by Ellie Wade
I begin to remove the jars from the box and place them on the appropriate shelf. It’s like a library of mason jars. I suppose the shelves are more recent, probably something my pops put in to store all of Mimi’s jars of veggies. As I pull the last one out of the box, I feel something run across my bare foot. I shriek, yelling out as though I’d just been stabbed, and the glass container slips from my hand and crashes to the floor.
Globs of tomatoes, water, and shards of glass now cover my foot as I turn to run upstairs. I sprint up those old creaky stairs faster than I thought possible in an effort to distance myself from the basement and the horrors that reside down there. I race out to the back porch and start shaking my body, my hands rubbing across my arms and down my body to make sure nothing is on me.
“Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!” I yell.
I consider myself pretty tough, but I cannot do mice or rats or whatever it was that just scampered across my foot.
Gross!
Liam appears before me, winded. “Are you okay? I heard screaming,” he says quickly before he pulls in a large breath.
“I’m fine. It was just—nothing.” I nonchalantly wave my hand, the gesture contradictory to my racing heart. I’m not a wimp—or at least, he doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh my God, Leni. Your foot!”
My eyes bulge when I look down to see my foot covered in blood. My adrenaline subsides, and I can feel the intense throbbing pain radiating from the top of my foot. The jar must have dropped right on it. In my frantic fight-or-flight reaction—where I clearly chose to run like hell—I didn’t feel it.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with emotion—pain and sadness. I drop my chin to my chest, and I start to cry. I’m powerless to stop the tears now streaming down my cheeks.
I’m lifted off the ground as Liam takes me in his arms. I don’t question it. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his shirt. One of his arms holds me under my knees, and my bloody foot swings as he walks somewhere.
I melt into him. My tears continue to fall, but now, they’re quickly absorbed by his shirt. He smells amazing—an intoxicating mix of fabric softener, hay, and work. He feels so powerful and strong beneath my touch. I know I hate him for some reason, but right now, I need him.
He sets me up on a countertop.
I look around. I’m in a bathroom but not one in the farmhouse. “Where are we?”
“In the barn,” he answers as he looks through a cupboard.
“No, we’re not,” I say, confused.
“I had a bathroom built out here after I bought the property. I spend more time here than I do at home, so it comes in handy.” He pulls a big blue box with a red label that reads First Aid Kit out of the cupboard. “This is what I was looking for,” he says to me with a kind smile.
He wets a towel and starts to gently clean my foot. “So, what happened?”
“I dropped a jar of tomatoes on it.”
Liam nods. “Must’ve hurt really bad. That was quite a scream.”
“I actually didn’t feel it hit my foot.”
He brings his gaze up until he’s looking directly at me, and his intense brown eyes stare at me in question. And, all at once, I don’t care about any of it anymore—my need to seem tough or in control, my commitment to hating him, any of it. It’s all just so stupid, and I’m so tired.
“Well, before I dropped the jar, a man-eating mouse ran across my foot. It was quite terrifying. My adrenaline must have been pumping through me in full force because I didn’t realize I’d hurt my foot until you pointed it out.”
“Man-eating?” Liam asks with a solemn nod. “Yeah, we’ve had quite the problem with those monstrous rodents around here lately. I saw a barn mouse yesterday, and I barely escaped with my life,” he says seriously.
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not a fan of mice.”
“Evidently.” He grins back.
He focuses his attention back on my foot. I watch in awe as he takes such great care of me.
“Well, I don’t think you need stitches. It’s just a surface cut, and it should heal up fine. Sometimes, those surface ones are the biggest bleeders. You already have some bruising starting here though.” He lightly traces his finger across my skin, and it causes me to shiver.
After he bandages me all up, he hands me an ice pack. “This will help keep the swelling down.”
“Thank you, Liam.”
He raises his arm toward my face, and I hold my breath as I watch his hand get closer. With his thumb, he wipes the stray tears still resting beneath one of my eyes.
“You’re welcome,” he answers.
When he pulls his arm back, I’m able to breathe again. “You know, you don’t have to be so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Whether or not that’s true, it doesn’t matter. You’re a person who needed help. Of course I was going to help you. It’s called, being a good human being. I realize that you have built me up to be this awful person in your head, but I promise you, I’m not him.”
He smiles, and as always, it says so much. He’s such a good man. Besides Mimi, he’s probably the kindest person I know.
Why have I always pushed him away?
Chalk it up to me being an emotional wreck, but I keep talking. “I know you’re good, Liam. It’s me who’s the horrible one.”
“You’re not horrible, Len. You’re just lost.”
His words strike me deep, like a blow to my gut. How does he see me so clearly? He’s right. I’ve been so lost for such a long time, and the harder I try to find myself, the further away I get.
My lip begins to tremble, and I will my tears to stay at bay. The sentence leaves my mouth before I can stop it. “I could really use a friend,” I say to him.
The corners of his mouth turn up into the most beautiful grin I’ve ever seen. “I told you, I can be a really good friend.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Okay then.” He lets out a content sigh.
