Page 31

Chapter thirty-one

Out of the frying pan

Mason

“Sophia! Open the door so I can talk to you!” My temper is flaring at her obstinance.

The sound of gravel spitting across my front porch doesn’t help.

Lori’s gone.

Fuck.

I was on the edge of telling her what she meant to me, when Sophia stumbled on us.

“Sophia!” My fist pounds against the wood.

Panic laces every breath.

How bad is this? Is Lori gone forever? Will my daughter hate me?

“Leave me alone!” The pitch of Sophia’s voice reveals her hurt.

I haven’t heard it since her high school friend snubbed her to take the boy she had a crush on in her Junior year.

It’s the cry of betrayal.

I’m between a rock and a hard spot.

“Dad? Is everything okay?” Sawyer stands at the end of the hall, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Dropping my head onto my forearm against Sophia’s door, the hopelessness of the situation suffocates me. “No.”

“Can I do anything?” He crosses his arms, tucking his hands deep beneath them.

I bite back the urge to snap at him.

This isn’t his fault. Hell, he doesn’t even know what’s going on.

“Is this about you and Lori?” he asks quietly.

He has got to be kidding me.

My palm runs over my face. All I can do is give him an affirmative grunt as I stride past him to fetch my phone from the laundry room.

I know Lori won’t have cell service until she gets closer to the city, but maybe she’ll try calling or texting.

Hopefully.

“Sophia will come around,” Sawyer calls after me.

“Try to talk some sense into her for me?” No messages.

Goddamn empty feeling in my chest.

Sawyer knocks his worn ball cap back onto his head and scratches above his brow, pushing his shaggy dark strands aside. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

“You and me both, son.”

The late morning August sun is already scorching me.

I don’t give a shit. Probably deserve it.

Would things have been better if I had told Sophia? Or would this storm still have happened regardless of when?

My teeth grit as I slide behind the wheel of my pickup.

I’m tempted to follow Lori all the way to Missoula.

Anger and frustration wage war within me.

I need an outlet. Digging out my phone, I pull up Ford’s contact.

“Mason?” There’s voices and music playing in the background.

“Ford? Got time to see Sean? I’m in the mood to be confrontational.” I’ve been putting off this visit for too long.

Sophia needs time to mellow.

Lori is hours from talking.

But Sean? I can finally get some answers to the questions I’ve dreaded asking.

“Yea, I’m at Hilltop Bar. Let me finish my drinks. Might need to pick me up.”

Fuck.

Sean might not live through the night if I bring a drunk Ford to see him.

My knuckles pop squeezing the gear shifter. I know how he is when he goes out.

It’s the same ritual every time. Eight shots in a row, each representing a specter from his past.

I haven’t gone with him for a long time, because he always tries to pick a fight afterwards.

He’s lucky that Val likes him enough to let him. She knows why he does it, and is pretty good about shooing everyone away when he shows up.

We all have our demons.

Taking the corner into the parking lot faster than I should, my truck rocks when I slam on the brakes near the entrance.

Brushing past the weathered log wall, a small corroded bronze bell makes a tinny ring when I push inside.

Ford has his back to me and is sitting on the lonely end of the rough hewn slab that serves as the bartop. His white t-shirt is thin enough I can see the shadows of his tattoos through it in the low light.

I know how he can be on days like this, so I slide onto the stool leaving an empty one between us. He has five upside down shot glasses in front of him.

Guess we ain’t leaving yet.

Old man Friar is behind the counter tonight, so I hold up a finger and gesture to the closest beer on tap. Haven’t seen him in a while, his limp is getting worse.

I guess I have been preoccupied this summer. I’ve barely wanted to leave the ranch.

It’s barely past noon, but I’m not sure I want to go home tonight.

Sleeping in bed alone doesn’t sound appealing.

The chill of my drink leaves beads of condensation on the smooth wood.

Damn, it tastes good.

But, it doesn’t wash down the sour ache that sits in my chest.

“What are you moping about?” Ford glances over before tossing his head back with another swallow of whiskey.

“Lori left.” It hurts to say.

He shrugs before setting the glass upside down.

Like a line of fallen soldiers.

“She’ll be back after school,” he grumbles. “You’re just upset you have to jack off now.” He rolls his eyes at me and picks up his next shot of poison.

“Sophia found out.”

That stops him. His dark brows rise and he sets his gray gaze on me. “And?”

All I can do is shake my head and take a deep draw off of my own drink.

“Huh.” His grunt encapsulates it all. “What are you gonna do?”

“That’s the million dollar question.” Tracing my finger through the drops of water, I lead them into a crevice in the wood countertop. “Sophia hates me, and I have no idea what is going through Lori’s head because she left as soon as it happened.”

He swivels after tossing his next shot into his whiskered mouth. “Give ‘em all time. I’m ready to go talk to Sean.”

I point at his last glass of amber liquid. “Gotta finish first?”

His ringed fingers dig through his loose hair and it falls back over his eyes. “Nah. I need to make peace with the ones that are gone. Next time maybe I’ll just stick to the five left.”

“Wait, is this you healing ?” I clap him on the shoulder as we head to my truck.

He drops the passenger seat nearly flat and covers his eyes with his elbow. “Just because you’re back in the land of single men, doesn’t mean you can start right off being an asshole.”

I’m not sure which part of his sentence hits harder.

“I’d rather be an asshole than single,” I grumble, then toss the truck in reverse.

We drive in silence almost halfway back to the ranch before I pull off into the small trailer court that still clings to life after the nearby mine shut down.

Going slowly through the heavy potholes, I pull into the overgrown space in front of Sean’s single wide.

Rust marks the corners and garbage litters his tiny yard.

Not a surprise, Sean’s been in the bottle for decades.

Stepping past his ancient Ford Ranger, I shake my head when I see the nearly flat bald tire on the passenger side.

Bet it hasn’t moved in weeks. I wonder what he’s been pawning to pay the bills. He’s never been the type to try and save up money.

Ford beats me up the rickety wooden pallets acting as stairs and beats on the thin door. “Sean! Climb out of your rotten bed, we’re coming in!” He doesn’t wait, but turns the worn knob.

It only opens a few inches before debris stops him.

Ford drops his head and shoves harder, forcing the flimsy metal far enough we can fit through.

“Jesus Christ, it fucking stinks.” Covering his nose with the back of his hand, he steps back far enough to take a deep breath.

A wave of fetid air drifts out to me.

Dammit. I know that smell.

It’s the same eye-watering tinge that hovered in the canyon last summer when I found an abandoned calf, its mother looked like she slipped off the edge and broke her neck. By the time I stumbled on her, she was bloated from the heat.

This is worse. Condensed foulness spills from the hot trailer.

Tugging my handkerchief from my pocket, I wad it over my face so I can peer inside the dark living room.

“Shit.” I can see Sean.

Or, what’s left of him propped in his chair. He looks like he’s half-melted.

Ford jumps off the makeshift porch and stumbles to the parked truck before leaning against the front end and losing his alcohol into the dried brown grass.

My stomach rolls, but I manage to hold down my beer.

I haven’t had breakfast. That part of the morning was lost in turmoil.

“Ought to call Rowland,” Ford coughs out between retching.

Today could have been better.