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I know we’ve had our share of troubles but these last few years apart have been torture for me. I love you and I forgive you for everything that happened. These past few weeks have shown me just how much you’ve changed and that you’re deserving of my trust. I want us to move on and I want you to marry me so I don’t have to feel that torture ever again.
Looking down at him, in yet another one of my sister’s dresses, while he knelt in front of me, black velvet ring box in his hand, I had this insane urge to laugh in his face.
Or maybe punch him in it.
Looking up from him, I see them—the entire town—watching. The church ladies whispering behind their fans. The young women who are my age, whispering behind their hands. They’re all saying different versions of the same thing.
That girl is lucky he’s willing to give her a second chance that she doesn’t deserve.
I can see my mother standing on the fringe of the crowd, watching us with an air of quiet resignation. Abbey beside her, blue eyes round and anxious while Damien hovers behind them both, the sharp angles of his face pulled together in a frown.
What do you think your father—or the rest of this town for that matter—would do to him if they knew what’s been going on between the two of you?
There is nothing going on between Damien and me. There is no us. There never has been.
But that won’t matter.
Once it comes out of Brock’s mouth, the accusation will become reality. Lie will become truth and everything Damien has fought so hard to build here will be wiped away.
It all happens in a handful of seconds and when I look back down at Brock, he’s still there. Still kneeling in front of me with that fucking ring box in his hand, a smug, self-assured smile planted on his handsome face because he knows. He knows that in a blink of an eye, I ran through every possible escape scenario before I remembered the truth.
I’m trapped here and there’s no way out.
No way to say no.
Not without damning myself to a life as the town pariah and Damien to something far worse.
“Yes.” I nearly choke on the word, tears springing to my eyes while a desperate sob claws at the back of my throat. Thrusting my hand into the space between us, I nod my head. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
I watch, helpless, as Brock slips his ring on my finger—a big, gaudy rock that I instantly despise—while Luke’s voice whispers through my head.
What have you done, Kaity? What have you done…
After what felt like an eternity of being chained to Brock’s side while he paraded me around the picnic, showing off the engagement ring while saying things like everyone deserves a second chance and Kaitydid’s promised me that things will be different this time, I finally manage to extricate myself from his grip with the excuse that I wasn’t feeling well, his lie about hitting a deer while driving me home Friday night, working in my favor. Everything that happened last night, coupled with the nightmare I just forced myself through comes at me, all at once in a dizzying wave of mind-numbing exhaustion. All I want to do is crawl into my bed and sleep for a thousand years.
Or maybe I’ll just crawl under it and hide.
When I start to make my excuses, Brock’s mother offers me a pinched smile. “Of course, dear,” she says, patting my hand before flicking a look of barely concealed contempt in Damien’s direction. Even though church isn’t usually his thing, he turned up on the front porch, just as Brock arrived and my mom was trying to herd Abbey out the door, in a pair of nice, dark-wash jeans and a pale blue button down, hat in hand. When he realized Brock was here to drive me to church, Damien looked like he was going to tackle him into the dirt so he could finish what his brother started. Instead, he made it a point to say, we’ll just follow along, right behind you then, while glaring at Brock from across the porch. As soon as we were parked, he met me at Brock’s truck and made sure we all walked into the sanctuary as a group. He hasn’t let me out of his sight since.
Still looking at Damien like he’s something she just scraped off the bottom of her shoe, Brock’s mother aims the look in my direction. “You make sure that hand of yours watches the road on your way home—where there’s one deer there’s bound to be others.”
Finding Brock’s father standing with a few of the other ranchers near the dessert table, a few feet from Damien, I remember the story about finding us together in the bathroom at the Saddle that Brock threatened me with yesterday. A lie like that wouldn’t just ruin my reputation. It would get Damien ran out of town—and that was if he was lucky. Chances are, he’d simply disappear, and no one would even look for him or wonder where he went. It would be like Damien Bravebird never existed. Forcing a smile onto my face, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Have your mother call me, dear.” Another hand pat, this one purposely nudging the ring her son put on my finger, before she lets me go. “We have a lot to do before your father comes home.”
Twenty minutes later, we pass what looks like a delivery van coming home from church.
When my mother sees it, she turns in her seat to aim a narrow-eyed look directly at my sister. “Did you order something?” Again is the unspoken ending to the question. Abbey has been known to borrow our father’s credit card for a trip into town, only to do a little online shopping before she gives it back.
“No.” Abbey shakes her head, shooting a quick, embarrassed look at the back of Damien’s neck before looking out the window, gaze aimed toward the house waiting for us in the distance. “Dad’s not even here—how could I?”
Unsatisfied with her answer, my mother shifts her gaze over to me. Before she can even answer, I give her the same head shake as Abbey. “I’ve never even seen Dad’s credit card,” I remind her. “Maybe he sent you flowers—he usually does when he’s gone away on business.”
“He’s only been gone for three days—he’s not even in Texas yet.” Turning in her seat with a small huff, the three of us stare out the window, waiting for the front porch to appear, hoping to catch a glimpse of what’s waiting for us. When the porch comes into view, Abbey claps her hands and does a little happy dance in her seat.
“It’s a package,” she reports like we can’t see it for ourselves. “A pretty big one too.”
She’s right, the white box leaning against the front door is nearly as big as the doormat beneath it. As soon as Damien brings the Land Rover to a halt, Abbey throws off her seat belt and dives for the porch because my father has also been known to send her gifts while he’s away and if it’s not for my mom, then it’s most definitely for her.