Page 8

When I finally pull up outside, I laugh—of course, I shouldn’t have expected a simple, wooden structure, just big enough to house a few bunk beds.

That would be ridiculous. That would be so not Lux.

She might like to pretend she’s a simple country girl, but my sister’s got a penchant for extravagance, and the A-frame cabin that looks bigger than the main house proves it.

Painted red like the barns, the building stands out against the expanse of green around it. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the setting sun. Wooden steps lead up to a huge porch, a firepit crackling in the center of it, a handful of people huddled around it.

With it getting darker by the minute, I can’t quite make out their faces, but I can tell they’re looking my way. I picture their surprised expressions when I exit the truck, its owner nowhere to be seen—I wonder if they know enough about me like Finn apparently does.

I figure they don’t because as I hobble up the porch steps, dragging my bag behind me, that surprise I rightly predicted doesn’t go anywhere.

Three wary strangers lounge on Adirondacks. Two guys and a pretty girl with a tentative smile and long, thick black hair that she tucks behind her ears as she pushes to stand. “Can we help you?”

I don’t answer. I don’t stop either. I just keep ambling towards the open front door. “Nope.”

One of the guys stands too, raking a hand through shaggy blond hair as he frowns. “Where’d you get Finn’s truck?”

Already inside, I’m not sure if they hear me mutter, “Borrowed it.”

Kicking the door shut, I pause. Wait for it to fly open again, for bodies to storm inside, demanding answers. But they never come and, after a single, short breath of relief, I take advantage of my solitude and survey my surroundings.

My long, impressed whistle echoes off the rafters dissecting a high ceiling.

Bag hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, I bypass the cozy living room in favor of hitting the farmhouse-style kitchen.

I haven’t eaten a thing all day—relentless dread really does kill a girl’s appetite—and now that I’m finally here, I’m starving.

Of course, though, the second I wrench open the fridge, my shiny new roommates suddenly kick into gear and join me.

“Seriously,” the blond guy hollers as he shoulders his way inside. “Who are you?”

A girl who can’t stop staring at a six-pack of ice-cold beer, apparently.

I only hesitate for a second before grabbing one, using the lip of the counter to crack it open before answering, “Lottie.”

None of them show a single hint of recognition.

Which is relieving, I guess. That they don’t know who I am. They don’t know where I’ve just come from, clearly, because I don’t think there’d be alcohol lying around if they did—unless they’re assholes.

I try again. “I’m the new hand.”

Their confusion doesn’t ebb.

“ Ranch hand.” I cock my head, and a hip and a brow too. “Y’know, a professional shit shoveller?”

Someone snorts.

“We didn’t know Lux was hiring.” The blond one shoots his snickering, dark-haired friend a sharp look. “You sure you’re in the right place?”

Oh, how I wish I wasn’t .

Ignoring the question, I fire back one of my own. “Do we all have our own rooms or is this, like, a communal bunkbeds kind of place?”

“You’re in the attic.”

My gaze flits behind my roomies, landing on the occupied doorway. “Just like old times, hey, Oscar?”

Jackson is not amused. He left the baby back at the ranch, but Finn, he brought with him.

Finn, who hangs his hat on a hook on the wall before striding my way, hoisting up my bag, and starting towards the staircase without a word.

And though I’m loath to stay here, lingering in the awkward, curious tension, I’m not exactly keen to follow him.

I don’t want to be trapped in the attic. I don’t want to think about the one I used to live in, not the same, but in all likelihood not very different, missing the twin I shared it with. I don’t want to deal with the inevitable surge of memories; I don’t have the energy.

So when Jackson sighs my name and jerks his head towards the porch, I begrudgingly follow him outside.

Clutching my beer like a lifeline, I drop onto the steps beside him. “Go on, then.” I sigh dramatically. “Let me have it.”

He doesn’t. He sighs too. He lets the silence drone on until it makes me itch—probably the very reason he does it—before eventually firmly stating, “It’s not gonna work like this, kid.”

I try to sip my drink in lieu of answering only to have it snatched away.

“Really, Lottie?” He shakes his head as he takes a slug. “You don’t even like beer.”

