Page 92 of For Cowgirls and Kings

“Not much to tell. My father’s a doormat who spends all his time with his mistress and her family in San Antonio. And my mother—” She chews on her lip, lost trying to find the right words. I know about the Rousk’s, everyone here does. They’re basically royalty—old oil money. But they’re also pretty secretive, and even though they’re public figures, no one really knows what goes on behind closed doors.

“You were homeschooled?” I ask, already certain of the answer. Faith nods. “But your sister Reiny isn’t, obviously?”

“If I came home, my mom would let my sister go to school. It was the deal we made. Me for her.”

“What do you mean?” Stetson asks.

“My mother can’t be alone much, she always needssomeone.And I’d never let Reiny suffer the way I did. Besides, I’m older and stronger than her. I can defend myself, and she’s far too soft. It was a fair trade—me for her.”

She says those three words again, and like an icy wind they race over my skin, eliciting a wave of gooseflesh.

“Are you safe?” I ask, compelled by a force that doesn’t entirely feel like my own. Her eyes lift to mine, sad but unwavering.

“I will be.”

I roll over on the floor, my hair a black tangled web around my drunk body at this point. Stetson tuts in the chair behind me, trying to untangle me.

“I’m going to have to go soon. Gus is no doubt crawling out of his skin by now.” Stetson sighs, working to pull me up once more.

I wrinkle my nose at her. “He’s a creep. Why can’t he just leave you here? Come get you tomorrow? Why’s he even here? Doesn’t he hate Mateo now?” My brain swims in tequila, the tips of my fingers numb from it. Even still, I know I’m pushing my luck.

Doesn’t stop me though.

She shoots me a deadpan look. “That’s not how it works with us,” she states, sidestepping the second half of my questions.

“He’s clingy,” I pout, crossing my arms over my chest, hands tangled in my loose hair.

“He’s protective,” she states, brushing the hair out of my face.

I stick my tongue out at her. “He’s ruining my evening. And I hate him for it.” This makes her roll her eyes, and slump back into the couch.

“You’re a sloppy drunk.”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“Well, I am.” Faith hiccups, interjecting herself into my tirade. “I’m fucking trashed, and trashed Faith likes to talk the shit that sober Faith is too much of a pussy to talk about.” She sits up, and I squint at her through my web, the ceiling lights glaring behind her head. “I call her Cosmo.”

“What’re you babbling about?” Stetson asks, her hand wrapped around my elbow as she tries to hoist me up.

“Who’s Cosmo?” I slur, my head spinning.

“My alter ego,” Faith states, folding her legs into her lap, face flushed but stern.

“You have an alter ego? That’s cool.” I state. Stetson yanks at my arm again, and I reluctantly sit up, propping myself against the couch.

“Yes, and she believes in balance and justice.”

“She sounds like a real badass.” Surprisingly there’s very little sarcasm in Stetson’s tone. At least, that I can pick up.

“She fucking is,” Faith states with a nod of her head.

I snort at that. “Hearing you cuss is funny.”

“Cosmo cusses a lot. She fucking loves it. Especially when she’s talking about her parents.” The mention of her parents for the second time tonight has me sitting up a little straighter. I’m desperate to know more, but also afraid to pry. I want Faith to feel safe and seen with us, but not dissected.

I note Stetson doing the same, her eyes solely focused on Faith’s now swaying form. We wait several minutes before Faith continues, more talking to herself than us.

“My mother’s the worst, although my father just stands by and watches. I must be the perfect daughter—don’t look ugly, don’t talk back, don’t eat something that isn’t on your diet, don’t make friends with people below your station—blah, blah, blah. If I misbehave—” She slaps her hands together, the sound jolting in the room and I jump. “If I don’t misbehave—” Another slap against her hand. “If I breathe, think, or exist—”Slap, slap, slap.