by Harloe Rae
I catch the moment Grady sees me. His steps jerk to an abrupt halt. The wrench he’s holding trembles in his grip, but he remains frozen otherwise. The space around us, the handful of feet separating us, hums with energy and seems magnetized. I can practically feel the electricity zipping along my skin.
Any hints of youth have been wiped from his features. The boy I grew up with is tucked safely in my memories. The man before me is solid and vibrating with intensity. Grady’s body has filled out and gained enormous strength, that much is evident. Even with what looks like the weight of the world on his mind, he stands tall and proud. He’s the embodiment of male power. But his towering frame isn’t the reason for this stupor I’m caught up in.
His eyes steal the air from my lungs. I shiver at the haunting glimmer. Vibrant green that once flared with interest is eerily flat. The emerald hue is dull, swallowing any sign of golden flecks. There’s no mischievous gleam. Zero promise of trouble. The lack of interest couldn’t be more apparent.
Grady remains silent, disturbingly so, while continuing to stare. I’d like to hope he’s cataloging the changes to my features, the same way I did to him minutes before. But his gaze bores straight through me. It’s as if he doesn’t remember who I am. I wonder if he even notices my unwavering attention. The lash is so painful that I wince.
Those frigid depths flick over me for barely a second, as if I’m small and insignificant. His empty stare makes me feel nonexistent. I’ve been pushed around and left behind, but never with this blatant lack of care. My absence didn’t impact him the same way. As always, the bottomless longing locked in my heart was one-sided. Maybe I fell asleep and this is a nightmare. I blink in rapid succession. When I refocus, Grady is still there.
He stays on the gravel path, a foot from where the backyard begins. I’ve never been more aware of distance. He’s almost within reach. Dark purple smudges rest beneath his eyes. The skin is puffy and screams of exhaustion. Weariness appears bone-deep, but he’d never complain. The boy I knew had trouble sleeping. I wonder if this man still does.
I’ve seen Grady over the years, of course. Those quick glimpses were never long enough to snap a decent mental image. I wasn’t able to get a good sense of his well-being during my visits home. He’d appeared to be doing well. Jace provided bits and pieces that told a similar story. It was safe to accept Grady was fine. In this moment, I’m realizing how wrong those assumptions were.
The chair quakes when I scoot to the edge of my seat. The slight movement seems to jolt him out of his own trance. Those green eyes narrow on me. His expression is thunderous, ready for battle. I almost expect bolts of lightning to streak across the clear-blue sky. Angry clouds will surely sweep in and release a torrential downpour.
My mouth is bone-dry. Probably because my jaw has been hanging slack since he arrived. I attempt to draw in a decent breath and clear the grit from my throat.
“Hey, Gray.” The greeting is hardly more than a whispered croak, but he hears it.
A guttural rumble breaks from his chest. The tortured sound slams into me, causing heat to sting my eyes.
He doesn’t give me the chance to say more. In the next second, he’s turning on his heel and striding toward the barn. I consider chasing him and demand he talks to me. But my legs are certain to give out if I try to stand. Heck, my knees are wobbling without any added pressure.
I rip my gaze off his retreating form. Grady Bowen means nothing to me. But my sappy heart bleeds the truth. This man is bound to ruin me all over again. Will I let him?
Happy something #82: Having a shirt without holes or a tattered hem.
I turn left into the neglected trailer park and ease my truck down the dirt road. The stench of overflowing septic tanks immediately assaults my nostrils. Ignoring the odor is something I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to. Doesn’t make this trek more pleasant. I’d roll up the windows but this old beater doesn’t have air conditioning. Roasting in this hotbox is not a fine way to spend an afternoon.
The wheels protest over the rugged terrain. This driveway probably hasn’t been grated in over a decade. Groundskeeping isn’t high on the priority list around these parts. I steer my pickup into one of the designated spots and cut the engine. The sigh that escapes me is a scream of defeat. It’s not even five o’clock and my body is begging for a break. I didn’t bother going home to change after work. The paint splattering my clothes doesn’t bother these folks. Hell, I’m just happy to have shirts and jeans without holes. I glare at the neglected lawns surrounding me. Yeah, pretty sure no one will even notice.
