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“Don’t ever fucking call me again,” he snarls at me on his way out. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re not my brother.”
He slams the door between us before I can agree.
FIFTY-ONE
Kaitlyn
Brock’s truck is parked in front of the house when I round the corner.
Shit.
Riding up the hard-packed dirt road that serves as our drive, I can see him sitting on the front porch with my mother and his, a pitcher of iced tea sweating on the small table between them. While the two older women talked about wedding matters, I’m sure, Brock sits, sprawled out in his chair, looking disgruntled and bored. I know exactly when he spots me because my anxiety spikes so hard I jerk on the reins and Two-tone gives a nervous nicker in response.
“Sorry,” I mutter at him, loosening my grip to give him a reassuring pat on the side of his neck. “I’m okay.”
Are you? Because I don’t think you are.
“Jesus, Luke…” Still muttering, I ride past the house and head for the barn. “Don’t start.”
Don‘t start what? Telling the truth? I’ve been telling you the truth since day one—you’re the one who keeps lying to yourself.
Even though this is the worse possible time to allow myself to spiral into a delusional conversation with my dead brother, I do it anyway because I haven’t heard his voice in days and I miss the sound of it, even if I don’t like what it has to say. “I don’t lie,” I say out loud while I swing myself off Two-tone’s back. Leading him into the barn, I drop his reins when we get to his stall.
Maybe not to other people but you lie to yourself all the time, Kaity.
“Oh yeah?” Uncinching Two-tone’s belly strap, I loosen it to pull the saddle off his back. “About what?”
You’re not going to survive this. Getting involved with Went was a mistake.
“You’re the one who told me to kiss him,” I remind him while I lug Two-tone’s saddle to the tack room. “You’re worse than Abbey—Jesus, make up your mind.”
It’s not the kissing I’m talking about and you know it.
Using my hip to swing the saddle onto it’s stand, I shake my head on an exasperated laugh. “I’m not talking about that with you—I don’t care if you’re real or not.”
I’m not talking about sex either, Kaity. I’m talking about love. You’re in love with him.
Doing what I should’ve done from the second I heard his voice in my head, I ignore my brother. Instead of denying it, I make my way back to where I left Two-tone. Unbuckling his halter, I open his stall door before giving him a pat on his shoulder. True to my mother’s word, the stall has been mucked and there’s fresh hay waiting for him in his feeder. Someone took care of my chores today, just like she said they would. Instead of grateful, I feel guilty.
You’re in love with him.
Hanging Two-tone’s bridle from the hook outside his stall, I snap up a comb before following him inside.
You’re in love with him.
Still ignoring him, I wait for Two-tone to stick his face in his feeder before I start to brush him down, the short soft bristles scraping away the dirt and loose hair that might irritate him after a long day outside.
You’re in love with him.
“You’re even more delusional than I am.” Giving in, I hiss it out loud while I run the brush over Two-tone’s back. “I know what this is. This is—”
“Who are you talking to?”
Letting out a yelp, I feel my shoulders tense. Next to me, Two-tone pulls his face out of his feeder so he can turn around, same as me, to find Brock standing in the doorway to the stall, watching us both.
Seeing him, I force myself to relax for the sake of the horse standing next to me. “My horse.” Turning back around, I continue brushing. “Nevermind him.” I nudge Two-tone in the shoulder with my elbow on a downstroke when he continues to stare at Brock. “Eat your dinner.”
Two-tone snorts before doing as I say with obvious reluctance. Still focusing my attention on brushing the horse in front of me, I shake my head. “What are you doing here?” Realizing my tone and the question it delivered is too harsh for Brock’s liking, I shake my head and try again. “I mean—your mom and mine aren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow morning and you and I—”