Page 49 of Storm Warning
“You’re right, maybe he didn’t see it.”Hope lingers in her eyes as she bites her lip and looks around the room. Almost like if she searches hard enough, she might find the answer to what she should say next. “I, uh, tried to call him too, though.”
I don’t have to ask to know he didn’t answer, or if he did he wasn’t nice. Quiet sits between us a little too long, so I ask anyway. “How’d that go?”
“The number was no longer in service,” she groans, closing her eyes as if to wish it away.
He changed his number? What the fuck did she do that made him do that? I consider pressing, but the tears return to her eyes and I don’t want to make it worse for her.
She sniffles before inhaling and exhaling a slow, deep breath. When her gaze flicks to mine once more, there’s still sadness swirling in the depths, but a quiet strength lingers there as well. “I guess when you close a door yourself, you shouldn’t expect it to reopen.”
Like the words themselves were magic, the bell on the door rings, and she greets the customer like her sadness never existed at all. A mask I’m rather familiar with myself.
I walk back toward my office and sit down at the desk, contemplating how I can help her but falling short.
Part of me wants to text Rhett and ask about his friend and if he knows anything about their situation, but what if Ginny gets upset? It’s not really my place to be talking about their love life. I know I’d be pissed to find people meddling in mine, even if it was with good intentions.
Blowing out a breath, I place my phone on the desk, noticing one of the ticket stubs from the fair. I may have won the derby game, but I think we both won that night. Sex with him was electric. Intoxicating. And those fireworks... That’s basically what being with Rhett felt like. Not that I am in any hurry to admit that aloud.
29
RHETT - JULY 11, 2004
FUCK.
A flower pot crashes to the ground, dirt flinging left and right as it shatters.
The entire greenhouse is in disarray. Pots of all different sizes, seed packets of flowers I know nothing about, and now dirt is all over the floor I just swept. Yet, oddly enough, the place still feels perfect, like the chaos is just part of the process.
With a sigh, I reach for the broom and sweep up my mess, bending down to gather the large pieces of terracotta. They clink as they hit the bottom of an old bucket I found outside and I brush the rest of the dirt into the pan, before pouring it in as well. Pulling another pot toward me, I pack dirt inside, this time being conscious that my elbow isn’t within swinging distance of another pot. No need for any more to meet their demise. After poking multiple holes into the loose soil, I toss a few seeds in, repeating the same motions with multiple other planters.
I take a step back to enjoy my work. For the first time in a long time, I’m doing something that I’m absolutely cluelessabout, something that might fail, and yet it feels exciting to bring life back to a place that clearly once bloomed with it.
My phone rings and I let out a huff when I see the word Dad race across the screen. Just like the reporters, I’ve been distancing myself from my family as they try to talk me out of helping them. But working is what I want to do, what I have to do, to resolve the feelings I have not only about my accident, but also the careless spending I had done before it. I clear my throat. “Hello?”
“Hey Rhett, it’s Dad.” He greets me as he always does, like my phone doesn’t display his contact information on the screen. “I got some news for ya. The Mandrys’ are gonna let us use their land for a bit, so Duke and I can catch back up faster than if we keep tryin’ to use ours. They got a few acres that are already fenced and have some nice places to graze, which is gonna save us a helluva lot on feed. Guess it’s even got some ponds that are great for drinkin’ too. Everythin’ is lookin’ up over here.” His voice trails off. “Thanks for workin’ so hard, son. It’s made a big difference, but we’re missin’ ya.”
My eyebrows raise with all of his enthusiasm and shock at hearing him sounding optimistic after all we have been through. I miss our usual grind of running the ranch as a team, just him, Duke, and I wrangling cattle and spending time practicing for the rodeos. I want to be excited about everything he says too, but I know the road to fixing this isn’t a short one, even with good news.
Looking down, I notice another piece of a pot on the ground, this one made of ceramic. I pick it up with my free hand and lean back on the potting bench, trying to decide how I feel, let alone how to respond.
“There’s somethin’ else…” His voice drifts off, hesitation lingering in the air. “A few reporters stopped by.” I clench my jaw, trying not to overreact, because overstepping is nothing new to these people. “I didn’t tell them ya weren’t livin’ here or anythin’, so they shouldn’t come knockin’ down your door anytime soon. I maybe should have led with that, but ya can’t hide from them forever, son. They respected your space while ya healed, but they want a story… They wantyourstory.”
The ghost of my inescapableworst ridehaunts me. I knew the time would come when people would start to ask questions more openly, more forcefully, but I was hoping that moment would never come.
“I botched a ride and got hit by the fucker. Ain’t no story beyond that, Dad.” My tone is cool, but I don’t raise my voice, especially because my anger is with them and myself, not him.
My happiness from earlier fades as I clench my free hand a bit tighter around the shard, dropping it back onto the ground the moment it gashes through my skin.
Fuck.
I watch blood trickle down my palm before wiping it on my pants.
“Everyone has an off day, Rhett. Ya didn’t botch anythin’.”
I observe the wound, now angry at it too. “Yeah, well, I let us all down. I know the land sounds great, but winnin’ that day would have been better.” I confess my feelings to him, acknowledging them out loud for the first time and ignoring my desire to hold them in. “If I would’ve known ya needed the money, this all could have been avoided. I wouldn’t have lost sight of the prize. My head wouldn’t have been stuck in the clouds had I not been caught off guard like that. Maybe I could have won. Or not blown through everythin’ else.” I let out of huff. “I thought we were a fuckin’ team. Ya should have told me.”
A slow breath comes through the phone, and I feel bad for what I said. I know just by that sound my outburst hurt him, but he’s too damn stubborn to tell me that it did. “Ma, said she wants to talk to ya, she’s out hangin’ laundry. I’ll let her know you’re on the phone.” He sounds defeated, and I’m a fuckingprick. I hear Ma humming on the end of the line, and Dad releases another sigh before he says, “For what it’s worth, ya can’t focus on the what ifs, or your entire life will be wasted wonderin’.”
He hands the phone over without saying goodbye. I hear her words, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. I know he’s right. Being hung up on anything can really fuck with a person. Especially because I’ve been living it ever since that day.