Without further delay, I grab the groceries from the backseat. I step out and the damn grass reaches my knees. The chance that anyone has a mower is slim to none. I make a mental note to bring one by and clean up the parking lots.
Silo Springs is a thriving city in general. This corner of town is long forgotten, and should remain that way. Nothing good happens inside these withering mobile homes. The fact I have to keep stopping by this way twists my stomach. My mother has some sick attachment. Or she enjoys making me suffer. Most likely the latter.
I yank open her screen door, nearly ripping the damn thing off its rusty hinges. One more piece of trash to add on the pile of this dump. My mother isn’t just letting herself waste away. This trailer is rotting from top to bottom.
Fresh stains on the carpet welcome me, but I barely pay attention. The fact I can take a breath without dry heaving is a small blessing. Whatever is causing a rancid odor is masked thanks to the air fresheners I bought earlier this week. I recall a time when she took pride in our home. Those days are long gone. The trailer I grew up in was a palace compared to this corroding heap.
After dropping the bags off in the kitchen, I go in search of my mother. I don’t have to look far. Her limp figure is sprawled out on the saggy couch. I make my way over, being sure to avoid stepping on decaying spots in the floor. My mom doesn’t stir with the noise I make. If I had to guess, she’s been knocked out for hours. I drag over the only available chair and sit down.
“Ma?” I give her shoulder a gentle nudge.
She doesn’t move. I watch silently for a moment, catching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The ticking bomb in my stomach fizzles out seeing the slight movement. I glance at the door, contemplating an easy exit. But guilt is a fickle bitch. I can’t leave without making sure she’ll wake up. What’s left of my conscience keeps me rooted to this seat.
I shake her a bit harder. “Ma, can you hear me?”
My mother groans, the sound rough and dry. She shifts and peels her eyes open. That cloudy gleam in her detached gaze tells me everything I need to know. She won’t remember this conversation tomorrow. I’m sure she got ahold of something strong. With a crooked smile, she shows off rotting, yellowed teeth.
“Hi, boy.” Her voice rattles with effort. She makes no attempt to sit up, not that I expect her to.
Bile threatens to bubble up my throat, but I swallow the acid down. “Glad you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her question is ludicrous. I blink at her while trying to gather a response that doesn’t resemble a bellow. Several deep breaths grant me the power to continue this shallow exchange.
“I can never be too sure,” I grind out.
A bony wrist flicks in my direction. “No need to worry yourself over me.”
Easy for her to say. I was shoved into the parent role at age fourteen. Why stop now? I scrub a palm over the stubble coating my jaw. “Yeah, well, you’re my responsibility.”
“That’s your own stupid fault.” She probably meant for those words to sting, but her tone is thinner than these weak ass walls.
“Never said it wasn’t,” I mutter.
“So, what do you need?”
I hitch a thumb behind me. “Brought you some food. Knew you were running low.”
My mother inhales too sharply and begins hacking. Her wet cough makes me flinch. She’s bound to snap a rib at this rate.
Once she gets the fit under control, I release the breath trapped in my lungs. She shoots me a pathetic glare.
“Stop wasting your money on shit I don’t need. If you wanna help me out, leave cash on the table.”
I’ve given her more money than I care to admit. She immediately turns around looking for a score, shooting it up into her collapsing veins. This woman can’t stay clean to save her life—quite literally.
Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and again, always getting the same results, but expecting something different. I’ve never considered myself a very stable man, but I know when to quit. I’m not playing this game with her.
“How about you eat something? I can make tomato soup.” That’s usually an easy sell because no chewing is required. But my mother’s bleary eyes narrow further and I already have my answer.
