Page 94 of Homebound

As I head to my truck, the bustling sounds of the rodeo fade behind me, and the engine roars to life. One the way home, I break a few traffic violations because my mind races with thoughts of what I’ll find when I get to the barn. All I can think about is Vi, picturing her scared, crying all alone.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. It makes me absolutely furious.

When I was in high school, I gave my dad a stress-induced stomach ulcer with a few house parties, so I know they can get out of control.

The ball of orange sun dips low in the sky as I speed down the sprawling two-lane highway. Finally, the barndominium comes into view, and I pull up to the chaotic scene—teenagers spill out onto the patio, and laughter echoes in the evening air.

I. Am. Fuming.

If something bad happened to my girl, someone’s going to prison.

After parking, I slam the truck door, storming toward the barn. The sight that greets me is lighter fluid for my rage. The place is a disaster, littered with trash and empty beer cans, the obnoxious thump of country music blaring from the speakers—really shitty country music, none of the nineties classics.

The moment I step inside, the smell of spilled beer hits me. I scan the living room, searching for Vienna and Luna, but I can’t find them in the crowd of solo cups.

The babysitter comes rushing up to me, tears streaming down her face, so she clearly feels bad. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell my mom. I didn’t think this would happen, and all these people just showed up, and now I can’t get them to leave, and I’m sorry.”

She wipes the snot from her nose, but I ignore her tears, only focused on my little devil. “Where’s Vi?”

She sniffs. “I put her down in her room. I’ve been watching her I swear.”

I’m still in my rodeo gear, so I get a few looks and whistles as I shove my way through the crowd, but they must be afraid of me because the further I walk, the more the crowd seems to part, and the less I have to barrel through them.

Ignoring the stares, I head straight to Wyatt’s bedroom. The door is closed, and I fling it open to find Vienna crying in her crib, her face tear-streaked, and Luna curled up in a ball at the foot like she’s keeping watch.

When I walk inside, she perks her fluffy head up.

The relief that hits me almost makes my knees buckle, but the rage comes a second later. Who the hell is this babysitter’s asshole boyfriend?

Luna’s black tail starts thumping when she sees me, and I murmur, “Hey, Tuna Roll,” and pat her head as I walk by to snuggle Vienna.

“Hey, little devil,” I soothe, scooping her up into my arms. She instantly calms down, her sobs quieting to soft whimpers. That gets me every time. Being the one who calms her down. “I’d be pissed too if I were you; I get it. This music’s loud. Come here, sweetie. You want to look at the ceiling fan?”

“Mah,” she murmurs into my chest, and that’s a new word. I’m not sure if it means she wants more snuggles, but either way I give her what she wants.

She stares up at me with those big, green, tear-streaked eyes, her little face crumpled. I lift her pink T-shirt and wipe the snot on her nose.

“I’ve got you, girl. I’m here. I’m here,” I murmur.

She burrows into my chest, her tiny hands clutching at my leather riding jacket, and I think this toddler melting into me might be the best feeling in the world. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, and maybe that’s why it’s been so easy for me to fall for her. But I also think it’s because she’s Wyatt’s.

That one little nuzzle ignites a flare of protectiveness. I might not be her mom, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt her. She’s mine now. Vienna clings to me, her small body trembling slightly, but I hold her close.

Swaying her.

Calming her in the night with the chirping crickets keeping us company.

I’ve never been the person someone can depend on because I’ve been relentlessly going after what I want, but what’s that going to get me at the end of my life? I’ve never felt needed like this before, and I think this might be addicting. For so long, I’ve only had to worry about myself, never anyone else, but her tiny little fists clinging onto me makes my life feel like it’s worth something more.

Life is made up of memories you leave with other people, so the more people you love, the more memories you make, and the more you’ll be remembered. I want to be remembered by the people I love.

With Vienna on my hip, I storm into the living room like a mama grizzly. I’ve dealt with enough rowdy cowboys that I can handle some rowdy teenagers.

My eyes zero in on the iPhone hooked up to the speaker. Without a second thought, I march over and yank it out, the abrupt silence hits like a record screech.

“What the hell?” some little asshole shouts. “Who turned off the music?”

I chuck the phone against the wall, hard enough to crack the screen, and the room falls silent as everyone turns to stare at me.