Page 52 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

FORTY

ADALENE

“Really, everything looks wonderful,” Mateo says to Stetson as I walk to the dining table, the last bowl of food steaming in my hand.

She swats his compliment away, her eyes already zeroed in on Gus’s face, longing deep as a well, etched into every line of her skin.

She’s still wearing her wedding dress, and I know it has more to do with wanting Gus to rip it off of her than anything else.

Everyone here, and the food, is simply keeping them from doing so. I smirk at that.

“Yes, you’re quite the cook if I remember.” All eyes snap to McCrae whose expression is still carefully neutral. I still don’t know if Gus has said a word to him.

He looks funny in his black leather jacket, shaggy beard, and blonde strands doing very little to deter the eye from seeing the calculated and all-seeing monster lurking just beneath his skin, sitting at the table surrounded by smiling faces, and decadent dishes.

McCrae doesn’t belong here. That much is obvious.

But no one has asked him to leave yet either.

“Yes, well, if your table manners haven’t improved since last time, I’ll make sure this is the last meal I serve you,” Stetson quips, her eyes never wavering from Gus’s.

Gus’s eyes darken, a small smile flashing across his face before disappearing beneath his mask once more.

I look at McCrae, who’s trying and failing, to hide a ghost of a smile, the look almost more frightening than his normal deathly stare.

He looks amused, impressed maybe, and it makes my skin crawl.

Based on Mateo’s wide eyes, I’d say he feels similarly.

“Yes, ma’am,” McCrae says, before turning away from the newlyweds. My eyes clash with his for a moment, and I send every ounce of warning I can create, into my gaze. I want him to know I’ll hurt him if he even thinks of hurting my family.

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, just a fraction, and then breaks our gaze to take a drink of his beer.

On some level, I feel like I owe him. When Mateo first told me McCrae had killed two of the brothers in the hospital, I couldn’t stop fearing that it was Marco who’d escaped—he seemed the most cunning, and part of me hated McCrae more.

Rafael wasn’t good, but he wasn’t as bad either, and even though he did little to help me, I was angry at the idea of him dying such a cold and senseless death.

But then Mateo told me the descriptions McCrae had given him, and some part of me instantly healed.

I don’t take it lightly that McCrae took out the two horrors in my daily nightmare.

He’ll forever carry their blood on his hands—not that I think it’s his only by any means—but it’s no small thing to me.

I want to find a way to say thank you, even if he does make my skin crawl, because I think on some level he deserves it.

He might not belong here, and clearly sets everyone's teeth on edge, but he also has given me a level of peace no one else has.

But where do I even start?

I slump into the chair next to Mateo, sighing as I settle into the wood.

The bowl I’m carrying clunks against the heavy wood, acting like some kind of dinner bell, because everyone else goes into action, serving and passing each of the items. Within seconds, the room is full of comfortable chatter, and the clinking of silverware against plates.

It’s a beautiful sound, and an even better feeling, and I know I’m not the only one appreciating the gathering for what it is.

No one here has a perfect family, or a good family life.

And therefore, somewhere along the way, we became each other’s family. McCrae not necessarily included.

Although, Faith keeps pegging him with questions, and he takes each one in stride—like an older brother offering answers to the curious little sister.

His responses are quiet, and short, but honest. The fact that he’s talking at all, and to Faith of all people, proves there has to be something good buried deeply beneath his decaying, hateful exterior.

Like, super deeply.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” I start, standing up with a glass of whiskey extended in my hand.

The table becomes silent in seconds, all eyes turning to look at me.

“To Stetson and Gus—although you don’t have a traditional love, and I would be absolutely terrified to see what happens behind your bedroom door after hours?—”

Gus snorts, whispering beneath his breath, “don’t drop anything onto the table then Dale. It’s not only our bedroom that’s messy,” earning a slap on the arm from Stetson.

I laugh, raising my glass higher. “I’m so glad you found each other. We would all be lucky to find a love half as meant-to-be as yours. Cheers!”

I raise my glass to my lips taking a sip. Everyone follows suit, and as I sit down, Mateo’s hand intertwines with my own. Stetson’s eyebrow raises as she notices, but I just shrug, wrapping my own fingers tighter around his.

I like his hand in mine.

I watch Mateo walk out the house entryway after Gus, containing the urge to follow after him. When did I get so fucking dependent on my “friend” that I no longer want to be in a room he’s not?

The thought alone terrifies me, and I polish off the liquid in my glass, barely registering the burn as it races down my throat. I cannot afford to feel such things. Not for Mateo. Not for anyone. Not when I don’t even know what we are, or what we even could be.

“You guys are looking more like a couple every day.” Stetson winks as if she was just reading my thoughts.

“I think you guys are adorable.” Faith sighs dreamily, patting my arm.

“I think you’re crazy for even being interested in him. You know it’ll never work.”

All eyes snap to McCrae, who up until this moment, I’d somewhat forgotten was still sitting at the table. Like a fucking statue, unable to move. He’s barely shifted in his chair, and at this point, I don’t know why he’s even here still.

“I don’t remember asking for your fucking opinion, McCrae. I don’t know what makes you think you have any right saying anything,” Stetson snaps angrily.

I’m inclined to agree with her; I also can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. That even as harsh as it was, the words only mirrored the ones in the darkest parts of my mind. The one’s I’ve refused to acknowledge because the pain of them is borderline too great.

He just shrugs, rolling both his icy eyes and his thick shoulders. And then he stands, his chair screeching across the floor like nails across a chalkboard.

Everything about this man is wrong, like the devil took one look at him and decided even he had higher standards. He doesn’t belong in this world, and definitely not in these lives, and yet he tears through the fabric of our existences, worming his way in like a parasite.

