“I thought you’d be smarter than this, princess.” He says, his voice thick with amusement.
I don’t say anything, but my fingers tighten around the shovel. I can feel my chest tightening, the frustration bubbling up inside of me. I turn away quickly to dump another load of shit into the wheelbarrow, but it’s no use.
His eyes are still on me, like a weight I can’t escape.
“You’re really doing all this for a few minutes of reality TV?”
I try to ignore the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but it’s impossible.
“What’s it to you, huh?” I spit out. “What were you going to watch, national geographic like the fucking killjoy you are?”
The way he stands there, leaning casually, like I’m some joke, it’s fucking triggering.
He chuckles. “Just figured you’d be better at handling things, considering how well you handleotherthings.”
The dig hits harder than I want to admit, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. My head swivels toward the muck, my jaw tight, trying to focus on the task at hand. The smell is overwhelming, the feeling of it clinging to me is disgusting, but I push through it.
One scoop. Two scoops. Another.
His eyes never leave me, tracking my every movement.
“You’re lucky I’m not making you clean the entire barn,” he says, his tone low, laced with a teasing tone. “You think that show is worth this?”
“I don’t care what you think!” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “I’m doing this because it’s the only thing I cando! The only way to prove myself to my ass of a father!”
There’s a long pause, and then he steps closer, his boots thudding softly against the hay-riden floor.
I glance over my shoulder, and for the first time, I see something like an apology flicker in his eyes.
“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he mumbles.
I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat, but I don’t answer.
Carter doesn’t speak again, but I can feel his gaze burning into my back like a brand.
carter
. . .
Iwatch her as I lean against the barn door. Catalina is huffing and puffing as she finishes cleaning the stalls. Her movements are stiff, her back hunched from the strain, but she doesn’t stop.
Not once.
I can tell she’s exhausted.
I’ve been around long enough to see people break down under pressure, but Catalina? She doesn’t crack, not even when I commented on her stupid show; it didn’t faze her. She keeps pushing forward, like she’s trying to prove something.
But prove what? My curiosity wants to delve deeper into her mind, to get to know her better. I can’t deny that there is something about her that interests me.
When she finishes, she barely glances at me. She grabs her thin sweater and walks toward the shed without a word. I think she’s trying to hide it, but I see the way she moves, slow and careful, like every muscle is screaming at her.
I hate that I can’t do anything to make it easier for her.
It’s quiet in the barn for a while after she leaves, theonly sounds are the shifting of the horses and the creak of the wood in the breeze. My thoughts drift back to her father’s muffled voice, still ringing in my ears like an alarm. She tensed when he raised his voice at her and retreated into herself, fighting back the tears.
That shit made my blood boil.
I’ve seen it before, lived in her situation with my deadbeat father, but he didn’t last long until he left my mother behind, leaving her to raise three boys on her own.
