Page 32 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

It’s one of my core beliefs. One of my core values.

That this place and these things matter.

Because when I didn’t have a single person in my life I could depend on, I had this land.

That’s one reason I didn’t leave. It’s one reason that I wanted to buy a piece of this place when I could.

Because it was always something that felt like it could heal me.

Even when no one and nothing else could.

Stella seems to share that, even though right now, that’s a wordless assumption. But I can see it in the way she is with the horses. I can see it now in the awe on her face as I stop Jake in front of the pond. I look back at her, and she’s gazing all around. “This is beautiful,” she says.

“Thanks. I thought you would like it.”

“Your ranch is just amazing. Honestly, I’ve never been sure how I would feel living in a landlocked state. But this is just so beautiful. Not that I’m moving here. I just mean…” She shakes her head. “You know what I mean.”

But I worry that maybe I don’t know what she means.

Or that she actually did mean what she’s pretending she didn’t.

I decide to let it go by, though, because all I want right now is to share this with her.

Because I need it. I’m familiar with the need that I feel when we have sex, but the need that has gripped me lately, for more of her, more of the shared moments, that’s something I don’t fully understand.

But there’s a time limit on this, so it has to be okay.

Okay for me to have this, just for a while.

Since before her, I didn’t remember what it was like to enjoy anything.

The only thing I got any joy out of was being an antagonist, and now I’ve remembered that there’s more to me than that. More to being alive. I don’t want to let it go. Not right now. At least not right now.

“I used to come here when I was a kid.”

I dismount from Jake and reach up, lifting her down with me, even though I know she could scramble off a horse by herself much faster.

I like touching her. I like doing things for her.

She stands there while I work at getting the picnic basket and blanket out of my saddlebags.

And I don’t take her hand as I lead us down to the edge of the pond. Though I do think about it.

I spread the blanket out on the ground, and the prickly weeds keep it from lying totally flat. But we sit down anyway.

“To this exact spot?” She asks, looking around.

“Yeah. I used to sneak onto the property. I would wander through the woods and come out here. It just made me feel… Calm. Safe. Which I guess is ironic. But I never felt safe in my house. It always felt like I was waiting for something. For her to overdose and die, or for one of her boyfriends to have some kind of dangerous explosion. Kill all of us. Obviously, that never happened.” I look out across the pond.

“She’s still alive. Sometimes I think that’s a tragedy.

” I grit my teeth. “That’s a terrible thing to say.

I know it. It’s a terrible thing to think. But her life is just so… Bleak.”

The darkest, most complex part of me is bubbling up to the surface, and I’ve never said these words out loud to anybody.

Because people will think I’m a monster. I think I’m a monster.

I continue though, in spite of all that.

“It’s kind of shit that she doesn’t care about any of the consequences that she’s had.

The fact that I don’t speak to her. It doesn’t seem to matter.

That she lives in squalor doesn’t seem to matter to her.

She’s alienated everybody around her, and it doesn’t matter to her.

Because all she cares about is getting her fix.

And so sometimes… Not as much now, but I used to want her to have an overdose.

Not die, necessarily, because if somebody’s dead, then they can’t learn their lesson, but I used to want her to have something that almost took her out.

So that the thing she thinks matters most could betray her.

So she might hate it as much as I do. Because her just living like this?

Her just thinking that this is life, and it’s great as long as she has that meth, that’s the thing I find so difficult. ”

I look over at her, and I wait for her to judge me. Because I deserve judgment for that. It’s entirely unempathetic. The kind of callous response that probably makes people entrench even more deeply into addiction.

But it feels safe here. With nothing but the trees, the water, the sky, and Stella to witness it.

But I think it reveals things about me. How dark I am. How twisted I am by the things that I’ve been through.

“I can understand that,” she says softly.

“You can understand it?” I sound incredulous, because I am.

“Yes. It’s a really awful thing to have to go through, and it’s kind of a terrible thing to feel like there’s no justice for the kid that you were.

