Page 34 of Only With Me

She’s off work today, which means I have a shift at Rodeo Belle this morning. Yesterday was my first day back since getting poison ivy. The rash is ninety-five percent gone and there’s very little itchiness, just some scabbing. I could’ve probably taken another few days off work, but I was bored out of my mind. Ever since Black Friday, the stores have been packed with early Christmas shoppers, so I wanted to get back and help out.

After my shift, I’ll come home and change before driving out to the ranch to see Piper. I missed her too and am so relieved I’ll get to ride her this afternoon.

Checking my phone, my cheeks heat at seeing a new message fromhim.

Mystery Guy: Good morning. How did you sleep?

We still haven’t bothered asking each other our names. We talk in the group chat sometimes but mostly separately now about anything and everything—mostly small talk.

We dived a little bit into mental health. He asked what got me into horses after I mentioned I’ve only been riding for four years and that it was a form of therapy to help with my anxiety and depression. I didn’t get into where they stemmed from and he didn’t push me to explain further. But then he admitted it’s something he and one of his brothers also suffer with and understood the challenges it brought from day to day. His brother has been hospitalized for it and he worries about him every day.

Something I sadly relate to as well.

The more he talked about it, the more it validated my own experience because he understood that depression isn’t black and white, and it doesn’t look the same for everyone. Some days are good, but then some are bad and they can seemingly come out of nowhere.

Although I’d love to put a name to his messages and maybe even a face, I’m enjoying the simpleness of having a friend who doesn’t know anything about me outside of what I tell him.

Someone who doesn’t know about my past or what I’ve been through. Someone who won’t look at me with pity and see a weak, scared little girl who was traumatized years ago.

Every time I meet someone new and tell them my name, they already know who I am based on what they heard. It was big news in Sugarland Creek, and since Dad’s accident was the yearprior, our family name had been in the local and state newsa lot.

And even though the conversation turns flirty sometimes, it’s been harmless fun so far and I’m okay keeping it that way for now.

Harlow: Fine, until I had a nightmare. How about you?

Mystery Guy: Aww, sorry to hear that. I’ve had my fair share of nightmares, too. Luckily, I slept good until my alarm went off at 5:30. But I was sad we didn’t get to chat before I went to bed.

Yesterday was Thursday, which means it wasGrey’s Anatomynight with Natalie. Besides last night, we’ve texted every night for the past week. Usually until one of us falls asleep and then we start up again in the morning during his break. We don’t talk about anything specific, mostly random stuff. Nothing too personal but enough to keep the conversation flowing.

So far, I know he works on a ranch—which isn’t uncommon around here—and has a few brothers and a sister.

Harlow: Sorry :( I’m with a friend on Thursday nights and keep my phone on silent so there aren’t any interruptions.

The jumping dots appear on the screen and then disappear,twice, before he leaves me on read.

Well, damn. Now he probably thinks I meant a boyfriend.

“Harlow, breakfast is ready!” Mom calls from the kitchen.

I set my phone down on my nightstand and make my way to the table with Moose trailing behind me. Then I greet Dad with a kiss before I take my seat.

“Morning, Daddy.”

“Hi, sweetie. I heard you had a bad dream?”

I sigh, my shoulders drooping as I nod. “I’m fine.”

Smiling in his direction, I try to give him reassurance so he doesn’t worry, but he already knows what it was about.

Delilah slept in my room with me most nights before she moved out because I’d have them so frequently after the incident. But it’s been at least two years since my last one.

Halfway through breakfast, Dad’s fork clunks loudly against the plate as he groans in pain. He squeezes his eyes and his hands ball into fists.

“Deep breaths, Dad,” I softly remind him.

He tenses when another wave of pain shoots through his body.

Mom and I stop eating while we wait for his pain to decrease. Sometimes it’s subtle and tolerable, but other times, it can be extreme and come out of nowhere.