Nineteen
I wake with a start, as it sounds like an elephant is tiptoeing through my living room. Reaching for the lamp on the side table, the darkness is replaced with light, highlighting a very drunken Saxon attempting to be quiet. He’s frozen to the spot, his arms and legs mid-stride. If it wasn’t two in the morning, and if two days hadn’t passed since I saw him last, then I might be able to see the humor in it. But now, I’m just mad.
“Where have you been?” I whisper heatedly, not wanting to wake Sam.
“I told you not to wait up,” he slurs, pointing to a spot on the wall behind me where he most likely thinks I am.
“That was two days ago!”
“Oh.” He chuckles, slapping his leg.
“Saxon, this isn’t funny.” I jump up, irritated that he’s taking this so lightly.
Two days ago, Saxon walked out the door with Sophia and never came back. I tried calling his cell, her cell, Greg and Kellie’s cell, I even called the hospitals, almost certain he was lying in the ER. But no one knew where he was. Sophia offered to help look as she hasn’t seen him since their “date,” but I politely declined.
Sam had his weekly session and just like always, Sophia gave me a rundown on how things were going. But this time, instead of listening to a word she had to say, all I wanted to know was how her date with Saxon went.
One snippet of information which happened to make it past the Saxon barriers was that Sam was ready to give it his all. Sophia said his standoffish behavior was all part of the grieving process because in a way, the person he knew was dead. Once he worked through the five stages of grief, he was ready to move forward and accept his situation—it makes sense. It appears Sophia is smart and beautiful—doesn’t seem fair.
But now that Samuel was ready to accept and move forward, I was the one stuck in the past—a past where Saxon and I were still friends. I can’t stop thinking about him and what transpired between us when he had his hands all over me. I can still feel his touch—I crave it. And I hate myself for it.
But looking at him, I know I’ll never feel his hands on me again. He made it clear that what we had, whatever that was, is now over. His comment, however, still eats away at me. He said he wasn’t interested in watching Sam and I play happy family because he’s seen it all before. What does that mean? Was he jealous of our relationship? And if so, why?
I have more questions than answers, but with the state Saxon is in, I know I won’t be getting any clarification any time soon.
“You look awful.” I sigh, his shabby appearance hinting that he’s been doing it rough.
“So do you,” he replies, swaying. “Have you been crying?” His concern has me hopeful that maybe he’s come around. Maybe he’s needed some time away to clear his head.
I know the time apart has made things clearer for me. There is no denying that I have feelings for both brothers. And it kills me to confess that I don’t know who I feel stronger for. I do love Sam, but I don’t love this Sam as much as I did. And Saxon…I don’t know what I feel for Saxon. It’s an indescribable feeling that I’ve never felt before.
“I’m fine,” I reply, heavily. “Let me help you to your room.” I wrap my arm around his waist, ignoring the way my body responds to being within five feet of him. I’m thankful when he doesn’t push me away and sags against me.
We begin a slow, unsteady journey through the living room where Saxon manages to bump into every piece of furniture I own. He’s absolutely wasted, and if I didn’t know better, I’d dare say he’s been on a bender for two days. He certainly smells and looks like he has been.
As we turn the corner and stagger down the hall, he bends low and takes a big whiff of my hair. I’ve showered, even remembered deodorant, so I wonder what he’s smelling. “You smell like butterscotch,” he mumbles, sniffing the top of my head.
“It’s my new shampoo,” I explain, securing my hold around him so he doesn’t fall.
“I like it. It smells nice. Makes you even more edible.” Now I’m the one in fear of falling, as his comment catches me off guard. “You always smell nice, though. And I like your hair. It reminds me of roses and sunshine.”
“Roses?” I know this is merely drunken talk, but they do say one reveals all their secrets while under the influence.
“Yes, you’ve never seen or smelled an ugly rose. They’re classic, timeless, and beautiful—just like you.”
I don’t know what to say.
As we pass my bedroom, I hear his jaw clench. “But you’re not my rose.”
All talk ceases as we stumble to his bedroom, unscathed. I steer him to his bed, where he flops onto it, face first. With unsteady fingers, I slip off his dirty boots. There is no way I’m going to be able to move him, so I find a blanket in the closet and drape it over him.
A contented sigh fills the room as he rolls over, snuggling into the pillow. I take a moment to look at him and appreciate all that he’s done for me. I can only hope when dawn breaks, he too gives me the chance at a new day.
Taking one last look at his peaceful form, I tread softly towards the doorway. However, I stop dead in my tracks when he mumbles something under his breath. These words are my dawn.
“You may not be my rose, but you’ll always be my sunshine.”
