Page 106 of Stay With Me

“You gave her a good life,” I tell him when he stays silent. “She woulda died much sooner if it wasn’t for you.”

“I should’ve kept a closer eye on her,” he mutters. “Then I’d have seen the signs before she got worse.”

“You couldn’t have known, Landen. A genetic heart condition isn’t easy to diagnose. The signs weren’t obvious enough to know we needed to do those types of tests.”

“It’s fuckin’ bullshit.” He raises his arms over his head and then slams the axe through another block. “She coulda had so many healthy years left in her had she been on meds for it.”

There’s nothing more I can say to change the outcome or how he feels about it. We didn’t know Sydney was sick before we approved her for the surgery. There was no way to know it’d be too hard on her heart and she’d go into a cardiac shock. When there was no improvement after forty-eight hours, Dr. Weston said it was only a matter of time before her heart would stop completely. Instead of letting her suffer, Landen demanded he give her the meds to let her go peacefully.

My parents and siblings stood around Sydney’s stall as Landen sat next to her. She lifted her head just enough to look at him before Dr. Weston injected her with the sedation and then seconds later, the euthanasia drug mixture.

After she was confirmed gone, there wasn’t a dry eye in the barn. Magnolia kneeled behind Landen and rubbed his back as silent tears fell down his cheeks. And later when we were alone, I pulled her into my arms while she let out her own.

A loud engine roaring breaks me out of my memories. Two loud, rowdy voices echo in the distance, and soon, Wilder and Waylon are charging through the woods to us.

“Y’all havin’ a woods party without us?” Wilder scoffs, carrying a twenty-four pack of beer. “Now the real fun can begin.”

Waylon grabs a can and sits next to me on one of the trunks. “He doin’ okay?” He nods toward Landen, who’s still chopping away.

“Whaddya think, asshole?” I shake my head. “And no party. We’re just...hangin’ out.”

“Sounds fuckin’ boring.” Wilder cracks open his beer and sits next to Waylon. “Where’s the music? The chicks?”

“Probably at the bar,” I murmur.

We sit in silence as we watch Landen. None of us know what to say or do to make him feel better, so instead of forcing him to talk, we continue drinking, and I keep a close eye on him. Even if he doesn’t want our company, he’s getting it anyway.

“So what’s up with you and Magnolia?” Wilder blurts out to no one in particular, and I can’t grasp if he’s asking me or Landen.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” I finally ask when Landen continues his silent treatment.

“Wonderin’ if he still has a crush on her or if she’s open season.” When he waggles his brows, I crush the empty beer can in my palm and fight the temptation to throw it at his face.

“Fuck off. She’s not a piece of meat,” I say instead.

“Told ya.” Waylon smirks back at Wilder as if they’re in on some twin secret.

“Told him what?” I ask.

“You’re the one who wants her, not Landen. And that reaction proves I’m right.” Waylon points at Wilder. “Cough up my money.”

“Y’all made a bet?”

“Wilder was so sure that she and Landen were foolin’ around, but I bet fifty bucks that it was you she was after,” Waylon explains.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Wilder argues. “Tripp’s always defended her. So until I see it with my own eyes, I’m not payin’ you shit.”

“Dude! You’re such a cheap ass.” Waylon shakes his head, sucking down the rest of his beer.

I neither confirm nor deny helping Waylon win his money. It serves them right for always getting in my business and being nosy fuckers.

“I’m not datin’ Magnolia,” Landen speaks minutes later. He finally drops the axe and shakes out his arm. “But I know who is. Does that mean I get money from both of ya?”

I glare at him, but he’s not looking at me. Is he honestly going to throw me under the bus for a hundred bucks?

“You’re bluffin’,” Waylon says. “You don’t know.”

“She’s one of my best friends. Why wouldn’t I?” Landen counters, opening a new beer.