“Fuck,” I shout into the still air around me.
When I’m close to the barn, I notice the truck waiting in the drive. It doesn’t surprise me. I figured he’d be by to talk to me, to make sure that I’m not on the verge of losing my shit totally. There’s no doubt that I am indeed, on the verge, but I don’t have time to actually lose it right now.
The cattle auction that keeps me fed and pays my bills is coming up. I have to focus on that and forget the other shit. I can’t think about Stephanie, not when she obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. If she changes her mind, I’m here, I’ll be here—as pathetic as that shit sounds.
“Ford,” Wyatt grunts after I’ve put Starlight away for the night and approach the front porch of my house.
“Wyatt,” I drawl.
There’s a moment of silence as I climb the wooden steps of my front porch. “Brought over a six-pack, figured you could use one,” he murmurs.
He’s got his forearms resting against the railing and the beer next to him. Walking up beside the beer, I take one and crack it open. Without a word, I bring the can to my lips, downing half of it in one gulp.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks.
“Talk about what?”
He doesn’t say anything. “Talk about the fact that I told her I wanted her, told her we’d make it work, that I’d make it work. All after the best sex of my life, she completely shut down, walked away, and I haven’t heard from her since?”
“Ford,” he sighs.
Shaking my head, I tilt my head back, finishing the can, then toss it into the flower bed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s gone, back to her life in Hollywood. Back to him, a man she admitted she doesn’t even like. She was always bigger than Gallup, bigger than some rancher.”
“Beaumont and Louis are bigger than Gallup, too, and they fit in just fuckin’ fine,” Wyatt snaps.
Nodding my head, I reach for another can of beer and drink it a bit slower, but still too quickly for not having eaten anything all day. I stare out toward the barn, seeing absolutely fucking nothing.
“Why is it guys like us?”
“Guys like us?”
Licking my lips, I shrug a shoulder. “Nice guys. Why does everything get fucked for us? I mean, in your case it all worked out for the best. Exeter is more you than Sammi ever was. But you still had to go through years of hell. Why?”
Wyatt doesn’t say anything, he probably doesn’t have much to fucking say because he doesn’t know how to make this better, how to make me feel better. He found what he needed, what he wanted and I’m still staring aimlessly into an abyss.
“It’ll work out,” he rasps.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. We sit there in silence as I drink the entire six-pack, then he leaves. I don’t know what I did to deserve friends like him, like his cousin, and Beau, like Louis, but I’m grateful for them.
I’m not sure I would have survived without them, but now that they’ve found their happiness, now that I’ve had a taste of what mine could have been, I’ve never felt more alone. Completely and totally fucking alone.
Chapter Sixteen
STEPHANIE
Home.
It’s never felt less like home than it does right at this moment. Glancing around my house in Malibu, I can’t help but feel… depressed. This doesn’t feel like home, not in the slightest. I never thought that Gallup could feel like home ever again. It does, or maybe the people make it feel that way.
I’m only home for a few minutes when my doorbell rings. I already know who it is, I texted him when I was getting off of the plane to meet me here. I want to get this shit over with. Whatever he wants, I just want it done.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs as soon as I open the door.
Sebastian breezes past me, not even glancing down at me as he makes his way toward the kitchen. I have no doubt what he’s in search of, but he won’t find it, not here, not anymore.
“The fuck?” he asks, walking back into the living room.
I sink down into my comfortable chair and a half, arching my brow toward him. “Hello to you too.”
“Where’s my Bling?”
I roll my eyes at the mention of his expensive water. It’s forty dollars a bottle and as soon as I dumped his ass, I poured the remains of his stupid assed overpriced water down the drain. It was like throwing away my own money, since I’m the one who bought it, but I didn’t care—still don’t.
“Trashed it,” I state simply as I look down at my nails.
Honestly, I can’t be bothered. Whatever he wants, I need him to just tell me and get on with it. I am so over him, so over his bullshit.
“Just tell me what you want to say. I came back here, I’m talking to you, what do you want?” I snap.
He shakes his head as he sits down in the corner of the sofa, spreading his legs and reaching his arm across the back. His eyes find mine and he grins as he licks his lips.
“I didn’t know you were such a fucking slut,” he mutters. “Things would have worked out much better for us had I known.”
Sebastian’s words don’t shock me, he’s an asshole, but they do anger me. Fortunately, I’ve been trained in acting, so I refuse to show him any kind of reaction.
“If I knew what you were referencing, maybe I could be offended. I don’t, so I’m not,” I say, keeping my voice even and calm.
Cool, calm, and collected. That’s exactly what I aim to be until I know what he’s up to.
“Had your little visit to Hillbilly, Texas documented. My private detective got quite an eye full, and thankfully video,” he says, lifting his brows with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I don’t give him any other response to his claim. “Why would you do that? Why do you care? Did all your offers for roles dry up as soon as I dumped your ass? Is that what this is about?”
He growls but doesn’t move anywhere. I tilt my head to the side, watching him. He’s handsome, really, he’s a beautiful man. There is no denying that he won the looks lottery, he’s just plain pretty. But he’s a fucking jackass.
“You don’t get to win,” he snaps. “Whatever you did, it fucked me over. Paparazzi don’t follow me around anymore; nobody has offered me shit. Even the women are drying up.”
Pressing my lips together, I try really hard not to laugh at him, but I fail. Shaking my head, I shrug a shoulder.
“That’s why you released those photographs? Pictures, I might add, that damaged my reputation, which means even the illusion of getting back together with me won’t make the offers flow again.”
“They’ll come back, if we’re together, the offers will come,” he says, shifting forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees.
Wetting my bottom lip, it hits me. It’s not just the women and the paparazzi, it’s the money. He’s broke, has to be. “How much are you in debt?” I ask.
His head flies up, his eyes are wide and wild, and that’s when I know that I’ve hit the nail right on the head. He’s not just broke, he’s in debt.