Page 42 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

“It was incredible—” I grumble, looking over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t magically appear and hear my confession.

“It was so much more than I expected, and so much better than I could have hoped for, and now I don’t know what to fucking do.

He’s made it very clear that we’re still just friends, he hasn’t touched me in a week, and I’m going crazy.

What should I do?” The words pour from me, and with each one I feel lighter.

Stetson whistles, her eyes widening. “Dude, you’re fucked.”

I slump back in the chair with a huff, scrunching my eyes closed. “I’m so fucked.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to take control.

Since, you know—” I peek an eye open to look at Faith.

She’s the last one I expected to speak up, and with such solid advice.

I haven’t told them everything I endured, but I know they know I was assaulted in more ways than one.

I don’t know if it kills them not knowing all the details, or if they’re able to sleep a little better, simply because they don’t know the darkness I endured.

I pray it’s the latter, and that’s why I keep it locked up to myself. Well, myself and Mateo.

“You’re holding out on us Faith,” I tease, and she flushes crimson.

“I wouldn’t want to scare you guys away yet. I can be a real freak behind closed doors.”

Stetson and I erupt into laughter at that, and Faith cackles along with us. I wipe a tear from under my eye, shucking it away.

“Do tell.”

Faith shakes her head. “You first.”

“Ugh, fine. He probably is waiting, he’s a gentleman like that.

The whole thing was—” I pause, lost for the right words.

“He kept saying I have the power, so I know he wanted me to take control, not that I don’t think he doesn’t like control.

” I trace a small circle on my knee, remembering the way he took control when I asked him to. “I just…I was a virgin.”

There, I’ve said it now.

The room is so silent, the sound of flies buzzing around us enough to make my ears ring.

“Well, at least your first time was with someone you actually liked. Most of us are far less lucky,” Faith states, taking a sip of her margarita. She’s so thoughtful, so kind and tender. How did she end up with Stetson and I?

“I can’t believe you never told me.” I cringe at Stetson words, and continue to stare at my knee. I don’t want to see the disappointment, I can so clearly hear in her voice.

“Wasn’t exactly something I was proud of.”

“We’re best friends.” Her voice wobbles, and I hate myself more. I know what she’s saying is true—I didn’t owe it to her, but it’s the lack of trust that I know cuts her. Trust is the biggest thing with Stetson.

“We still are. I just?—”

“It’s okay.” She cuts me off, and I hear the finality in her words. She’s battling her own feelings, her own insecurities. She’s human, same as me, and we all have our own secrets.

After several awkward moments, Faith clears her throat. “So what do you want with Mateo?”

“I don’t know.” It’s true. At first I was certain we could never be more than friends. But now, I can’t imagine never having him again. I can’t imagine going back to just friends.

I don’t want that. I just don’t know how to tell him.

“I think you should fuck him at least five times before making up your mind. For science,” Stetson huffs, smiling tightly at me. I smile back, feeling my heart ache in my chest.

“Ten should be the minimum for a good experiment,” Faith states, and I snort.

“I don’t think any number would ever be enough.” I whisper.

“Oh honey—” Faith starts.

I wave her off, my skin all of a sudden feeling too tight over my bones. I know I’m fucked, and I don’t want to dwell on it anymore.

“Anywho, my mom was a miserable bitch when I finally called her.” I stare at a particular spot on the carpet, my tongue running back and forth over the salted rim of my glass. In my mind, guilt should be swarming me, having just disrespected my mother. But the words are freeing.

I’ve never spoken badly about her, even behind her back. But something inside of me cracked when she spoke about my trauma like it was something I created. Like it was something I could have prevented, if only I had been the daughter she raised, instead of the heathen I had become.

I know I’d never speak to someone I loved that way.

And that revelation has been stewing in me for days, festering like an infected wound.

A low whistle cuts through the room, and my eyes snap to Stetson’s face. I expect disgust or disappointment, but all I find is a gentle smile. And then I remember who I’m talking to— the Queen of complicated mother, daughter relationships.

I flash her a sheepish smile. “Well it’s just how I’m feeling after everything she said, about what happened to me. She all but said it was my fault, and I just can’t imagine saying that to anyone, especially someone I love.”

Stetson shakes her head, “Just because we love them, doesn’t mean we have to let them walk all over us. You deserve better. You have for as long as I’ve known you.”

“You should tell her how you feel,” Faith adds, nodding in encouragement. My chest floods with warmth, the rush of acceptance heating me from the inside out.

“What would I even say?”

“Start with what you just told us. You’d never say that to someone you love, and it hurt that she said it to you,” Faith says, her face somber now.

“Or that she can go fuck herself until she’s ready to act like a mom. If she doesn’t want to love you right, she doesn’t deserve you,” Stetson adds. Her face contorts into frustration and I know she’s saying things aloud she probably wishes she had said to her own mother.

“I don’t think my mom even knows the word fuck,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. Stetson’s eye’s instantly soften.

“Well, then, maybe use Faith’s advice. It seems the most reasonable.”

“Not that it’s ever worked for me, but your mom is surely more understanding than mine,” Faith snorts, her face in her glass. We both turn to watch her, and my heart aches with the need to comfort her.

This is what I’m good at— helping others. Not accepting help myself.

“Want to talk about your mom?” Stetson encourages, and Faith shrugs .

I can’t tell if she just doesn’t know how to open up to us, or if she’s just private like we are. Something tells me it’s the former—Faith seems like the kind of person who’s more likely to overshare, than keep a secret. Something I’m grateful for. We could all be a bit more open with our feelings.

“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 needs someone. 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.

“Why don’t you leave?” My eyes snap up to Stetson’s stoak face, the memories she shared with me about her own abusive family flooding me like a wave of icy water. She was so much younger than Faith is now, and she got out. How painful this story must be for her ?

“I could never leave my sister. If I take the punishment, Reiny doesn’t have to. I’ll let them kill me before they hurt her.”

“But you could both?— ”

“No!” Faith hisses, pinning Stetson with a heated glare that would make lesser people wither.

“There’s no escaping them. They don’t just have power and control, they are power and control.

There’s the top of the food chain, the top of the justice system, the top of social classes, and then there's my parents.”

Stetson and I just stare at her, too lost for words to even try. And she knows it. Her eyes harden, the set of her lips thin and firm. She looks like a different person, no longer innocent or shy, but hard and angry and bitter. She looks like the blade of a knife, beautiful and shiny, but lethal.

What she’s describing—years of the kind of abuse I only endured for days—and she doesn’t look the least bit afraid. She looks angry, even vengeful.

“Cosmo believes in justice and balance,” Faith repeats her words again, and Stetson and I continue to stare at her. Not knowing what to say, we continue to wait, and wait.

The room grows quieter, my eyelids heavier with the silence, and Faith’s face slowly softens. I watch the heat of anger melt away from her features, replaced with the shy, coy girl I’ve grown to adore over the last few months.

I’m too drunk and tired to sort out what her words mean. For tonight at least. But even as I drift off, my head leaning against Stetson’s knee, I keep picturing Cosmo, and hearing her words like stones rattling in my brain.