* * * * *
After Sam’s failed attempt at getting me naked, he’s decided to walk Thunder and probably blow off some steam. The thought of him touching me makes me physically ill. I know it’s all psychological, but I need to sort out my head before I even think about going down that road with him again.
It’s nine a.m., and I’m not so patiently waiting for Saxon to arise. I know he’ll be incredibly hung over, but he doesn’t have to do the talking. All I ask is that he listens to what I have to say. I don’t have a speech planned, but I want to tell him what I should have told him nights ago. That I feel something for him that has no labels, and I’m pretty certain he feels the same way about me.
Needing someone’s advice, I quickly dial my mom.
Before she even has a chance to say hello, I blurt out, “Mom, I think I’ve fallen in love with…Saxon.”
“I know, honey.”
“You…what? How?” My mouth hangs open. Am I that obvious?
She sighs. “Lucy, baby, I think it would be unnatural if you didn’t feel something for him. He’s been your savior, your rock.”
“What am I supposed to do about it, though? He’s Samuel’s brother. It’s wrong.”
“No, it’s not. The only thing that’s wrong is you lying to yourself. Be honest. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with Saxon. You both deserve that.”
She’s right. “What if he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say?” I’m frightened he’ll throw it back in my face, punish me for finally revealing my feelings.
“Honey, listen to your heart. Tell him.”
Sniffing, I wipe my eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I hope you’re not disappointed in me.”
I can feel her gentle touch through the phone. “You could never disappoint me. You’re my miracle. You’re everyone’s miracle. Don’t forget that.”
Heavy footsteps thumping down the hallway have me quickly saying goodbye. I nervously sip my coffee as I stand behind the kitchen counter, using it as a shield. I don’t know what mood Saxon will be in, and I don’t fail to see the irony of that. Sam’s asshole role has now been filled by Saxon. When he stomps into the kitchen, I know he hasn’t had a hard time filling his shoes.
He doesn’t bother acknowledging me as he heads straight for the pot of coffee. He pours himself a cup before walking past me, and out the room, just as quickly as he entered.
Hell no.
“Saxon!” I cry out, chasing after him. When he doesn’t slow down, I sprint ahead of him and turn, placing a hand against his chest to stop him from taking another step. “What was that?”
“What was what?” he asks, blankly.
“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Lucy, if there is a point to this story, please get to it, otherwise, I’m going back to bed.” His vacant stare hurts more than his words.
“I thought we could talk. You’ve been gone for two days.”
“I’m sure Sam was more than happy to keep you company,” he barks, challenging me to dispute his claims.
“This isn’t about Sam, it’s about…”
He sniggers, shaking his head incredulously. “This is about Sam. It’s always been about Sam.”
When he attempts to push past me, I stand my ground. Listening to my mom’s advice, I plead, “Talk to me, please. What does that mean?” I grip his t-shirt in a desperate fist, begging him to stop with the attitude and talk to me like an adult.
He slaps my hand away. “I’m done talking.”
I refuse to cry as I confess, “Saxon, I don’t want to lose you.”
I’m openly begging he at least listen to what I have to say. But I may as well be talking to a brick wall. “You can’t lose what you’ve never had.”
“Why are you being so cruel?” I whisper, my lower lip trembling.
He shrugs, the detachment complementing his words. “It seemed to work for Sam.” I turn my cheek, his contempt an invisible slap.
He doesn’t console me, or even look back as he walks to his room.
* * * * *
I’m working alongside Sam, but it’s not by choice.
After Saxon’s brush off, I decided to occupy my time with something other than him. Before Sam’s accident, we would spend hours outdoors, tending to life on the ranch. It was cathartic as well as rewarding, and I could do with both right now.
Sam is prepping, oiling, and checking the haying equipment to ensure it’s in good working order. Our first cut of hay will happen in the next couple of weeks, so he wants to be prepared. I’m checking over what seeding we have, as I want to begin leveling the ground.
We work in silence, but every so often, Sam looks over and smiles. I know he wants to make conversation, but after this morning, I think he’s nervous to initiate first contact. Weeks ago, I would have given anything for him to do so, but now, I just wish he would go away.
“So, I was thinking…” I gulp because this is how this morning’s conversation commenced. “Did you want to grab dinner tonight?”
A better proposition than sex, but still not inviting at all. “Dinner?” I vaguely say, continuing to look over my supplies so I can avoid eye contact. “I’m not really hungry.”
“It’s 1:30 in the afternoon,” he replies, not concealing his hurt.
“I had a big breakfast,” I counter.
“Lucy, please look at me.” His pained tone has me sighing and meeting his grief-stricken eyes. “I really am sorry for the way I acted, but I’m trying now. It feels like you’re not even meeting me halfway.”