She gives a harsh jerk of her head. A clump of matted hair sticks to her forehead. Shiny blonde has long faded into a dull gray. “I’m not hungry.”
I hold up a hand. “Fine. Your choice.”
“Damn straight. Not sure why you’re always barging in here, trying to force shit on me.”
“I won’t apologize for trying to keep you alive,” I spit in return.
Her lazy gaze drifts to the drooping ceiling. “Well, good luck with all that. Feel free to show yourself out. You’re better off leaving me to rot.”
The burger I had for lunch curdles in my stomach. There are many days I’d agree with her. But leaving my mother to die isn’t an option I can manage, even if that’s what she’s trying to do. Her blatant dismissal leaves me with toxic thoughts and a daily dose of reality. Being in this dismal space is a black hole. Seconds and minutes get doused in molasses, sticking together without moving. It all ticks by so slowly I’d assume time is frozen.
What a fucking nightmare. Is this what I can look forward to for the foreseeable future? My current outcome is bleak as fuck.
Residential restoration jobs have me busting ass all day. The place I bought keeps me working late into the night. I get the honor of cleaning up my mother’s mess whenever she goes on a bender. Can’t leave out being wrongly accused of stupid shit on a regular basis. If I’m lucky, there’s a barstool at Howlers with my name on it. But that’s few and far between. I go home to an empty house, always alone.
What a damn fine way of living. Not that I’m really complaining. Anything beats the years when my pops was still around. I shudder at the memory. That man was pure evil. One glance at the wasting form of my mother is proof enough.
I’ve heard Camilla Soulle used to have her head screwed on straight. Many called her pretty, a real looker with several potential suitors. Then my dad moved into town, changed her last name, and ruined the woman she could’ve been. The revolving line of men following close behind certainly didn’t help.
If only there was a sliver of relief to be found. I snort at that. My greatest form of comfort just returned to town. I never admitted it to her, but Sutton has always been my happy something. The only one that matters. Growing up, I’d needed those stolen moments with her, juvenile as they were. She gave me an ounce of hope that everything wouldn’t turn out to be shit.
With her name, a rush of visions flood my mind. Time has granted her more beauty. How is it possible that she’s even more gorgeous? She’s grace and class and everything I’ll never have. When I saw her sitting right in front of me, it felt like the fantasy I’d conjured up. Her bee-stung lips parted with surprise. I wanted to kiss the shock away, and steal her breath along with it. Those blue eyes bored into mine, peeling away layers of pain and reaching depths only she has access to. My heart had threatened to burst. Tumble out of my chest and land in her lap. She owns the damn thing, might as well hand it over. The beating organ is useless without her.
But I couldn’t talk to her. What the fuck would I say? Sutton went off to school and made something better of herself. I’m stuck in the same shitty spot, spinning my bald tires. I meant what I’d said four years ago. She was better off forgetting about me. The uninhibited desire in her baby blues screamed the opposite. Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to make her mine. Wrap her in my arms and own her like she once begged for. But no. I won’t ruin her life. And that’s what being tied to me would mean. I’d only hold her back.
When Sutton left, any good went with her. Four fucking years in the dark changes a man. I’m almost ashamed of the guy always glaring back at me in the mirror. Seeing her after so long was a tortuous gift. My eyes suddenly sting with unwanted heat. I cough and choke down the unexpected onslaught of emotion. I’m typically referred to as a wall of stone—impenetrable and imposing. In this moment, I feel the opposite. I’m that lost boy rediscovering his one source of true luxury. I cover my face and groan. Getting upset about this is pointless.
I’ve made sure to avoid the Olsen ranch ever since catching sight of Sutton. That doesn’t stop the temptation from crawling beneath my skin. Every moment is an opportunity to test my control. It’s been a week of torture. Knowing she’s within reach and unable to do shit about it is a lethal strike. I’m not sure how much longer this can last.
A car backfires and the loud bang knocks me from my thoughts. Here I am, wallowing in a shallow puddle of pity. Again. Poor fucking Grady. I have no reason to imagine an existence with Sutton in it. I’ll just continue doing everything in my power to ignore her. Eventually the pain will return to a muted roar.
