Page 61 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)
FORTY-SIX
MATEO
“You guys look…” Stetson eyes us skeptically, and I fight every instinct I have to look down at myself. Because I know what I’ll find. Wrinkled, disheveled clothes, that are more likely than not covered in not one, but two different cums.
I’m not mad about it.
I lean over, pressing a kiss on Dale’s slightly messier hair, her braid frizzy from where my hands had been tangled in it.
“Cute, adorable, hot, sexy? Take your pick,” Dale states dryly and I snort.
“Fucked,” Gus deadpans. I smirk at that, trying to hide the confirmation by kissing the top of Dale’s head a second time. When I compose myself enough to look up, Gus’s eyebrow is raised in challenge and I just shrug.
He’s not the least bit wrong. I am fucked. Both physically and emotionally. Because even though we just had the best car sex to likely ever have happened on planet earth, I’m aware that Dale’s withdrawing from me, and I’m helpless to stop her.
I expected this to happen, I just thought I’d have more time. More time to figure things out in my life, to show her I’d do anything to be in hers.
“Sit down you nasty love birds.”
“Nasty love birds? Stetson, I don’t know that I’d call us nasty when you guys are?—”
“Cute, adorable, hot, sexy?” Stetson taunts, throwing Dale’s words back at her.
“You guys are all cute and adorable. And I’m painfully single. So how about we start drinking, yeah?” Faith quips, tapping her menu on the table for emphasis. Stetson and Dale turn to her instantly, flashing equally guilty smiles as if both being chided by their mother.
We all feel bad, in actuality, for Faith. She’s a catch—sweet, compassionate, loyal, beautiful. But she’s never once mentioned dating, or a guy for that matter. Maybe she’s into girls?
I slide into the booth beside Dale, effectively trapping her and Faith next to her, in.
The waitress arrives, taking everyones order—margarita’s all around, mostly—virgin for Stetson, obviously, and water for Gus. When she retreats, I wait in a comfortable, but somewhat forced silence. Like no one knows what to say first.
I’ve been working so much, I’ve barely had time to spend with Dale, which I hate now more than ever. If she really does think she’s leaving me, is it driven by my sudden distance? Or is it something more?
And how much time have I wasted being away from her?
“How’s the baby?” Dale asks, forging on as she always does. Stetson rubs a hand over her very noticeable bump, and smiles softly.
“Doc says she’s growing perfectly. Haven’t had any issues so far, besides running the local grocery store out of pickle spears.”
“Spears, specifically?” I tease.
Gus scowls, and shifts an inch closer to Stetson.
“You better believe it. Apparently, the crunch to mushy ratio is just better with spears. I learned that the hard way when I arrived with various pickles, thinking my wife would be excited, and was instead met with tears and forced to promise never to get the wrong pickles again.”
“I’m growing your child, you know? I can have whatever pickles I damn well please,” Stetson huffs.
“Which is why the grocery store calls me when they get their next shipment of spears each week,” Gus states, running a hand up her arm.
Stetson physically relaxes, leaning into his touch.
It should be sickening, seeing them so doe-eyed and in love, but it does nothing but make my own heart ache.
Not only do I wish I’d grown up in a family full of the kind of love Stetson and Gus share, but I also want what they have with Dale so badly I can almost taste it.
Gus went through many trials to get his happy ending, and I know I must do the same. But damn, I’m getting impatient.
“You’re going to be the best daddy,” Stetson says wistfully, her eyes glued to the side of Gus’s face. There’s so much longing there, and I only ache more.
“You really are,” Dale says, her voice soft like she’s trying not to choke up.
“How are you, Dale?” Faith asks, breaking the happy trance everyone had settled into. Dale winces slightly, and I have to force myself to keep perfectly neutral. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Dale much lately, and I hate that I don’t know how she’s feeling, or what she’s thinking.
“I’m doing better every day. I talked to my administrator yesterday, and told him I’ll be ready to go back to work in July when teacher training starts.” Dale bumps her shoulder against Faiths. “How are you?”
Faith smiles, her face glowing within, in that way only she does. “Good. I’ve started seeing my therapist again. I go once a week right now, things at home are getting really bad. I just want life to return to what it was. Well, mostly.”
Stetson reaches across the table, grabbing both Faith and Dale’s hands, a small smile on her face. “It helps me, too. How about you Dale?”
I hold my breath. This is something I’ve brought up several times for Dale—not that I’ve ever gone. But I want her to have someone to talk to, someone who has ideas that will help her.
