Instead of draping my arm around Josie for support, I grabbed her hand. “Let’s not tell them it was the Masons. Let’s just tell them I got jumped and go with that.”
“What? Why in the heck don’t you want to tell them it was the Masons?”
“Because I don’t want anyone getting in trouble. At least not the sheriff kind of trouble.” Me on the other hand? I would be happy to show them plenty of trouble for a long, long time.
Josie gave me a look, knowing there was something else. “And?”
I sighed. Might as well go with the theme of our crazy-ass night. “And even if I did tell them the truth, do you really think they’ll believe me? Do you really think they’ll believe that their precious, perfect Masons would do this? They’re not going to believe the truth, so I might as well give them a watered-down version of it.”
“They better believe it when the same story comes from their daughter’s mouth because so help me—”
I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Gibson peeking through the lace curtains in the living room. “I don’t want them thinking I’ve influenced or corrupted you so much that you’d lie with me. If we go in there with the whole truth, that’s what they’ll think. That I’ve manipulated and ruined their daughter.”
“Garth . . .”
“Please, Josie. Please.” We started up the stairs, one step at a time. She didn’t have a chance to reply because the door flew open when we were climbing the last step.
Mrs. Gibson’s face blanched. “Oh, dear sweet Jesus, what happened?” Tilting her head back, she hollered, “Harold! Harold! Get in here now!”
Super idea. Why don’t we just wake a sleeping bear? Rousing Mr. Gibson in the middle of the night almost worried me more than Clay when he jolted awake at night.
“Mom, it’s okay. Calm down. Don’t wake Dad up if he’s already in bed,” Josie said, helping me through the door.
Mrs. Gibson scooted back, staring at me with wide eyes. I hadn’t seen what I looked like, but I didn’t need to. The way I felt told the story. Mrs. Gibson looked between the two of us. “Josie—”
“What the hell happened?” Mr. Gibson finished his wife’s sentence as he lumbered down the hall. Given Mr. Gibson was a big guy and had one hell of a grumpy expression, we really had woken a sleeping bear. “Well?”
Josie peered at me, then answered, “Garth was attacked.”
They must have been so preoccupied with gaping at the train wreck I was that when Mrs. Gibson finally glanced at her daughter, she gasped. “Josie, your face.” Mrs. Gibson rushed toward her, examining it more closely, before covering her mouth and shaking her head. “My poor baby. He drug you into this, too?”
At first I thought she was talking about Colt—since he and his brood were the ones responsible—but when I saw her eyes look my way with accusation, I knew she was talking about me. As expected.
“No, I drug myself into this when I got in the way of a fist,” Josie replied in a heated voice. “Garth did everything in his power to keep me out of it and safe.”
Mrs. Gibson didn’t need to say it, her eyes bled it—Sure, he did with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Let’s get some ice on that, baby.”
Josie exhaled loudly. “Mom, no. Look at us.” She waved her hand between her and me. “I’m not the one who needs ice. Or a little human decency, for Christ’s sake.”
“Josie,” Mr. Gibson broke in, “you might be twenty-one and an adult now, but you are still under our roof and that is your mother you’re talking to.”
Josie’s hand grabbed hold of mine as she stared at her dad. I don’t know how he managed to keep his shoulders high, let alone keep looking her straight in the eye, with the way her eyes were leveling him. “And this is my boyfriend you’re talking to. I’d appreciate it if you’d show him the same amount of respect you show everyone else.”
I don’t know whose face looked more shocked: mine or Mrs. Gibson’s or Mr. Gibson’s. Wait, I take that back. Mrs. Gibson definitely won the most-shocked-face award. From the way she looked, Josie might as well have just told her she was going to jail for life.
Having me as a boyfriend . . . Going to jail for life. . . I supposed to Mrs. Gibson, they were one and the same. Mr. Gibson, though? He just stared at our entwined hands with a vacant expression, seeming at a loss. That made two of us.
