“That you’re a sick fuck. That you’ll never get over losing the one woman you’ll ever love. That you’d rather maim and torture her killers than have her back.” Dave said it all calmly, gladly.
There’d been a few times he hadn’t drunk alone, but with Dave. And a few times he’d let his mind spill open, let all his thoughts and perversions spill out.
And yes. He’d said all that. Even meant it in that moment. “And you’d tell her?”
Dave gave a sick laugh. “Nah, what the fuck do I care.”
When Stephen said nothing, Dave smiled, gave him some kind of mock salute, and left.
Stephen let out a heavy breath. How could he explain to Hannah that the hatred that boiled inside was a living, breathing thing? Something that had grown until it had a life of its own because he hadn’t wanted to face the loss?
Because that’s what it came down to. He’d chosen anger instead of grief until it hadn’t been a choice anymore. How could he tell her all of that and in the same breath tell her he loved her?
He wasn’t the man she needed. Worse, he was afraid he was exactly the man she didn’t need.
And he was terrified that when she found out the truth, she would agree.
Chapter 43
The sounds and scents that would normally comfort Hannah were gone, replaced with seared wood and wet ash. The rain that had been a blessing left a soggy, smoky mess. The acrid odor of the melted plastic barrels that once held sweet feed added another layer. Everything felt sad and ruined.
Her cell rang again and she glanced at the unknown number. She’d been on the phone all morning. Answering calls. Making calls. Reporters looking for the how and the why, owners wanting arrangements to retrieve their horses. Roma had already been picked up. Lady was scheduled for later today. Everything was falling apart.
There’d been no feed left to salvage. Only a few pieces of tack left. But the last four stalls closest to the back still stood solid. Zach had been out, verified that what was left was structurally sound. That was something at least. And with no other clear direction, she’d thrown herself into cleaning. After an hour the stalls still looked pretty much the same, the walls still black with smoke. Exhaustion crept in and her entire body ached like it hadn’t in a very long time.
Gazing out the small window to the low pasture, she watched Winnie and felt the tears gather along with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It could have been so much worse. She’d go for a ride later, get away from the entire place that smelled like the smoky remains of an abandoned campfire. And from the memories of last night.
Had it really only been a day since she and Stephen made love out there beyond the trees? When she’d lain with her head on his chest while the wind played through the leaves above them? A breath away from saying she loved him? Did he still love someone else? Would he always?
Trace. Tracy. She didn’t want to be jealous of a dead woman. Couldn’t blame him. Didn’t blame him.
The flower doesn’t have to mean anything. So why was she so afraid it did?
“Hey, sis.”
She turned at the sound of Luke’s voice, forcing a weak smile and rubbing at her right forearm.
“You’re doing too much.”
“What else can I do?”
He stood with her, scanning the depressing remains. “You’re holding up.”
She was trying.
“You’ve held up under all this. And the land thing too.” He slung an arm around her shoulders, squeezed. “You really are stronger than any of us gave you credit for.”
Hannah smiled up at her brother, warmed by his sudden praise.
“I’m taking off, but I’ll be back.”
“Thanks.” He stepped away and she picked up her shovel.
“Oh, yeah. Your boyfriend was out looking for you earlier. Said he’d be back.”
She wondered why Stephen had come out so soon, knowing she was going to the hospital.
“He’s turned out to be okay.” Luke turned back, gave her a wink. “You’re okay too.”
—
Two more hours of scooping ashes and she was done. Past done. Hannah dropped her head in exhaustion.
The sound of a car drew her attention. Not Stephen’s new truck. Not one of her brothers. She stepped out and watched the doors of a cherry-red sports car open simultaneously.
The driver worked with Stephen, Dave something. A woman exited the passenger side. The same one who’d wobbled in her heels to hurry Stephen along the first time he’d been out here.
The two murmured between themselves until they got close.
“Dave Pietro.” He stuck out his hand, saw Hannah’s, black with soot, and dropped it back to his side. “Stephen’s partner at Trace Development.”