Dale shrugs. “I already made an appointment with an over the phone one next week. I know it isn’t perfect, but it’s a start. I’m glad you guys suggested it.”
“A great start,” Faith encourages, and I nod in agreement. I didn’t know the girls had talked about therapy with Dale too— fuck I feel out of the loop.
“How did all of the fucked up people in Moztecha end up in one friend group?” Stetson sighs, leaning back into Gus’s waiting embrace.
“I think you mean, traumatized Stet.” Faith winks, withdrawing her hand.
“No.” She snorts. “My father tried to kill me, Gus is a stalker, Dale was kidnapped, your mother is mentally abusive, and Mateo is a millionaire who hates money. I meant fucked up.”
“Well, when you put it that way—” Dale teases, relaxing into me once more, clearly grateful the attention is diverted from her once more.
“You go too don’t you?” I ask, looking at Gus. His eyes sparkle, but he just nods. Not something he wants to talk about then.
It’s okay, at least we’re talking again, and things seem more normal every time. I still don’t know if he’s worked through things with McCrae, or if he ever will. But I do know I plan to be here for him every step of the way, regardless of what he chooses.
Our drinks all arrive, clinking on the table as the waitress sets each one down.
We then go around, placing our food orders, all the while, Dale’s hand draws circles on my upper thigh.
She seems happy and relaxed, but also nervous, and I wish there was something I could do to make it better for her.
“Faith?” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind me. Unfamiliar to me, but every other person at the table stiffens in recognition— not positive recognition either. Gus’s upper lip pulls back in a sneer, and I turn to look at the voice causing so much unrest with my friends.
A man, similar age to me if I had to guess, dressed in perfectly pressed jeans and a soft yellow short-sleeved button down, with sandy blonde hair that’s perfectly styled in swoops that look like they’re meant to look messy.
He’s clean shaven, with a jaw that would rival my own, and blue eyes that are nearly silver—eyes that seem frozen at the sight of Faith.
He’s a handsome man, in a pretty boy kind of way, and definitely not Stetson’s type. Why is Gus all but pissing on her? I catch Gus’s attention, raising an eyebrow in question, but he just rolls his eyes, returning his gaze to the man.
“Nathan, how are you?” Dale asks cheerfully, making an obvious attempt at ripping through the growing tension. The man, Nathan apparently, turns his gaze to Dale, and offers her a small, but tight smile.
“Dale, nice to see you. I’ve heard you had to take some time off of work, I hope you’re doing okay.” His eyes ping to Gus, and then back to Dale, and then finally at me, and the arm I have slung over the back of the booth. His eyes widen further, like he’s just now noticing me.
I’m a big dude. I’m pretty hard to miss.
But his eyes glue back on the side of Faith’s now rosy pink face, as if magnetized.
“Doing better, thanks for asking,” Dale says, still trying to distract him .
“Nathan, nice to meet you, I’m Mateo.” I reach out my free hand to him. If Dale’s trying to distract him, I might as well swing my dick in here.
The guy’s eyes don’t leave Faith, but his hand shoots out, shaking mine in a firm, but short shake. “Nice to meet you. Do you live around here?”
“Does he look like the kind of guy who would live around here, Nathan?” Gus hisses, and I raise an eyebrow at that. What the hell does that mean?
Nathan reluctantly looks back at me, and then at Dale. He might seem timid or standoffish, but he notices everything— calculating . Does the group realize that?
“I imagine if the right place became available, anyone would live anywhere, Gus.” Nathan bites out his name, and from the corner of my eye I watch everyone’s eyes widen—Gus’s included. So Nathan isn’t known as the guy to normally talk back. Interesting.
“I think you’re right. Take me for example,” Stetson states, her voice strained. Gus just huffs, relaxing back into the booth, and Nathan’s attention returns back to Faith.
Faith, who still hasn’t spoken or even acknowledged him. Like a deer in headlights. Nathan’s face hardens, as if he’s not even trying to hide the pain of the obvious rejection anymore. I actually feel bad for the guy.
Not to mention it’s not like Faith to be so blatantly rude. Something I know I’m not the only one to notice.
“Faith, please. Can we just talk?” Nathan begs, and the poor guy wobbles where he stands.
“Say what you need to say,” she finally squeaks, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words seem to hurt him more, his face screwing into a sour look.
“In front of…” He looks at the table.
“They’re my friends Nathan.”
He sucks in a ragged breath, his head sagging. After several very awkward, very tense moments, Nathan raises his head, running a hand through his hair repeatedly.
“I just want to be able to start over.”