“Yoo-hoo? Earth to Dad and Mom?” Josie snapped her fingers a few times. “There’s a man bruised and bloodied in your foyer. This isn’t really the time for open-mouth gawking. Since it looks like I won’t be receiving a lot of help, I’m going to get him fixed up.”
We didn’t make it two steps before Mr. Gibson stepped in front of us. “Josie, time to go to bed.”
Josie’s face went red in barely two seconds time. “I’m not going to bed when there’s a person under our roof who’s in need of serious medical attention.” I gave her hand a squeeze, trying to calm her, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“I need to have a talk with Garth. Man to man.”
“Then you can talk with him in the morning,” Josie argued.
“It can’t wait until the morning.” Mr. Gibson crossed his arms, looking as determined as I knew Josie was.
It might not have been the best time, but he was right. Mr. Gibson and I needed to talk. I’d imagine a father like him had plenty to discuss with me. Especially when I came through the front door hand in hand with his daughter after midnight looking like I was walking death. Turning to Josie, I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but my mouth wasn’t working quite right.
“It’s okay, Joze. Why don’t you get some ice on that cheek, head up to bed, and your dad and me will talk. I’ll see you in a little while. A little while as in the morning,” I added when Mr. Gibson’s eyebrows raised. “I’ll see you soon. In the morning.” As expected, Josie whipped her head from side to side. “Please?” I lifted my hand to her face. “You know how hard it is for me to say that. One please every decade ought to be worth something.”
She sighed, still shaking her head. “Fine. But not until you’re bandaged up and changed.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Garth’s a tough guy—he’s a bull rider after all. He’s used to a few bumps and bruises,” Mr. Gibson said. “I think he can wait fifteen minutes before having his boo-boos fixed up. Isn’t that right, Garth?”
If the tension in the air hadn’t been so thick, I might have chuckled when the word boo-boos came out of Mr. Gibson’s mouth. “This is nothing.” I gave a dismissive wave. “I’m fit for a full day of ranch work right now, so a little manly conversation will be a walk in the park.”
“I’ll wait for you on the porch.” Mr. Gibson stopped in front of Josie and studied her face. He stroked her cheek gently then kissed the top of her head. I didn’t miss the sideways look he shot me as he headed out the front door.
“I’m fine,” I said as Josie opened her mouth. “If I was in his shoes and my daughter came through the door with a bruise on her face, I sure wouldn’t be talking to the guy who was responsible for her.” I pressed closer to her and stroked her cheek with my thumb. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Her eyes met mine as a silent exchange passed between us. “Thanks for the date.”
I laughed a few notes. What a date it had been. It had to rank up there with the most extreme dates ever. “Thank you for letting me take you on a date.”
“I figured it was about time.” Her hands rested on my chest, and she let a smile come out.
“You figured right.” Leaning in, I pressed my lips into the corner of hers. Mrs. Gibson shifted and looked away. I inhaled, breathing Josie in, then let her go. I had a concerned father waiting for me—who hopefully wasn’t waiting for me with the barrel aimed and trigger cocked. When I turned to close the front door behind me, I found Josie in the same spot, watching me with sad eyes. It took everything in me not to rush back to her and fix whatever was troubling her.
Mr. Gibson was waiting for me just outside the door, leaning into the por
ch railing with his arms crossed. No shotguns in sight. “It’s obvious to me you want nothing but the best for my daughter,” he began as soon as I’d closed the door, “but you and me both know that you’re not capable of giving her that.”
Shit. And I thought I was done taking hard blows for the night. “So we’re just diving straight into this?”
“I took you for a man who doesn’t like to bullshit around the point, kind of like me. If I’ve got that wrong, then please correct me and we can do some ice-breaking by talking about the weather, or what the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting for rainfall this summer, or how the new cafe in town serves piss poor coffee.”
“You’re right. Let’s get straight to the point.” I moved beside the rocking chair across from him, but I didn’t sit in it the way my body was aching to. I would stand like a man in front of Mr. Gibson and whatever he was about to throw at me.