He’s right, I’m not, but just like he did, I need time to grieve. I had no other choice but to be the strong one, but now, it’s my turn to be a little selfish. “You’re right, Sam. But you have to understand, you really hurt my feelings. It’s going to take some time for me to forget what you said and did. How do I know this change will last? You’re like two people at times, and I don’t know which one I’ll wake up to.”
It feels good to express my fears because it’s the first time he’s really wanted to talk.
“I understand that, but how many times do I have to say sorry before you cut me some slack?”
“For as long as it takes,” I quickly reply. “You owe me that. I was patient with you…it’s now your turn to do the same.”
He nods unhappily, but doesn’t argue.
The rest of the afternoon we work in silence, both wishing we were anywhere but here.
* * * * *
True to my word, I didn’t go to dinner with Sam. I did go to dinner with myself, however. I couldn’t stand to see him moping because although I don’t know how I feel about him, I hate seeing him sad.
I could have called Piper, but I’ve been avoiding her because I can’t stomach to hear about her sexcapades with Saxon. The only person I want to be around is me, as I need to do some serious soul searching, and I can’t do that at home.
I’m being pulled in so many different directions—I don’t know which way is the right way to go. I really want to talk to Saxon, to get it all out on the table and then see how I feel. But how do you talk to someone who doesn’t want to listen to what you’ve got to say?
One thing I’ve decided is that I’m no longer eating meat. I used to be a happy, healthy vegetarian, and I intend to be one once again. Too bad I decided this the moment I walked into Anna’s BBQ. This place brings back fond memories of when Saxon and I ate here after our kiss. Regardless of what happened, we were still able to break bread and be civil towards one another. Now, I doubt he can stand being in the same room as me.
As I’m pensively picking through my salad, a familiar, magical laugh catches my ear. Turning to my right, I choke on my half chewed tomato when I see Saxon and Sophia sitting two tables away from me. Their hands are entwined on top of the red and white checkered tablecloth as they look longingly into each other’s eyes.
I thump my chest, wheezing for breath quietly, as I don’t want to draw any attention my way. Finally, I swallow past the lump in my throat and huddle low in the booth, turning my back so they can’t see me. I need an escape route and I need one now.
Looking ahead, I see a middle aged, robust woman with rosy cheeks, flipping burgers in the kitchen, smiling broadly and looking at home. I’m assuming this is Anna. Most days, I would appreciate what she’s done to the place as she’s definitely brought Texas to Montana. But today, all I can appreciate is the exit.
Behind me are the bathrooms, so that means the only way I’m getting out of here is walking past Sophia and Saxon. From the brief look I got, it appeared they’d only just arrived, as there was no food on the table. The tablecloth looked way too clean, as Saxon would have caked it with remnants of his ribs if they’d already eaten.
A small stage is set up next to the bar and when I hear a twang of a banjo, and see the lights dim, my heart leaps, as this is the distraction I need. “Don’t be shy, folks,” a man with a long southern drawl says over the microphone before he begins playing a Hank Williams song.
Peeking over my shoulder, I see cheerful diners taking to dancing by their tables. I scan over to Sophia and Saxon. He’s smiling at something she just said. I suppose I should be happy that he’s smiling. I can’t help but wish I put the smile there instead of her.
Turning back around, I psych myself up, certain that I can blend in with the crowd. If worse comes to worst, I’ll just dance my way out the door. Counting to three, I take a deep breath and leap out of the booth and…into a wall of muscle.
Dang it.
Saxon steadies my arms, a gut reaction to someone barreling into him. But when I raise my eyes and curse whatever gods are looking over me, he drops his hands. “Lucy?”
“Hi.”
The music is quite loud and the lighting a blue tint, but I can see and hear him perfectly. Nothing else exists but us. “What are you doing here?”
“Eating,” I reply, grimacing. “I was just leaving.”
“Where’s Sam?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, looking behind me.
“At home.”
“You’re here by yourself?” He doesn’t seem to believe me.
“Yes, Saxon, I am.” I want to talk to him, to blurt out how I feel. But I’m not doing it with his date a few feet away. “Enjoy your date.”
He appears guilty for a fraction of a second, before the smug, offensive Saxon emerges. “I will. I don’t plan on coming home, so don’t bother leaving the porch light on.”
My heart dislodges and sinks downward in a spiral of despair. I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I bite my tongue and decide to be honest. “I liked being your friend.”
Not the reply he was expecting. And his response is not what I expected either. Stepping forward, he blankets me with his rage as I walk backwards, trapped between the booth and him. “We were never friends. Stop kidding yourself.”
An acknowledgement, a cruel one, but an acknowledgment nonetheless. This is the first time he’s said aloud what I’ve been feeling all along. He sees the hope in my eyes, but crushes it a second later. “Go back to your lies, Lucy, and I’ll go back to mine.”
