Page 34 of Reins

Fuck. How do I show her it’s okay to have a preference? To stand up for herself?

“Is it the soda you really want?” I growl, setting both drinks in front of her. “You’re allowed to have likes and dislikes, Ros.” My palms rest on the tops of the beverages. “Now, be honest with me.” I lean over them, peering closely into her wavering gaze. “Which one do you want?”

That damn lip rolls again and I have a hard time not staring at her mouth.

“The Dr. Pepper,” she squeaks, dropping her hands to her lap before looking down.

I slide the sweaty cold can towards her, then slump into my chair with a crooked grin. “I’m proud of you.” Raising my beer, I pop the top and tip it to her in a gesture of a toast before taking a drink.

She freezes, her spoon poised above a morsel of potato, the very tip of it vibrating from her rapid breathing. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

A boil of frustration and anger pinches my gut. Not at her, but the animals who have shoved her down so many times she’s terrified to even take a compliment.

“I’m not,” I say simply. “I won’t pretend to understand just how messed up your brothers are, but I avoid the habit of tearing other people down. I genuinely am proud of you. For being brave enough to leave, for surviving the hell that they put you through. And—” I lean closer, prying the tab on her unopened can for her. “—for taking ownership in your own happiness. No one else can do that for you, Ros. You’re the only one who truly knows your own needs—” I tilt back and pick up my spoon. “—wants—” I scoop a heaping pile of steaming meat up, realizing this is the first meal I’ve willingly shared with anyone in a really long time. “—and desires.” It nearly scalds my tongue, but I’m starving.

Pink rushes up her throat to blaze over her cheeks.

“What?” I mumble through my full mouth.

She shakes her head then gently blows on a piece of carrot. “I don’t have any of those.”

I nearly choke. Washing down my food with a gulp of beer, I feel my brows furrowing over my nose. “Bullshit. You like Dr. Pepper more than water. You like your mare more than your new horse.” My finger jabs towards the door. “You like those thin ass riding boots over something that will actually keep your feet warm.” I break out a smile in an effort to convey that I’m teasing.

“I guess.” Her admission comes out softly, but I notice her back straighten ever so slightly.

There’s a small win. I’ll take it.

“I have an idea.” Turning back to my bowl, I scoop up another pile as my gaze lands on the pile of print outs calling my name. “I want you to tell me everything you’ve ever liked or wanted while I look at these pictures.” I pause, seeing the conflict wash across her features.

My voice drops as the raw truth rips slowly out of me. “It’ll help me. These are from the accident we lost Ava. I need you to keep my head here.” I rest my palm over the glossy image on top. “I don’t want to get lost in this again.”

She blinks rapidly, pulling away to lift her knees to her chest and wrap them tightly. “Is…I mean…are there pictures of her?” Her chin trembles but she reaches out to pick up the soda and take a small sip.

“No, just the truck. But there is some blood. You don’t have to look at them, just keep talking. That’d be a great favor.” My smile doesn’t have as much strength this time knowing the sour task I’ve set myself up for.

Her lips thin as her gaze bounces between my face and my hand. “My favorite color is red,” she stammers, lifting the can for another swallow. “Maybe because Ava liked it? I don’t know. Green is pretty nice—”

“Ros,” I grunt. “It’s okay to own whatever it is you love.”

With a deep breath, I turn the page to reveal an image of the fender wrapping a pine sapling. “I hate evergreens now. All I can see are these pictures on repeat when I see one. In Texas I have great big oak and pecan trees.” My chest tightens as the next picture is the crumpled fender that looks as if it’s melted into the stump it hit.

“Pecan pie ice cream is my favorite. I had it once at Frozen Bones with Ava.” Rosalyn pulls the bowl to balance it on her legs before pulling out a spoonful of stew. “I’ve always wanted to try the real thing.”

“There’s enough at home to make a million desserts.” Funny, I’ve never tried one of the nuts that grow nearly wild on my property. The deer enjoy them, and the horses.

A few of the pictures show debris. There’s the rear tire. And tools from the bed of the truck. When I see the one with Ava’s cracked and broken phone laying in the gravel, I wince reflexively.

Fuck. The debris from Mason's car always guts me. This is where his wife died too. So much loss.

“I always thought my favorite would be apple, but that sounds delicious.” Ros scrapes the bottom of her bowl, avoiding the images spreading across the table.

My fingers rake through my hair, then I plant my forehead into my palm as I keep turning the sheets. There’s the bloody ground where they found me. We were both stupid enough not to wear our seatbelts and were thrown from the wreck when it barrel rolled.

And that’s the spot they found her.

The agonizing tug of grief tries to pull me in.

This time the memories of Ava and that night are blurry. Is that a good thing?