FORTY

Dagne

My hand lingers over the phone as I set it down on the nightstand. The screen is lit, a message from Hooch sitting in the center. With a sigh, I give in to curiosity and swipe it open to read the whole thing.

You don’t want to talk, okay. But let me know you’re all right.

He tried ringing last night, several times, and each call I sent straight to voicemail—which incidentally isn’t set up so he can’t leave one. It’s petty and childish, burying my head in the sand and pretending the problem doesn’t exist. But talking with him would mean a messy exit, and if I’m going to do this and uphold the belief I’m doing the right thing, I need a clean break.

I ignore the message, putting the phone back to sleep, and pick up my bag off the floor. The ringtone sounds as I reach the end of the hallway, but I don’t turn back. He’ll find the phone beside his bed when he returns, and by then the reason why I didn’t answer will be crystal clear.

Beth sits curled in one of the armchairs near the parlor fireplace, a magazine in her hands as she idly flicks the pages. A smile crosses her bruised face as she catches me walk in, and she sets the gossip mag aside to stand and greet me with a hug.

I told her what I was doing when she caught me packing my things in the bathroom early this morning. She might not be pleased, but she understands … I think.

“You keep in touch, okay? Send me letters from my Aunt Celia, and then nobody will know it’s you.”

I laugh, squeezing her a little tighter. She’s grown on me in the time we’ve spent together. “I’ll do my best.” I pull back, holding her shoulders still. “But you have to promise to talk to Crackers for me, okay? Don’t make my mistake by keeping it all inside.”

“You know,” she says, dropping out of my hold to the edge of her seat. “It’s not too late for you to do the same.”

“I don’t think it’d have the same outcome,” I tell her truthfully.

Even if I laid my heart out on the line and gave Hooch and I a real go, I get the feeling he wouldn’t be all that fast at reciprocating. Our thing, whatever it would be, would always be one-sided. I know it.

“At least join me for breakfast before you go.” Beth reaches up, playfully poking me in my ribs. “Need to fatten you up before you’re slummin’ it again.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hooch isn’t due back until tomorrow, so what’s the harm?

The morning warms as Beth and I sit in the dining area, the sun shining most of the way across the floor by the time she stacks our empty bowls and glasses. I’ll miss these moments, but then they were never mine to begin with and the memories I’ve made while I’ve been at Fort Worth were always borrowed.

This isn’t my home. It can’t be when I’m still missing the one thing I need to make it complete: love.

I’m wanted. I’m appreciated. And I’d even go as far as to say I’m accepted now.

But I’m not loved, adored, and desired by the one person who brought me here for that.

And those are the things I can’t just pretend to have. I need it to be real.

“Have you tried callin’ your mom again?” Beth asks as we walk through to the kitchen.

I take the glasses from her, rinsing them first as she sets the bowls down on the counter. “No. I’m going to leave it for a while. Maybe head that way and try again when I’m settled.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

I confided in her and told her a little about my history. Just enough that she knows Mom and I are estranged, but not why.

“The more time that passes,” I admit, “the more I’m at peace with how it is.”

She passes the first bowl over, leaning her hip into the edge of the counter. “That’s kind of sad, Dagne.”

“I know.” I hesitate, feeling the ridges of the ceramic under my thumb. “All I can do is hope that one day it’ll change, right?”

“I guess.”

We tidy away the rest of our mess, chatting about pointless topics to fill the time. I know why she does it; to delay the inevitable, and I appreciate it, especially when reality sinks in as I stand at the front steps an hour later, giving her a weak smile.

“I’ll be okay.”

Beth crosses her arms, rubbing her sides as she sighs. “It’s not you I’m most worried about.”

“Hooch will be fine, too.” I have to believe he will, otherwise I’ll forever live with the guilt if I hear he does something rash because I left.

All indicators are that he’s better. He’s alert, interested in his work, and he commands the men around this place with confidence. The only problem he has … is me.

I can’t help but feel that if I uncomplicated things for him, he’ll find it easier to get back to the man he was before I knew him.