“I knew your daddy way back. Your mama, too.” Mr. Gibson wasn’t wasting time, and I couldn’t blame him for that. Sunrise was only a few hours away. “She was a good woman, and he was a well-intending man, but you of all people know how that worked out.” He paused, letting that sink in. Letting all of the memories and images I did a decent job of repressing flood back into the forefront of my mind. My pain shot up a few levels. “The only difference between your dad and mom’s situation and you and Josie’s is that Josie has a protective and concerned father. I like you, son—you’re a decent enough kid who I know cares for my daughter—but it wouldn’t matter if I loved you so much I’d profess you my new religion. I won’t let my daughter fall victim to what your daddy, and his daddy, did to the women they claim to love.”
I grabbed the back of the porch chair to steady myself. “I wouldn’t do that to her. I’d never hurt her. I care about Josie.”
His eyes ran down me, taking me in. A person who’d lived through cycling around in a tornado wouldn’t have come out as tore up as I looked. “You might not intend to hurt her, but there’s nothing about being with you—past, present, and future—that won’t hurt her.”
My hands gripped the rocking chair so hard my fingers shook. “Since you and I don’t know each other all that well and we’ve never exactly taken the time to get to know each other well, let me explain something to you. On my list of priorities, number one has to do with never hurting Josie. It always has been, and it always will be. Number two on that list is protecting her from whatever or whoever else might hurt her.”
Mr. Gibson’s eyebrows lifted. “Kind of like you protected her tonight?” That was the verbal hit equivalent of the baseball bat hits I’d taken. “I don’t doubt those are your priorities, but here’s the thing, son. How can those be realistic priorities? You and I both know you’ve hurt her plenty in the past, and if it isn’t you in the future, someone or something is going to wind up doing much worse than that grapefruit-sized bruise on her cheek tonight.”
I wanted to argue, to deny I’d ever done anything to hurt her, but that would be one of the biggest lies I’d ever tell. Mr. Gibson was right—I’d hurt Josie in ways I’d kill another person for doing to her. Even though I wanted to believe I’d learned my lesson, I wasn’t sure if that was reality. Mr. Gibson was right again—I might have known my priorities, but were the realistic ones?I didn’t have the answer to that question. I hung my head between my arms and focused on breathing. I didn’t know what to say next. I didn’t know what to do next. Life was closing in on me, and I didn’t feel strong enough to hold the walls back from crushing me.
“Life isn’t fair, Garth. That is one lesson I learned a long time ago.” Mr. Gibson’s voice wasn’t quite as harsh. Probably because he knew he’d beaten me down so much I couldn’t fall any lower. “I’m an aging rancher running a fifth-generation ranch with one son who wants nothing to do with ranching and one daughter who can’t run it on her own. You drew the short straw as to what family you were born into.”
I squeezed my eyes closed. “I wasn’t born into a family. I was born into a dysfunctional fucking mess.” That right there was getting straight to the point. A minute or two of silence passed between us. I expected he was waiting for me to say something, but there was nothing I could say to explain myself. There was nothing left to say.
“I know you would never try to drag Josie down with you, but it’s inevitable. It’s kind of like a person with a cold. They might not mean to spread it, but they can’t do anything to stop it either.”
I finally opened my eyes. Had he just said what I’d known for so long but tried to ignore during the past few weeks with Josie? “Are you saying I’m a virus?”
Mr. Gibson’s silence was all the answer I needed. “I’m saying I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep my daughter healthy and safe.”
“I am, too.” I let go of the chair and tried to stand tall, but it wasn’t happening. I was too beat down, physically and mentally.
Shoving off of the railing, he approached me until only a foot of cool night air separated us. “Can you look me in the eye and promise me, as a man, that Josie wouldn’t be better off falling in love and settling down with someone else? Can you look me in the eye and guarantee me that the best life she could expect to lead would be one with you?”
Yes! I wanted to shout. Absolutely! But what I wanted and what I knew were two very different things. Confusion hadn’t only settled in; it had taken over.
Mr. Gibson waited for me to respond, but when a minute passed with nothing from me, he patted my shoulder and headed for the door. “Do the right thing. I’ll give you until morning to do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you. This ends come tomorrow, you hear?”
