eight hours before Big Paw and Grams came over and found me. I remember Grams falling apart and crying. They took me in right away, and my parents never came back.”
“You were just left waiting alone? That had to be horrifying.”
“It was. It’s probably the reason I hate being alone, but oddly enough, I push people away so I am forced to be alone.”
“Why do you push people away?”
“Because then they can’t leave me.”
She frowned, and damn, it broke my heart. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Ian. But you’ve done a pretty good job growing up.”
I snickered. “I’m an asshole.”
“Only on the surface. Inside, I think you’re still that hurt little boy who’s trying his best to survive.”
Now it was my turn to frown as I tapped my pen against the notebook. “Hurt little boy . . . hurt little boy . . . like a lost boy. That’s what I’ve felt like my whole life. Lost.”
Hazel smiled, realizing that inspiration was coming to me. “I’d love to hear that song.”
So I began writing it. It was hard, it was painful, and it was raw, but the whole time I wrote it, Hazel was right there, cheering me on and holding my hand through the emotions that were overtaking me.
For the first time in a while, I didn’t feel alone.
The following day, I was more than ready to help Hazel in the pigpens. Sure, I was more than willing to get to work, seeing as how I wanted to tap into our lyrics sooner than later, but mainly my goal of the day was to make sure Hazel was all right.
She tried to deny my help at first, but I refused to back down from our handshake deal.
“Okay, if you want to start on the pens to the far left, I’ll do these ones over here,” Hazel said as we walked into the pens. “I’ll pull in the hay after we finish, and you can leave early.”
“I’ll help you with that.”
“I can do it on my own.”
“The whole point of having a partner is that you don’t have to do it alone, Hazel.”
She didn’t reply. I had the feeling she wasn’t used to getting help from people. She had such an independent way about her.
We started cleaning the pens, and Hazel didn’t say a word besides some grunting and grumbles when she stepped in a not-so-nice spot. Luckily, Grams had given her a pair of boots for ranch usage only; therefore, no more shoes would be sacrificed in the name of pigs.
Music was playing on my phone, but still, it felt uncomfortably quiet.
I couldn’t stop overthinking what had gone down with that Garrett guy the night before. I couldn’t stop thinking about Hazel and the state of her mind.
“Want to play confession time?” I asked her, trying to break up the awkwardness of it all.
She tilted her head in my direction. “What?”
“Confession time. James and I play it when we clean the pens to help time move faster.” Okay, that was a lie. Confession time was something I had made up on the spot, because I wanted to know more about Hazel, and I knew she wasn’t trying to give me any details on her own. “It’s like, I say a confession, and then you give one too.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of confessions?”
“Anything, really. For example, I wet the bed until I was ten years old.”
She grunted. “That is a confession you should’ve probably kept to yourself.”
“True, but the more embarrassing or deep the confessions, the better. It makes the game more interesting.”
She suspiciously said, “And what were some of the confessions that James shared?”
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “Confessions that happen in the pigpen stay in the pigpen. So come on.” I rested my head on the top of the shovel handle in my hand. “Out with it. What’s your confession?”
She grimaced as if the game was the last thing she wanted to be taking part in. “I, uh, put ranch on my spaghetti.”
“Boooring,” I hollered. “Try again.”
“Jeez, tough crowd.” She placed her pitchfork down and rubbed her hands against her thighs. “Okay. When I was thirteen, I stole a sheet cake from the grocery store for my birthday.”
I whistled low. “We have a rebel without a cause here.”
“I had a cause. My mom forgot my birthday—again. And she forgot to have food in the house—again. I shared the cake with a few kids in the neighborhood around mine, and we had a party. It was lame, and the gifts they gave me were like rocks and sticks and crap, but it was the best party. One of my favorite memories.”
“How did you steal a whole sheet cake?”
She snickered a little and shook her head. “I knocked over a whole shelf of tomato sauce. While they were distracted by that mess, I snatched the cake and ran. I probably have some bad karma coming for me over that.”
“You shared the cake, so I’m sure that evened out the karma.”
“Is that how it works?”
“I hope so, because I’ve done some crappy things in my past as a stupid kid, and I hope doing a few good deeds nowadays would balance out the karma scale.”
“Like giving a girl a place to stay.”
“Yeah, well, I figured I owed you for being an asshole.”
“Never truer words spoken. What’s your next confession? Make it good too.”
“I, uh, I don’t think I like sex.”
Her eyes widened. “What? Everyone likes sex, Ian. Especially you, I think, based on the number of women I’ve seen you with.”
“Yeah, but . . . I don’t know. I mean, it feels good, but it doesn’t feel important. Not as important as everyone builds it up to be.”
“Doesn’t live up to the hype, eh?”
“Not at all.”
“Then why do you keep hooking up with different women?”
I shrugged. “Just hoping to stumble into the mind-blowing sex people talk about, I guess. Just looking to feel something deeper.”
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“Fourteen.”
“Holy crap. When I was fourteen, I was mixing potions in my backyard, not thinking about sex at all.”
“Potions?”
“You know . . . making magic. Thinking about sex wasn’t on my mind. It still isn’t, really.” She looked up to me, and her color rose high on her cheeks. “Confession time: I’m a virgin.”
“What? No way,” I said, pretending that she hadn’t already revealed that fact during drunken-Hazel night.
“Total way. Not that I haven’t had opportunities, because I have with my ex-boyfriend, Garrett—the guy you had the pleasure of meeting yesterday. It’s going to sound stupid, but I didn
’t want to end up like most of the people in this town. I didn’t want to end up like my mother—a pregnant-teenager statistic. I didn’t want to have the chance of getting knocked up before I got out of this hellhole.”
“That makes sense. My mom got pregnant with me when she was fifteen. I couldn’t imagine having a kid at that age.”
“Fifteen? And she left when you were how old?”
“Eight. She and Pops skipped town, chasing a high.”
“I couldn’t imagine doing that . . . walking away from my child after that many years.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be better than most in this town.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. I never knew . . . it makes sense why you were so cold to me when you met me, seeing as how I had a connection to Charlie.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” I countered.
“No, but it gives a bit of clarity.”
I smirked and brushed my hand against my forehead. “Confession time, I have a fear of people abandoning me. Guess that’s why I don’t date. I can’t get left behind if I don’t let people close enough to abandon me.”
She set her pitchfork down and walked over to me. She tilted her head sideways and studied me up and down. “Confession time . . . I knew there was more to your story than the grumpy man you presented yourself as.”
“I’m still working on trying to not be an asshole and come off so hard.”
“You’re doing pretty decently, if you ask me. One step at a time.”
“Any tips on room for improvement?”
“Just keep up the good work.” She smiled, and fuck, my chest did some weird tightening thing. What the hell was that?
“Okay, I gotta ask you something, and I don’t really care about the answer. Because, shit, it doesn’t matter, and it’s really none of my business, but curiosity killed the cat and all that crap . . .”
“What is it?”
“Are you really a witch?” I blurted out. “You mentioned potions and crap, so I just wanted to know.”
She snickered. “Why? Nervous that I’m going to put a spell on you or something?”
“Nah. I mean. Maybe. But really. Are you into that kind of stuff?”
She shook her head. “No. I did it as a kid to escape the crappy world I lived in. I’d write spells in hopes it would change my future. In hopes that it would save my mom from her own tragedy, but at the end of the day, there’s no such thing as magic. I was just a stupid kid who wrote stupid chants that didn’t change a thing. But I do have a strong love for nature. For the stars and the moon. I feel like there is a healing connection to the elements of the world. As long as we slow down enough to appreciate our surroundings.”
The Wreckage of Us Page 11