I stand there, quietly watching as he quickly finishes dressing in his jeans and t-shirt. I’m speechless as he walks past me. My tears fall as he slams the door, leaving me alone in the motel room. It’s cheap, dirty, and ugly just like our relationship—or lack thereof.
Chapter Two
RYLAN
Stepping off of the bus, I take a deep breath, inhaling that fresh Texas Hill Country air. It feels different than the day I was hauled off in cuffs. It’s cleaner. Fresher. Brighter. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m the one that’s fresher and brighter? I know I’m not cleaner, not in the fucking slightest. I’m fucking filthy and I always will be that way.
Walking over to the local coffee house, I take notice of my surroundings. Nothing has changed, fucking nothing. Everything looks exactly the way it did five years ago. Dipping inside of the coffee place, I stand in line and order my first civilian coffee.
“You got a phone I could use?” I ask the little teenager behind the counter.
Her face turns pink and she giggles. “We aren’t supposed to let customers use the phone,” she breathes.
Looking around, I notice that the place is dead. I lean over the counter, placing my palm flat. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t, doll,” I wink. Her face turns an even deeper shade of red and she sways slightly.
“Here, you can use my cell,” she whispers. I watch as her eyes trail my body. Giving her another wink, I take the phone and my coffee, walking away for a bit of privacy.
Dialing the number, I’m surprised as fuck that I remember it at all, but I do. I wait for it to ring, anticipating the moment when the person on the other end picks up.
“Hello?” he grunts.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “Wyatt?”
“Fucking shit, is that you Ry?”
He sounds downright fucking surprised to hear from me. Why wouldn’t he? I haven’t spoken to my cousin in years. When we were kids, we were thick as thieves. Wyatt’s my cousin, though his parents aren’t quite the gems mine are. He was lucky, his dad changed his life and turned it around for the better, while mine drown in their own shithole.
“I’m out. Wanted to know if I could stay with you for a while? Don’t really want to go home,” I mutter.
Thirty years old and I’m homeless. Sure, I could go to the trailer I grew up in, but that would mean putting myself back in the shit environment that created the man who was sent to prison. I don’t want to be that man, not ever again.
“You can’t sell or do any of that shit at my place, Ry. Seriously, I won’t stand for it, and you got to get a real job.”
He’s been thinking about this moment, about me, and something warm unfurls in my chest. Lifting the hand holding my coffee I rub the center of my chest. Fuck. Clearing my throat, I let out a sigh. “I’m not that man anymore, Wy. I’m changed. I want to be better, do better,” I admit.
Maybe admitting it should be embarrassing. It isn’t. I fucked up, royally. I’m a dick, but I’m not enough of a dick to not feel remorseful for the pain I’ve caused. I have a second chance at life, and I plan on grabbing it by the goddamn horns and taking full fucking advantage.
“Where are you at?” he asks.
Clearing my throat, again, I attempt to get the knot out of the base. I tell him where I am and end the call. Walking over to the counter, I hand the phone back to the giggling school girl with a smile and a thanks. I don’t flirt with her anymore, she’s young enough to be my kid, and I’m not that skeezy.
Choosing to walk outside, I sit at a table, enjoying the breeze and the sunshine as I wait for Wyatt. I watch the cars drive by, not thinking of anything in particular, just enjoying being free. All this shit, I took it all for granted. Never again.
When a lifted pickup pulls up a few moments later, I chuckle knowing it’s Wyatt. I watch as he hops down from his oversized Ford F-250 and shake my head.
His dark eyes meet mine and I watch as his lips twitch. He’s broader than he was the last time I saw him, seven years ago. But fuck, he’s a sight for sore fuckin’ eyes.
“You got some kind of compensation to make up for with that big ass truck?” I ask, tilting my head to the side and glancing down to his crotch.
Wyatt wraps his arms around me, his hand beating my back. “Shut up, you cocksucker,” he chuckles against my ear. “Goddamn, I’m glad to see you.”
He takes a step back and looks at me. “You look bigger, fuckin’ healthy too. Goddamn, you look good cousin.”
“Feel pretty good,” I admit.
“You got a bag or somethin’?” he asks looking down at the ground.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shrug. “Don’t got shit, man. Doubt Mama kept any of my stuff in the trailer either,” I shrug.
I refuse to look at the pity in his eyes, instead I lower my gaze to my feet. I kick a rock and inhale deeply.
“Called my boss, we need a ground hand if you’re willin’ to work a hard-labor job. You gotta take a piss test, but they won’t blink at your background,” he murmurs.
My head shoots up, my mouth dropping slightly and my eyes round. “You shittin’ me?” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t do that, cousin. Give you a loan for a good pair of boots and necessities, but the job issues jeans and shirts. Plus, it pays per diem since we work about an hour away. We can carpool, split the cost of fuel,” he offers.
“How? Why?” I stammer, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He lifts his hand, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder and squeezes. “I still remember the kid you were. I remember how you didn’t want to be like them. Somewhere along the way you slipped, but Rylan you’ve never been like them, not really.
“This is your second chance, and if you’re willin’ to work for it, I aim to give you a boost. I won’t enable your ass, but I live alone and make good money. I’m in a position to at least give a bit of a helping hand, so I’m gonna do it. Not just because you’re family, but because I think you want to be better than them,” he says, speaking of my parents.
“Sounds fair,” I say, lifting my chin.
Wyatt grins, shaking his head. “Get in the fuckin’ truck. Let’s get you situated,” he smiles.
CHANNING
I wipe my hands on my apron before I take a pad of paper out of my pocket and head toward the next table. I freeze when I approach. It’s her. Jennifer Bridges. She doesn’t know who I am, she doesn’t know that for two years her husband and I had an affair. She doesn’t know that the babies we both carry are siblings. At least, I didn’t think she knew.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask her, after taking a deep breath.
She looks up at me, her short dark hair almost hitting her shoulders when her head tips back. “I’ll have water, and maybe a small glass of milk? I’m pregnant, milk helps settle my stomach,” she informs me.
I feel my stomach drop at her words. Of course I know she’s pregnant, but hearing her say it, does something to me. I smile and turn away to gather her water and milk. Frowning, I fill up the glass with milk, wondering if I’m doing it all wrong. I haven’t had any milk at all since finding out about this baby, unless ice cream counts. I drowned myself in ice cream after James suggested I get an abortion.