He cleans up the bathroom while I sit on the counter, icing my foot.
“You know what I think you need?” he asks me.
“What’s that?”
“A bonfire and beer. It’s going to be cool tonight. It will be perfect.”
“I don’t like beer. It tastes like urine. Can we do a bonfire and martinis or a bonfire and wine?”
“Hell no. You’re not in the big city anymore, sweetheart. We’re doing beer, and I promise, you’ll like it. You’re not drinking the right beer if you think it tastes like piss. I’ll get you the good stuff, okay?”
“Well, I’m not drinking any beer because it’s gross. Can you bring a backup beverage just in case?” I ask with a smirk.
“I’ll think about it.” He shoots me a wink. “Hop on my back.”
He turns around and leans back against the counter. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
“I think my last piggyback ride was with you. We must have been . . . gosh, ten and eleven or so.” I chuckle.
“Well, we can’t have you hurting your foot, can we?” He leads us out of the barn and toward the house. “I’m going to take a quick shower, go grab some beer and food, and set the fire up. Then, I’ll be back to get you, okay?”
“Sounds good. But can you do me a favor first?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Can you please clean up the broken glass and tomatoes in the basement? I don’t want Mimi to step on it or anything, but I can’t risk seeing that killer mouse again,” I ask sheepishly.
Liam chuckles. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Thank you. You really are a good human being.”
“Well, I try.”
He leaves me on the couch before heading to the basement. As he walks away, I smile wide. What a difference an hour makes in one’s outlook on life. I don’t feel so alone. I can’t help but grin because I feel like things are starting to look up—well, that, and the fact that Liam’s ass was made to wear those jeans.
&nbs
p; Chapter Five
Liam
THE FIRE BLAZES BRIGHTLY. I have two coolers full of beer and food. I’ve hidden a bottle of wine underneath the sandwiches, just in case, but I really don’t think Leni will need it. She doesn’t think so, but she’ll like the beer. I’ve arranged bales of straw into a sofa-like seating area a safe distance from the bonfire. I covered the straw with a sheet so that Leni doesn’t have to feel pieces of straw poking her back.
“Shit,” I say into the night air.
This looks like a freaking date. It has a romantic vibe to it, and that’s the last thing I need. I don’t want to go and spook Leni. She’s finally talking to me—and not just in insults.
It is what it is. Hopefully, she doesn’t read too much into it. I mean, do I find Leni attractive? Hell yeah. She’s the most beautiful woman I know. If she were anyone else that I had such a strong attraction to, I’d most definitely be fucking her on these bales of straw later. But she’s not. She’s my first best friend, the girl I spent most of my childhood summers with. She’s finally my friend again, and she’s hurting. I’d never do anything to add to her pain. She needs a friend, and that’s what I’m going to be.
When I get up to the house, I see Mrs. Turner pulling some sheets off the clothesline. “Here, ma’am, let me help you with those.”
“I’m just fine, Liam. But thank you. I can handle a little laundry. I like the work. My daddy always said that the moment you quit working is the moment you’re gonna die.” She chuckles. “He was a stubborn ole man all right. He did it though; he worked until the day he died. He was ninety-three.”
“My granddaddy says the same thing.” I grin. “Well, okay . . . if you’re sure.”
She nods. “I’m sure. Besides, you have plans with my Leni girl. Thank you for not giving up on her. She comes from a long line of stubborn; it’s not her fault.”
I laugh because it’s true. If Leni is anything, it’s stubborn.
“You’re welcome. I’m just glad she’s talking to me again.”
“Me, too. Me, too.” Mrs. Turner nods her head. “She has me, of course, but that girl needs a friend her own age. I really do appreciate you being so patient with her, Liam. You’re a good man.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I find Leni behind the house, rocking on the porch swing. “Hey, you. You ready?”
“Yes.” She stands from the swing, and when she does, she takes my breath away. She’s wearing a flannel shirt that’s tied at her waist, some form-fitting jeans, and cowboy boots.
Damn, she’s sexy in boots.
Her hair is down, and it cascades over her shoulders in loose waves. She’s a cowboy’s dream.
“Wow, you look great.”
“Thanks. I found this top and boots up in the closet. I think they might have belonged to Mimi at some point. Boots and flannels are pretty timeless, I suppose. I wanted to dress the part for our bonfire and beer.” She says the last part with a hillbilly twang, causing me to laugh. “I’m a Texas girl after all—at least for a little while until I figure out where to go and what to do.”
“You’ll always be a Texas girl, Len. You were born and raised here. You can take the girl out of Texas, but you ain’t taking Texas out of the girl.”
“I guess, but I haven’t worn boots like this in years.”
“Just like riding a bike.” I wink. “Let’s go.”
We don’t say much on the walk back to the field. There’s an awkward air between us, but it is to be expected with our history. Today is the most we’ve spoken since I was seventeen. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much that we aren’t friends anymore, but it really does. So much has changed over the past seven years, but at the same time, not much has really changed at all. I crave Leni’s presence in my life more than I ever have. I guess I never really admitted how much her absence truly affected me. Just having her here these past couple of weeks has made my life more exciting. I wake up each day with a thrill of anticipation in hopes that today will be the day I get to see her.