“If he retreats into his shell,” I tell Beth, “then promise me you’ll nag him until he talks to someone.” I look at her, tapping my fingertips against my bottom lip. “His biggest problem is that he won’t ask for help because it looks weak.”

She nods, reaching out to run a hand over my upper arm. “Take care, okay?”

I smile and turn away before I can change my mind. Hooch will be fine. Beth will be fine. Nobody actually needs me—nobody ever has. All I’ve ever been is a catalyst to their change. Still, as I walk down the long drive and see all the work I put in to tidy up the place, something stirs in my gut. I close my eyes, blindly walking over the messed up dirt for a few steps while I gather myself.

I’m not leaving anything behind that was promised to me. I came, I stayed, I learnt a few hard truths, and now I’m leaving to try my luck again. I’m young, so many opportunities ahead of me, so why does it hurt to leave something I’ve only known for a short while behind?

I turn and look back the way I’ve come, at the majestic house as it peeks out from between the trees, at the grey clouds rolling across the sky. The place is picture perfect, yet it’s what’s inside that I appreciate the most.

Belonging. A sense of community. People who, no matter how things get twisted upside down, stick together.

If only it was my path to take. This is Hooch’s world, not mine. I have to remember that.

Hanging my head, I turn back to the gates and restart my walk to town while giving myself a pep talk about strength, independence, and trust. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realize there’s anyone coming toward me until the earth shakes beneath my feet.

The bike slows and stops before me, the one man I didn’t want to see during my hasty exit staring back at me with clear confusion written across his disturbingly handsome features.

“Didn’t think you’d be leavin’.” Digits drops both feet to the ground, balancing his bike as he regards me with his arms folded. “Where you headed?”

“Nowhere you’ll be.”

He clicks his tongue, grimacing. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He chuckles, quiet at first, the sound building as he shakes his head.

I mentally map out my best exit strategy while he’s preoccupied with his own madness.

“Hop on, Dagne. I’ll give you a lift.”

Any other day, and I might have trusted a man with such boyish charms. But behind those stormy eyes lies destruction and desolation. I shake my head, sidestepping to carry on toward the gate.

He looks down at my feet as I pass, pulling an unimpressed expression. “Not really walking shoes, are they?”

My boots have done the job until now. My feet will harden up again. “So?”

“Just get on,” he demands.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid,” I scoff.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Well,” I say, raising both eyebrows. “I’m afraid you’ll be bitterly disappointed then.” I set off at a quick step, hugging the side of the driveway where it’s more difficult for him to ride the bike at a slow pace over the rough edges.

I don’t need to turn around to figure out the click and crunch is the sound of him kicking the stand out and getting off. I don’t even need to hold my breath to hear his as he charges after me.

Clutching my bag to my chest so it doesn’t bang against me, I break into a run, sprinting for the gates. What shelter they’ll provide? I don’t know. But something about aiming for that target makes the struggle worthwhile. If I can just make it—

My legs folds awkwardly beneath me as I tumble to the dirt, my teeth clenched in anticipation for the break. By some miracle, Digits’ weight misses me as he crashes down after me, my ankle rolling painfully, but not too far as to snap a bone.

I grimace and push to my knees, grappling for purchase in the dirt as I try to launch for the gate like a sprinter at the blocks. A cry breaks free, Digits’ hand wrapped around my injured ankle as he tugs me down again.

I stare up at the asshole and frown to save from crying in frustration. “What do you want from me?”

“Leverage.” He stoops down and scoops me off the ground, tossing me awkwardly into a fireman’s hold.

I bounce on his shoulder as he turns for the bike. Not ready to quit this fight, I hurl my bodyweight into my side and manage to slide out of his grasp, crashing to the dirt painfully on my ribs and hip. He turns to retrieve me, but this time I’m ready and I shunt the heel of my boot as hard as I can into the back of his knee.

He wobbles, yet regains his balance before he falls.

It’s not enough time.

I scramble backward and scream, out of options other than hoping by some miracle I’ll be heard back at the house. A flock of small birds sets flight in the trees nearby, my scream breaking to a hoarse cry as my throat pains with the effort.

Only problem with screaming that hard? It requires your eyes to be shut.

Which is why I never see his fist coming.