My mother rolls onto her side. A cloud of musty mildew wafts over from the couch. She startles at the sight of me. “Oh, you’re still around? Figured you’d up and left hours ago.”
I’ve only been here for thirty minutes at the most. I suck in a deep breath, agreeing that I’ve overstayed this welcome. “I should be going. Don’t want to disrupt you more than I already have.”
That earns me a loose grin. She lifts a shaky finger, pointing over my shoulder. “Be a good boy and fetch me a cigarette.”
Before I can even consider following through with the request, her eyelids droop and she’s out fucking cold. It’s as though she wasn’t actually aware of my presence. Maybe she never really was in the first place.
Mother of the damn year.
I glance around the debilitated trailer, a string of silent expletives spilling from my lips. This is a part of my life, but it doesn’t define me. I can’t stand the sight a moment longer. The weak floorboards tremble under my weight when I stand. I lean down and kiss my mother’s head. Hopefully she’ll eat something after this high wears off.
I barrel outside while the entire trailer rocks on its crumbling foundation. Like a lifeline, my phone beeps with a notification. The screen lights with a text from Jace.
Jace: Get your ass to Bronc. I need backup.
I groan at the name of the bar. That doesn’t stop me from hauling ass to my truck. Whatever he needs, it must be damn important.
Happy something #91: Sitting on the end of a dock with my feet in the lake.
The amount of people crammed into this bar on a Wednesday is rather impressive. Everyone is seeking a bit of relief after a long day at work, me included. Through the front windows, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky. I swirl the pink concoction in my glass and take a sip. Strawberries with a bite of vodka burst on my tongue. A happy sigh escapes me while I settle deeper into the high-top stool.
“This was a fantastic idea.” I glance at the two girls sitting beside me. “I’ve missed these cocktails.”
Molly quirks a brow. “They don’t have cosmos near campus?”
“Not like this.” I enjoy another taste and lick my lips. “There’s something extra delicious mixed in.”
Lacie studies the contents of her martini. “Who knew Bronco Buck could sling better fruity drinks than ritzy college joints.”
That gets a giggle out of me. “I would hardly call them ritzy.”
She motions around the dimly lit bar. “I’m sure they don’t hang bras on the ceiling.”
I snort into my glass. “T
hose add to the appeal. Satin and lace are always a good choice.”
We all share a laugh.
“Oh yeah, it really puts this place on the classy map. A signature of sorts. I guess it makes ladies night more interesting.” Lacie wags her brows.
Molly hums in approval. “They need something to keep us coming back. Especially if a hot guy is the one to take your bra off. But let’s be honest, we don’t have enough options to be picky.”
“In more ways than one.” I glance around at all the familiar faces. Finding a guy I didn’t attend high school with is a challenge.
Lacie clinks her glass against mine. “Amen, sister.”
“We can visit my old roommate for a change of pace. Harlyn lives in the big city,” I tell them with a smile.
Molly’s eyes grow wide. “Imagine all the fresh meat. Let’s do it.”
Lacie holds up her hand. “I second that.”
“Okay. I’ll find out what works for her. In the meantime,” I pick up my drink and drain the rest, “let’s enjoy ourselves in Silo Springs.”
“To the extent that your restrictions will allow.” Molly grins when I scowl. She lifts her chin toward the far corner. “I see your bodyguard is on duty.”
A muscle pops in my jaw. “He’s such a bulldog.”
Molly nods. “I’d say. He hasn’t loosened up one bit when it comes to you.”
I can feel my brother’s stare from across the bar. He’s been holed up against the wall for over an hour. It’s beyond ridiculous that he feels the need to keep such diligent watch. He desperately needs another hobby. I’ve never been reckless or irresponsible when it comes to men. Jace makes it seem like the opposite. Heaven forbid a guy shows interest and tries talking to me.