“Just saying what she’s thinking.” He pauses, sucking in a shaky breath. “Congratulations, Stetson. I hope that you’ll be happy. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

“I didn’t,” Stetson bites out as he’s turning around. He just flashes her a wicked smile, before striding to the kitchen.

“I fucking hate him,” Stetson adds, shifting to put her hands under her belly.

“Did Gus invite him?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I don’t know.

I know some part of him was glad that his brother showed up, even if they don’t get along.

Gus, although not one to show emotion, still feels them like the rest of us.

Maybe even more than the rest of us. And I know he wishes him and McCrae had a better relationship.

It’s why he stuck with him all those years rodeoing, even when he no longer wanted to do it. He feels like he owes him…”

“Do you know why McCrae is so—” Faith waves her hand animatedly in front of her face.

“Not really. Their parents dying changed him, and I don’t know, there’s more to it, but it’s not really my story to tell. Plus, I don’t think Gus even knows the extent of it all—he seems to think he was the open one of the two of them, if you can believe that.”

“He doesn’t seem all bad.” Faith shrugs, and we both turn to face her, eyebrows raised.

She’s not into him, right? Her eyes widen, and she waves a hand in front of her face.

“No! Not like that. He seems more sad than angry, it’s just buried under…

everything else. He clearly doesn’t know how to deal with emotion.

Plus, he can’t be all bad. I mean, Gus was a stalker, and he’s one of the best guys I know.

It’s all relative, maybe he’s just misunderstood. ”

“How drunk are you?” Stetson snorts, taking a sip of her juice.

Faith’s face softens, her eyes looking sad, before she shrugs once more. “If you guys can love me, the most misunderstood person alive, surely he must have some redeeming qualities.”

“You’re not a killer, Faith.” Stetson pats her arm reassuringly.

“Not all of us are what we are by choice,” Faith challenges, her eyes glittering with some unknown emotion—a small glimpse back to that girl we got drunk with not long ago, talking about her horrible parents flashing through.

Deciding it’s best to change the subject, I blurt, “do you think Gus and Mateo are making up?” Annoyingly my eyes drift back to the entryway, waiting for them to come back inside—McCrae's words playing like a loop over in my head.

You know it’ll never work.

The truth is, I do know it. We’re from two different worlds; the Prince and the Pauper. And just because they work out in the fairytales, doesn’t mean we will. I don’t even see how we could.

There’s no way I can live at his house once I go back to being a teacher, it’s too far a drive, and if I’m not staying there I’ll see him probably less than once a week because we’re both so busy.

And once we start seeing each other less, the feelings between us will wane, just as they always do.

Not to mention, I want to live here, and he could never move here and leave his family's ranch or the casino.

No, I don’t know how it could possibly work. Even if I want it to.

As if hearing my thoughts, the front door slams, and Mateo comes sauntering in, a mischievous smile toying at his perfect lips. He winks at me, setting the speaker on the kitchen counter. Gus follows behind him, and he shakes his head, his curls swirling around his face.

“Who’s ready to dance?” Mateo asks, hitting the power button on the top.

Faith claps, her giggle filling the room, previous darkening mood completely forgotten.

I smile at him, desperate to bury my worry for another day, another time that’s less happy than this one.

I want to enjoy these moments, because once Mateo and I go our separate ways, I don’t know when, or if , I’ll ever feel like this again.

“What are you going to play for us, big guy?” I tease, and his eyes glitter.

“Ew,” Gus huffs, pulling Stetson into his lap, his hand wrapping around her throat lightly to pull her face toward his for a kiss.

“Look who’s talking,” I fire back.

“Now, now kids. There’s enough big guy to go around.” My head snaps back to Mateo’s, a shriek of delight leaving Faith in the same moment. What has gotten into this man, and how do I keep him like this?

“Okay, big guy,” Stetson barely gets all three words choked out before Gus growls, his fingers pinching tighter on her throat.

It feels like it should be a private thing they share—his affinity for hand necklaces—but I know he doesn’t give a fuck what me or anyone else thinks.

And honestly, I think we’d all like a hand necklace by the end of the night.

Mateo winks, and I blush hotly as if caught. The image of the fantasy I told him about earlier in the day flashes in my mind. And fuck, if I don’t blush worse.

The speaker starts crackling, the opening notes of a familiar song floating through.

“Mateo Reyes, is that the queen Chappell Roan?” I tease, a smile pulling at my lips so harshly my cheeks ache.

The memory of us dancing in my living room, months before everything went to shit, flashes through my mind.

For the first time since it happened, I don’t feel complete devastation or anger when I think about it either.

Because thinking about before—naive, and only barely happy—is nothing to how I feel when I’m with Mateo now.

Then I was too afraid to live, now I’m afraid of not living to the fullest.

Trauma is weird like that. Even in the darkest, most horrible times in our lives, we can find light that is both warmer and brighter than anything we experienced before it.

He extends his hand out to me, and I don’t hesitate sliding my hand into his.

Maybe I should be more careful, but I’m realizing pain is what got me here in the first place, and I can’t be sorry for that.

Not when it made me realize what love is and should feel like.

Not when it brought me Mateo, and the image of a life I finally want to live.

Electricity shoots up my arm, as it always does when I touch him, and the familiar, yet vastly different pound of my heart fills my ears.

“Dance with me, cowgirl?” he asks, a note of vulnerability lacing his voice as he lifts me up.

I wrap my arms around his neck, our bodies already swaying wildly over the hardwood floor, Gus’s reluctant groan vibrating behind us. “Always,” I whisper.

Mateo hugs me a little tighter, his fingers pressed firmly to my back as we sloppily twirl around the small room to Pink Pony Club , just like we did months ago. Only nothing is the same; I don’t know that they ever will be again.