” She shakes her head. “I think we all want that, don’t we?

We want life to make sense. We want for life to feel like it’s…

Not fair, necessarily, but at some point, shouldn’t there be a lesson learned?

You’re right. It’s unsatisfying storytelling.

Which I think is the hardest thing about the actual world.

So often it’s just unsatisfying.” She doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Like you going through that childhood you had, falling in love, finding somebody, and then losing her. What’s the point of that? ”

I open up the picnic basket, because why not? It’s a weird moment to have some cheese, or maybe it makes perfect sense. “Yeah. I’ve thought the same thing more than once.”

“Well, it’s a valid thing to think. That should have been your happy ending.”

I lock my teeth together. “I’m not sure I believe in those. I have to say. Because everything in life is so much more complicated than that.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess so.”

But I know that it is. Because even when I had what looked like a happy ending, I’m not sure that I was actually living it. There was magic in it. But it wasn’t quite magic. Because I’m still me.

And I always was.

I am even now. All imperfect and fucked up in my thinking. But she doesn’t seem to care.

I’ll never know if Sadie would have cared. If she had accepted me or judged me. Because I never had the courage to say that to her.

And that feels like a betrayal of a totally different kind.

“You know, having thoughts like that doesn’t actually make you a villain,” she says.

I look at her, something inside me sharp and painful. “Then what does?”

“You’re just complicated. People are allowed to be, you know.

Maybe you never learned that because you had to spend your whole life taking care of yourself.

Maybe you didn’t learn it because you were so focused on your survival.

And anything that you got after that must’ve seemed like a gift.

If your own mom ignores you all the time, they must feel like there’s something wrong. Something broken.”

“Your parents didn’t give you any space to be complicated.”

She shakes her head. “No. But I am. No matter what they do or say, I am. I’m never going to fit into the mold that they set out for me, and believe me, if I could, I would.

Who doesn’t want to live an easier life?

I know I do. But I can’t seem to. Nothing about it feels easy. Nothing about it feels right.”

“Is it the dressage?”

She shakes her head. “No. Because I’m loving it right now.

But I’m trying to love it without expectation.

Without making the prize the only reason I’m doing it.

I think that’s the thing that doesn’t work for me.

Or at least, it’s one of them. I also think maybe I’m not meant to only do one thing.

I like learning new things. I like trying all the different things.

And I think the way that my family is, the way they’re singularly focused, it doesn’t allow me to be all the things that I am.

Which is complicated. But you know, you’re not all good or all bad just because you feel bad things sometimes. And I can certainly handle it.”

“Why?” I want to understand. Because there’s no reason this little rich girl from the background she’s from should be able to understand me better than I do.

I don’t understand where it comes from. Her empathy. Her interest in me.

“Because I wish even one person in my life could give me some space to be all the things that I am. To feel… Things that aren’t easy. But they couldn’t. And I’m not special. So I figure maybe you need that too.”

I wrap my hand around her head, and lean in to kiss her. My heart is pounding hard. And everything feels… More intense. Here in this place, where I used to hide out. This place that represented the dark and difficult things in my life, I feel the sun beginning to break through.

She’s beginning to get through to me, and it’s like some miracle I didn’t even know could occur. Like a miracle I didn’t realize I was waiting for.

Her mouth is sweet. Like everything around me right now.

And I’m caught up in her.

Not in the idea of who she might need me to be, but in the reality of who she is.

Such an interesting, sweet, insightful person, who is managing to teach me to think about myself in different ways, in spite of the fact that I’m older, and supposed to be wiser.

In spite of the fact that I am the one who was supposed to teach her.

She’s teaching me.

She’s such an interesting girl.

A special one.

I try to put that into the kiss. But I don’t really know how.

Because one thing I’ve never been all that good at is digging deep and sharing my actual feelings.

I got pretty good at showing Sadie what I thought she wanted to see.

And sometimes that would slip. Sometimes I couldn’t maintain that. That was when we would have problems.