“Where’s Aidan?”
I stop what I’m doing and wipe the sweat beading above my mouth with the collar of my t-shirt. “Are you seriously asking me that?”
His attention darts to the driver who’s still kicking back in the cab of the truck. “Wait here,” he tells him, leaving no room for argument. Then he stalks off, heading straight for the trailer.
Naturally, I climb out of the back of the truck and quietly follow. There’s a promise of fireworks and I, for one, don’t want to miss a minute of the show.
Shane rips open the door to the Airstream and all hell breaks loose.
“Hey…” I hear Aidan loudly mumble. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t think they sounded like they’d just woken up. But it’s Aidan, so I know he just woke up.
“What the fuck… who the fuck is this?” Shane very distinctly shouts. Pretty sure they heard him in Utah.
Then I hear, “Melissa was just leaving.”
Ummm, Melissa?
“You’re not allowed to have any visitors, Aidan! What part of the judge’s orders did you not understand? Did you understand any of them?”
“She’s my assistant.”
“Your assistant always jump into bed with you?”
So much for leaving the trappings of fame in L.A.
There’s a pause. Then, “You wanna do the time in county lockup, that’s your business. What you will not do is dick around and abuse the goodwill of that kid and the old lady.”
Umm, kid? Old lady? Mona can run circles around these two insufferable jerks in her panties and bra with one arm tied behind her back.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll do double the work to make up for lost time.”
“And if I don’t?”
Another heavy pause. “Look, man, I’m trying to help you, but you seem hellbent on destroying your life… I dunno. I dunno what to do with you anymore.”
“Fuck you, Shane.”
“You’ve already done that.”
The door bursts open and smashes loudly against the side of the trailer. I leap back, startled and out of breath. Shane fills up the doorway and stares at me for a beat, expression locked under key. Then he marches toward the truck.
Kid? That he thinks of me as a kid would be funny if it wasn’t so painfully offensive. He has no idea who I am, what I’ve experienced in my life. I’ll never understand why dour people assume happy people are simply less intelligent or immature. Last time I checked, wearing your suffering on your sleeve doesn’t win you any diplomas.
And why am I a kid? Because I still have the ability to smile and enjoy my day? Being happy in spite of life is not a superpower. We can all get there if we try.
In the words of my best friend, super shiny silver lining. He’s broken the spell. I’m no longer intimidated. Just like that, I’m back to me at almost-thirty again. A grown-ass woman.
By the time I get back to the truck, he’s already jumped in the back, lifting bags of feed and placing them closer to the edge to load onto the dolly.
“What are you doing?” my lips finally spit out.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says as he jumps down from the back of the truck and slings a fifty-pound bag of feed over his shoulder.
“Unloading. You don’t have to… I got it handled.”
I struggle to lift a bag out of the back of the truck, pulling and dragging it over the edge. It falls to the ground and kicks up dust. Because Life has taken it as a personal challenge to find new ways to embarrass me in front of this man.
Shane takes hold of my shoulders and gently moves me aside. Picking the feed bag up with ease, he dumps it on the dolly.
“I was working on that,” I say weakly. I was, though.
An unremarkable car tears down the ranch driveway and we both stop to watch. It pulls up to the trailer and a woman, the notorious Melissa I’m assuming, comes out of the trailer and gets in the back. Then the car takes off, back the way it came.
“Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” he says, still staring in the direction of the now-departed Melissa, jaw clenched like someone has his picture-perfect family jewels in a vise.
When I fail to answer in a timely fashion, he turns to look at me and the worry surfaces, the stony mask slipping away. “Please.”
I guess I should applaud the love he has for his brother in spite of whatever went down between them. And something definitely did. The worry breaks me. No matter how shitty he’s been to me, I can’t be shitty in return.
“Melissa never happened,” I tell him, choosing my words carefully. He doesn’t get a free pass to insult me and Mona because of his personal issues with his brother. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Then it dims and he goes back to grabbing bags.
“Jules called me,” I add. This gets his attention. “She wants pictures of Aidan working with the animals. For the PR campaign.”
He nods. “I’ll handle Jules. Is the door to the feed room open?”
“Not yet.”
“Go open it and I’ll be right there.” This man is way too comfortable giving orders, but I’m too hot and too tired to argue with him. It’s a lost cause anyway, so I do as he suggested. I go open the feed room door.
A few minutes later, he enters the barn pushing the dolly stacked with feed bags, sweat dripping down his temples, the veins on the back of his hands popping off, his t-shirt molding itself to his chest like it’s a contest to see who can look better in a t-shirt. Surprise! He wins.
I’m not too proud to admit that I’m enjoying the show. Not even a little. In fact, all that’s missing is a recliner and a tub of buttered popcorn. I don’t even hide it. It feels good to be a grown-up again.
“No. Really. Let me help you,” I say without even a pretense of meaning it. Instead, I sit on a bale of hay, legs crossed, enjoying the entertainment for a change. I should probably make a small effort to sell myself as the kind of woman who can #doitall. Surprise! I can’t. I welcome with open arms any help I can get from a man.
“Make yourself comfortable, shirina.”
What the table flipping hell did he just call me? That’s the second time today he insulted me. He even had the gall to do it in a language I don’t speak. Which means I can pretend I didn’t hear him. Meanwhile, he stacks the bags of feed all by himself while I watch. All ten bags.
“You insisted.” I check my nails. Yep, still dirty. I get my phone out and pretend to look at that.
His lips twitch, desperate to curve up, but he fights the feeling.
“Don’t fight it, Shane,” I want to tell him, “Go with it.” But I keep my trap shut. I’ve learned the hard way that people don’t want to be helped. They want to stumble through life and make their own mistakes. No matter how long that lesson takes to be learned. I’m speaking about myself, of course.
Finished, he brushes his hands together.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot one last bag by the barn entrance. “You missed one,” I say, my eyes still purposely glued to my phone.
Watching me, he exhales. I can feel his searching eyes burn the roots of my hair. He takes his t-shirt off and wipes his sweaty face with it. Then he shoves one end into the waistband of his jeans and walks off to pick up the last bag.