No, I don’t, but I didn’t see any wine in that fridge, and beggars can’t be choosers. “Maybe I have changed.”

“Have you?”

I don’t answer.

Swallowing thickly, I lean back and stare at the star-speckled sky. “I know this wasn't your idea. I know you don't want me here. Trust me, I don't wanna be here either. I just wanna get through the next six months and then you never have to worry about me again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jackson drawls sarcastically. “‘Cause that’s how that works.”

“Were you worried when you told Lux she shouldn’t bail me out?”

“I said she shouldn’t. I didn’t want her to go.”

“Because you knew she would try to bring me home.”

“Because I knew it would hurt her.”

I scoff, but even to my own ears, it lacks any real venom.

“What, you think the past couple of years have been easy on her? Fuck, Lottie, do you know what it was like for her to realize you were gone and no one knew where you were, if you were okay? She was devastated. She cried for a month straight.”

I hate how very hard I find that to believe.

“You broke her heart, Lottie.”

“If you’re trying to guilt me into submission—”

“I’m trying to make sure you know that you leaving wasn’t nothing.

She didn’t just move on. She—” Jackson clears his throat.

“ We wish you didn’t feel like you had to leave.

Like that was your only option. I think about that last conversation we had a lot, and I wish I’d handled it better.

I regret it so much, kid. I want you to know that. And I want you to know we missed you.”

Hugging my knees to my chest, I prop my chin on top of them. “Why does that matter?”

A mirthful smile curls his mouth. “Figure it might make it harder to run again.”

It would be a moot point, telling him that if I’d known any of that two years ago, I never would’ve run in the first place, so I don’t bother. “Can’t run. Got a busted ankle, didn’t you hear?”

With the most hesitation of touches, my brother palms the back of my head. “Like that would stop you.”

Briefly, my eyes flutter shut. Like the clingy, needy little sister I once was, I fucking relish the feel of my big brother, my goddamn childhood hero for the longest time, stroking the length of my loose braid, all the way down to where the scarlet tip reaches the middle of my back.

“We’re gonna have rules, Lottie, okay? You stay sober. No more criminal offenses. No drugs. You wanna go anywhere, you ask. You work hard. That’s all I’m asking.”

It’s not worth clarifying that I don’t do drugs.

That alcohol is my one and only vice. Or that unless I’m working a late shift, I’m in bed by nine most nights and up by six most mornings, a habit ingrained in me after years of ranch life.

And bar work isn’t ranch work, but it’s hard.

I’m not the lazy waster my brother apparently thinks I am, and it makes me…

sad. That he thinks that. That he’ll probably always think that, no matter what I do.

“We got a deal, kid?”

I nod because I don’t really have a choice. Not because it makes Jackson pat my back like a child who’s pleased their parent, not because he kisses the top of my head like he used to when I actually was a child either.

The simple touch doesn’t make me want to cry. It doesn’t. I’m just exhausted, that’s why my vision is suddenly so bleary, why Jackson is a little hazy as he squeezes my shoulder before jogging down the porch steps, heading for the truck parked nearby.

He leaves the beer behind—a test, I think, one I only don’t fail because I’m thinking about something else instead, I’m plagued by a different kind of thirst, an unrelenting curiosity.

“What’s his name?” I ask the question that hasn’t left my mind since I saw the tiny mirror image of my brother. “Your kid.”

The purest smile lights up my brother’s face. “Isaac. We call him Izzy.”

“He looks just like you.”

The fond smile splitting his face makes my chest hurt. It fades and he sighs once more, staring at the stars like he’s searching for an answer, looking like he might say something. Getting into his truck, he waits until the engine roars to life before rolling down the window.

“Luna was looking through some photos albums a couple of months ago,” he admits, though I’m not really sure what he’s admitting to until he continues, “Found a picture of you when you were a baby and thought it was Izzy at first.”

I drop my stinging gaze. “Sure it wasn’t Grace?”

A labored sigh permeates the air. “He looks like you , Lottie.”

Fuck . I swipe at my eyes and hope he doesn’t notice. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Jackson laughs. He doesn’t say anything else. He just drives off into the night, leaving me alone to think about a little boy named Isaac who apparently looks just like me.