“Wow, this looks awesome,” Leni says when we reach the fire.
We take a seat on the straw bale sofa. I reach into the cooler, grab a couple of beers, and pry off the metal caps.
“Here’s the real test.” I hand her a beer. “Keep an open mind. Remember, you can’t compare it to a martini, Len. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Two separate things here.”
“Okay. I’ll drink it with an open mind.”
I watch a little too intently as her lips close around the top of the bottle. She takes a long swig. She lowers the bottle from her mouth and smacks her lips together.
“Well?” I ask.
“It doesn’t taste like urine,” she says.
“And?”
She shrugs. “It’s not bad. It’s drinkable.”
I chuckle. “You like it. Just admit it.”
“You know I’m not going to let you be right,” she says with a giggle, and it’s the sweetest sound.
“Fair enough. I’ll drop it. But I know the truth.” I lean against what would be the arm of the sofa, if these bales of straw were indeed a giant sofa, so that I can look at Leni without cocking my head to the side.
The flicker from the firelight dances against her skin. I pull in a deep breath and remind myself that I’m just her friend. I have a feeling I’m going to have to repeat that mantra over again in my head quite a few times tonight.
Leni finishes her beer in record time, and I hand her another.
“What have you been up to since I last saw you, Liam?”
“You mean, since my seventeenth birthday when you told me that you never wanted to see me again?” I say before forcing out a small laugh.
“Yeah, that seems like a good place to start.”
“Well, I spent that summer working with my dad on the ranch. Then, I finished my senior year of high school. Worked another summer on the ranch before leaving for college. I went to UT and got a degree in agricultural business. I came home every summer and helped my dad. College was great. Lots of fun, too much drinking. The norm. Then, after college, I came home and bought your grandma’s ranch. I have been working the land and trying to build up the cattle numbers ever since. Nothing shocking.”
“So, no secret marriages or offspring in there anywhere?”
I laugh. “Definitely not.”
“Did you date in college? Any serious relationships?”
“Yeah, sure, I dated. Some more serious than others. None of them worth bringing home though.”
Leni asks more questions about my time at UT, and I answer. She can ask me anything. I’m just so relieved we’re talking.
I throw some more wood on the fire, and Leni insists that we play a drinking game called Never Have I Ever. The concept seems pretty straightforward.
As soon as she asks the first question, I realize how very dangerous this drinking game can be.
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” she states easily.
I almost choke on the gulp of beer that I was taking. “What kind of game is this, Len? Jeez.”
She laughs. “It’s simple. If you’ve never had a threesome, then it’s your turn to say something you’ve never done. If you’ve had a threesome, you need to chug your beer until it’s gone.”
“Well . . . I don’t think I have,” I state cautiously.
She playfully hits my shoulder. “Don’t you skirt around this one, William Moore. You’d know whether you had one or not.”
“What constitutes a threesome?” I ask.
“Have you been naked or semi-naked with more than one person before?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but I didn’t have sex with both of them.”
“Two other girls?” she inquires.
My eyes widen. “Yes, of course, two girls.”
“Did you kiss both of them and touch their boobs or other parts? Or did they both touch you?”
“Jesus, Len!”
A day ago, she wasn’t talking to me, and
now, she’s asking me this?
“Answer the question, mister.”
“There was some touching, I guess . . . but it wasn’t like a porno movie. I’m not a bad guy. It was at one of our house parties. We were all very drunk,” I explain.
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Liam. Threesomes aren’t that uncommon.” She giggles. “So, based on what you’ve told me, I need you to down that bottle of beer and get a new one.” She throws me a wink.
I do as she said and ask, “This is what you did for fun in New York?”
“We played a few times.” She grins. “Your turn.”
“Okay. Um . . . never have I ever kissed a guy.”
She throws her head back in laughter. “That is so lame, Liam. You know I have.”
I nod, a sly grin on my face. “That, I do. Now, chug it, baby.”
The game continues, and I quickly realize that the purpose of the game is to get your opponent drunk as quickly as possible. How one actually wins . . . I haven’t figured out.
“Never have I ever had sex in the bed of a pickup truck.”
I down a beer.
“Never have I ever seen the Statue of Liberty in person.”
She downs a beer.
“Never have I ever had sex with someone who attended UT.”
I drink.
“Never have I ever made a sculpture.”
She drinks.
“Never have I ever gone down on a girl.”
I chug.
“Never have I ever almost gotten hit by a truck while crossing the street.”
She chugs.
All her questions are of a sexual nature, but I can’t make myself go there with her. I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells, terrified of saying something wrong and driving her away.
“Never have I ever been in love,” she says.
I stare into her eyes. I don’t drink my beer this time.
“You’ve never been in love?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t think so. I’ve loved, but in love is different, right?”