Having a person order me to stay away from the one thing that seemed more essential to my life than oxygen didn’t settle well with me. “I’ll leave, but you won’t be able to keep Josie and me apart. Fifteen years and you’ve never been able to keep us apart. I want her, and she wants me, too. That’s something you’re just going to have to deal with.”
Mr. Gibson’s hand stayed on my shoulder, and he surveyed me with almost a . . . pitiful look. “She doesn’t want you. She wants the idea of you. The idea of the lost and lonely boy from her past that needs saving. Nothing more. I promise when you leave tomorrow and you stay away, she’ll be just fine.”
I had to unclench my jaw before I could reply. “Josie’s never been able to just ‘get over’ me, and she won’t be able to now. I know how she feels because it’s the exact same way I do about her.”
“You’ve never given her a chance to get over you. You two have gone through so many ups and downs I can’t keep it straight.” Mr. Gibson shook his head and dropped his hand from my shoulder. “Give her space, give her time, and she’ll move on. She’ll move on to the life she deserves. The life even you know she deserves.” Our to-the-point conversation apparently done, Mr. Gibson slipped inside the door and closed it behind him.
Just like that, I’d been locked out of her life.
IT WAS MY last night sleeping under the Gibsons’ roof. I hadn’t yet decided if I’d remove myself or if Mr. Gibson and his shotgun would have to do the removing, but I held off sleep for as long as I could realizing tomorrow night, Josie wouldn’t be a mere few rooms away.
After Mr. Gibson’s and my conversation, I’d stood out on that porch for a while. I heard Mrs. Gibson all but force Josie up to bed when she headed for the front door to find me. I waited another hour after all the lights in the house had gone out. I was cold and I’d been beaten within a few inches of my life, but I felt numb. Everything inside and outside of me felt anesthetized. Everything but my heart. It ached so badly I almost convinced myself I was having a heart attack.
What Josie’s dad had said was right. All of it. I might have made a solemn vow with myself never to hurt her and to keep her protected, but I seemed incapable of either. While I knew I couldn’t assume the trend would carry into the future, I couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t, and until I knew for sure that I wouldn’t hurt her, I couldn’t be a
round her. Not after what had happened. Josie would wear a fist-sized bruise on her face the rest of the month because the shit that followed me at every turn had caught sight of her and decided to share the wealth.
So I was leaving. I wouldn’t make Mr. Gibson throw me out. I’d pack my bags and leave until I figured out what needed figuring out. Which, when it came to me, was like saying I needed to figure out everything. I hadn’t decided what I’d say to Josie yet, or if anything I could say would explain it all to her. How could I express to her that I was leaving her for her own good? Especially when I knew neither one of us would feel good about it. That was the question I was stuck on when my body finally gave in and gave up to sleep.
It wasn’t the dreamless kind of sleep either . . .
A couple summers ago, Josie’s brother was turning twenty-one. Jesse was out of town at some rancher’s convention with his dad and had asked me to tag along with Josie and keep an eye on her. Not because he didn’t trust her—because he was Jesse Walker and he gave trust like it was in limitless supply—but because he knew there’d be alcohol and a bunch of Luke’s frat brothers who had a thing for his little sister. Even if Jesse hadn’t asked me to hang with Josie at the party, I would have. I didn’t trust those U of M frat boys as far as I could throw their hillbilly deluxe trucks.
The party was at Luke’s frat house. After Josie had drained a couple of shots, every time I turned around, some other frat douche was handing her another. I don’t know how many she had total, but I’d counted seven when I finally called bullshit. I shut the music off, climbed up on a table, and warned the next son of a bitch who slipped her a drink that he’d leave there with my boot up his ass. The drinks slowed, but they didn’t stop. Thankfully, she stayed glued to my side unless she had to go to the restroom, which I stood outside of and guarded like a fucking Rottweiler. Luke drank himself into a mini coma halfway into the night, so I was literally the only guy in the room not trying to lure Josie into some dark room. It got old. Fast.
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