He turns his back, leaving me slumped against the wooden booth. I watch in horror as he reaches his table and swoops forward, kissing Sophia on her perfect mouth. She jolts back, stunned by his aggression, but doesn’t question it as she matches his passion a second later.
I’m going to be sick.
Running through the crowded room, I push past happy patrons, wishing I could dance my troubles away. The crisp breeze is exactly what I need, and my need to vomit subsides—for now, anyway. Leaning against the brick wall, I’m half hoping Saxon will come to my rescue, apologizing for being a gigantic asshole and that he wants to talk. He does neither.
A concerned passerby asks if I’m okay, the worry in her warm eyes is enough to set me off. I sprint to my car, tears leaking from my eyes. I feel helpless, useless, and so alone. I don’t know where to go. I can’t go home because home isn’t where my heart is anymore. I left my heart in Texas.
Starting the Jeep, I tear down the road, wiping the avalanche of tears with the back of my hand. I sob harder than I’ve ever sobbed before. I sob for me, for Sam, for Saxon—I sob for the Lucy Tucker who no longer knows who she is.
I drive on auto pilot to the only place I can call home.
I kill the engine, but don’t bother to turn off the headlights or close the door as I run across the green, manicured lawns. The white home set amongst the hills is my palace, my happily ever after.
“Lucy?” my mother says, the door opening wide. “What—”
The wind gets knocked from her lungs as I throw myself into her outstretched arms.
She comforts me for several minutes while I stay nestled in her embrace, weeping. I can’t stop. I know how irrational I’m being, but I’m crying months’ worth of tears.
When I hear my parents’ hushed, concerned voices, it reminds me so much of when they delivered the news about Samuel. The day this all started. Choking back my heaving breaths, I will myself to calm down.
“Honey? What’s the matter?” I don’t know what it is about a mother’s soothing voice, a tender touch that provides her child a medicine that cures all wounds.
I don’t feel better, but I feel human. “Mom, I made a big mistake,” I mumble into her shoulder, afraid to look at her. I’m ashamed.
“Simon, can you make us some hot cocoa? Lucy and I are going up to her room.”
My room.
And just like that, I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.
We amble up the stairs to my bedroom, a place which was my sanctuary, my safe place—a place I need to be right now. We sit on the bed, my mother giving me all the time and space I need.
Looking around, I realize I haven’t been here in months. I haven’t felt the need to, because my home, Whispering Willows, was my safe place. But now, it’s just a vacant house filled with regret.
My pastel pink room hasn’t changed a bit. My iron cast queen bed still has the same pink butterfly print duvet, the one I chose when I turned thirteen. Stuck to the walls are posters of horses, and places I so desperately wanted to visit—India, China, Australia. So many dreams, but none of them lived.
A small desk sits against the wall. Travel brochures, poetry books and my copy of The Catcher in the Rye are strewed on top of it. I remember sitting at the wooden desk, dreaming about my encounter with Samuel the night it happened. Everything seemed so simple back then. But now, nothing makes any sense.
“Did you talk to Saxon?” my mom asks gently.
Sniffing back my tears, I nod. “But it’s too late,” I confess. “I’ve lost him, and I feel like I’m dying inside.”
She reads my shame instantly and her face falls. “Oh, Lucy.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I cry, “it just did. It’s not an excuse and I’m disgusted at myself.” I cover my face with my hands, unable to look at her and see the disappointment.
After a poignant silence, she speaks. “Your father and I fell in love with you the first moment we saw you. I may not have given birth to you, but you are my child. I know you. We have watched you grow into a beautiful, caring, considerate young woman and your heart, Lucy, it’s so big. It’s always been too big. So it doesn’t surprise me that you find yourself in this predicament. In love with two people.”
The moment she says the words I’ve been dreading to accept, I uncover my eyes. I’m afraid I’ll see disappointment in hers, but I don’t. All I see are the same kind, gentle eyes that rescued me when I needed saving. Just like I do now.
“What do I do?” I ask, desperate for the answers.
Leaning forward, she brushes the hair from my face. “Follow your heart, honey.”
“My heart is torn, Mom. Right down the middle. I love Sam, I always will. But I don’t know who I am anymore.” I fall into her arms, sobbing.
She rubs my back, reassuring me that everything will be all right. “Love doesn’t make sense. Love happens when you least expect it. It’s inconvenient, messy, and reckless, but that’s the beauty of it. It isn’t a decision; it’s a promise—a promise to chase inconvenient, messy, and reckless love with someone who embraces the chaos with you.”
I continue crying, her wisdom cementing what I’ve known to be true. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Honey, you can stay for as long as you like.” Settling into her arms, I close my eyes and allow sleep to overcome me. I can only hope when I wake, the chaos subsides and I can see through the confusion.