“Ya know, out of everyone on the crew, Remi and I could probably help you the most,” he drawls, a smirk curling his lip as he waggles his brows. “We areexperiencedwith this type of thing.”
“He’s not wrong.” Remi smacks a hand to my chest. “We’re the boys for the job.”
My jaw tics. “If you don’t knock it the hell off, the only job you’re gettin’ for the next week is bathroom duty, Buchanan.” Slicing my gaze toward the rearview mirror, where Kian iswatching me with amusement dancing in his gaze, I add, “More drivin’, less yappin’, Watkins, unless you want bathroom duty too.”
Nausea churns in my gut at the mere thought of talking to either of them—or anybody, for that matter—about this. Even the acknowledgement that I’m on the app is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. Then thinking about them finding outwhoI’m talking to makes my heart palpitate. Am I enjoying talking to Hollis? Yeah, I am, but that’s none of their damn business. It would be different if I thought this was actually going anywhere, but it’s not.
All I’m really doing is fooling myself and wasting his time.
Thinking about Larry, I relate to him in so many ways. Being a creature of habit, liking my privacy… But also, the anxiety.
I’m intimately familiar with the soul-sucking leech that is anxiety. I’ve struggled with it my whole life, or at least for as long as I can remember. Growing up with an angry drunk of a father makes it impossible not to. The screaming. The fear of pissing Gregory Wesley off when he had too much to drink. The constant need to make myself as small as possible to avoid his wrath. His fists hurt, but the scars from his malicious words cut way deeper.
Trent reminds me a lot of my father.
It wasn’t always that way. For many years, he was the kindest, most gentle man I’d ever known. He knew what I went through growing up, knew my anxiety and what made it flare up. He knew how to calm my mind and my soul in a way even I couldn’t. Trent was a safe space for me… Until he wasn’t.
The anger didn’t come all at once. It was gradual… Subtle. Something I didn’t notice at first. As time went on, like with most abusive people, it escalated, but by that time, I was in too deep to notice. I cared more about chasing his love than my own self-worth. I did whatever I could to keep him happy. Every smile, every laugh, every kiss, and every single time he fucked me, it felt like a prize. Like I was worthy of his love and attention again.
Trent became a trigger for me.
My husband brought up old wounds caused by my father while carving new ones right beside them. I had married my father, a man I swore I’d never be like. A man I hate. That realization was a wake-up call. It broke the glass, the illusion I forced myself to see through.
Back at the station, I sit down at the desk in my office and open our message thread again.
KnockinBoots: What part freaks you out?
Staring at the screen, I chew on the inside of my cheek as my palms slick and my heart thunders.
FireInMyVeins: That’s a loaded question, and I’d imagine someone like you has better options on this app than a man who gets easily spooked. I wouldn’t at all blame you if you unmatched and went on to someone more fun and with less baggage. Sorry for wasting your time.
My thumb hovers over the screen for a long moment before finally sending the message.
There, it’s done.It’s for the best.
I’m too damn old, and far too damaged, for this dating shit anyway.
It’s for the best.
Eight
Hollis
“It’s baby makin’ time, fellas,” I drawl as Finn opens the trailer, revealing the five fifteen-hundred-pound beasts waiting for us inside. Springtime is here, and that means breeding season has arrived. Every year, like clockwork, around the beginning of April, we bring in a handful of quality bulls—those with great genetics and sturdy, masculine structures—and turn them out with the cows for a forty-five-day breeding period. This ensures we’ll have calves before the end of January, which is exactly how my father has always done it—and how his father and grandfather did it before him.
As cattle ranchers, breeding is one of the most important aspects of the job. Simply put, if we don’t have calves, then we don’t pay our bills. Period. There’s a lot riding on our cattle, and to make sure they have a healthy, successful breeding season, a lot goes into preparing for it. From separating the heifers from the mature cows and adjusting their diet because their nutritional needs are different, to performing wellnesschecks and making sure each and every one is properly vaccinated, then finally, monitoring the herd for signs of heat. It’s an extensive, yet imperative process.
After Finn and I get the bulls in the pasture with the cows, we head back toward the barn, needing to get started on the rest of our mile-long to-do list. We’re down a guy this week, and I can feel it. August went out of town with his boyfriend, Tripp. He’s a student at the college, and school’s out for spring break. Think they went to visit Tripp’s family, but I’m not sure. I kind of tuned him out when he was telling us about it.
It’s one of those days where I already know neither Finn nor I will take a single break. It’s Wednesday, and both of us want to finish everything before it’s quitting time. Every Wednesday, we gather at my dad’s house for dinner. It’s something we’ve done for years. Working on the ranch, we see each other all the time, but the weekly dinners are a chance for us to relax and catch up outside of work. Nine times out of ten, we end up talking about ranching anyway, but it’s still something nice to look forward to.
After grabbing the tools from the barn, we ride out to the north pasture. The fence needs fixing because something—a coyote, if I had to guess—damaged a corner of it over the weekend. We’ve put it off all week because we’ve had other, more important, shit on our plate, but it has to get done before we move the herd in here. During breeding season, we rotate them between pastures every week or so.
While Finn’s checking out the fence, I pull out my phone and click onHive. It’s been almost a week since my mystery man all but encouraged me to un-match with him and apologized for wasting my time. After reading the message, I considered doing just that, but for some strange reason that I don’t understand, I didn’t want to. Sure, the guy is skittish, andbecause of that, we might not ever meet in person, but even knowing that, I don’t feel like he wasted my time. It was my choice to chat with him, and there’s something about him I’m still drawn to. And besides, I promised to be his Modern-Day Dating Yoda. I may not be many things, but one thing I am is a man of my word, which means I have to see this through, even if he’s flighty.
Figuring the guy probably needed a little space, I didn’t reply right away. And honestly, how fucking insightful of me. I’m killing this Yoda thing already; he should feel pretty damn lucky. Impatience and boredom had me finally responding last night after I got home.
KnockinBoots: Based on the fact that you sent that message instead of just un-matching with me, I’d say the intrigued part of you outweighs the part that’s freaked out.
