It was better now in the house with her dad gone. Her mom had never been much a part of her life, and given how her dad was, she assumed that might even be a gift. He’d left the ranch to all the kids, and had gone his own way years before. And it was a good thing, it made everybody happier. More free.
Well, everybody but her. She didn’t really do happy or free. And she supposed that was her fault. Her problem.
Because she was the cause of the accident. And she was the one who had never gotten over it. Who had never been able to forgive herself for what she’d done to her own body.
She didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
And she decided that she really couldn’t do family dinner tonight, so while her brothers were outside grilling, she pulled some leftovers out and heated them up, then beat a hasty retreat to her room.
They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, even though they did live in the same house, so she knew that nobody would notice that she was gone or care about why.
Anyway, they were all probably still mad about the way she’d been this morning.
She hated that part of herself. The one that made people want to avoid her. The one that made her family not all that sad when she didn’t join them for dinner.
She was a bitch. She wished that she wasn’t. She wished that she could be better.
She wished that she could find a way to heal.
Micah.
The word whispered along her body, and she hated it. She just hated it.
She scampered back through her bedroom door and down the hall, down the stairs. Her family was still sitting around the kitchen table, and it was dark outside. Nobody said anything when she ran out the front door.
She let out a long breath, and then took in another one. Smelling the sweet, hay-scented air, doing her best to revel in the ranch. Because she loved the ranch. Because she didn’t want to leave it. Because for all that she was not exactly beloved by all the people here, because of her own behavior, this was her place.
Micah.
Yeah, he was the root of a lot of her problems. But she was the ultimate architect of her own disaster.
Then and now.
Sometimes she wanted to cry, but she didn’t let herself do that, and maybe that was why it came out as f-bombs and anger. She didn’t know why he was here—well, she did know, she knew that he was here because of his son, but what she didn’t understand was...why. Why was the universe doing this to her?
It was such a hell of a thing. And she just wanted to be free. She wanted to be free of this pain.
But she was bound up in the loss of him and what had happened after.
Bound up in the insecurity that it had created, and she had started pushing people away. So that they wouldn’t see her as ugly the way that she did.
Yeah. She just thought she was so ugly.
And what would he think now? He thought you were pretty back then then, but if he saw you naked now...
The idea made her shiver.
She wanted to be with him. That was the thing. Physically, time had not dulled the impact of him.
He had gorgeous eyes. A little bit of gray at the temples that assaulted his dark hair. His stubble was the same. There were lines now, fanning out around those eyes, bracketing his mouth. And she just thought... He looked better than ever. That was the truth of it. He was gorgeous.
She ran. It was two miles from their house down to Sullivan Lake. It was owned by the Sullivans, but they had an easement so that they could all use it. Each family had a segment of shore to call their own.
When she got down there, she breathed a sigh of relief.
The rope swing was there. Like it always was.
And she climbed up on it and swung back and forth, letting the night breeze blow through her hair.
Maybe there would be clarity here. Except she never had an easy time finding clarity in herself.
If it were that simple, she’d have done it before.
“How did I somehow know that you’d be here?”
She turned and saw Micah standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He was dimly lit by the light of the moon, but it was still impacting to see him there. Tall and strong and broad.
He was beautiful.
Just beautiful.
And she wasn’t. She had seen the way he looked at her in the house, but he didn’t know. He didn’t know. He still thought that she was that young unspoiled girl that she’d been.
Actually, he probably assumed something a little different. That she’d gained years and experience in his time away.
Instead, she was frozen. Pickled. In her bitterness.
And she was sick of herself.
“And how exactly did you know I would be down here?”
“You liked the swing then too.”
“You noticed.”
“I shouldn’t have. I felt bad about it. I wanted to figure out a way to be friends with you, but even being a friend... It seemed...like maybe it wasn’t right. Because I was a lot older than you.”
“You still are.”
“It’s different.”
“Sure.”
“But I felt connected to you just the same. And I remember coming down here and finding you and pushing you on the swing.”
She remembered that too. She remembered his strong hands gripping the ropes of the swing as he held it back and let it fly.
But he didn’t move any closer now. Didn’t do it like he’d done it then.
“You were such a funny little thing,” he said. “And we were different, but somehow, I thought maybe you understood me. Better than anyone else I’ve ever met.”
She felt the same. It hurt her to hear him say that. She hated that he’d said that. Because it reminded her. A feeling like she could talk to him. A feeling like maybe they uniquely understood where the other was coming from.
He’d told her all about his life in Texas. She knew that he didn’t have a father. She hadn’t had to ask. Because she remembered all the things he’d told her.
Remembered and held them close to her heart. Remembered and knew she would never forget.
“I really do remember the stuff you told me about your dad. I know you didn’t get along with him,” he said.
“Nobody gets along with my dad,” she said. “It’s not a matter of getting along with him. It’s his way or it’s the highway. And there really is no other way about it. That’s who he is. He doesn’t brook any nonsense. And he considers a lot of things nonsense. That’s the other thing. It doesn’t matter what you think is reasonable or not. What matters is what he thinks is reasonable.”