Devon turns enough for me to see his lips moving, but I’m confident he’s mouthing the lyrics to a song and not responding to me.
“Have it your way,” I warn, then swing another bale in his direction.
Devon moves just enough for me to clock him in the chest with one, and he goes down.
I lean in as his muffled screams come from under. “It’s always wise to pay attention when you’re on the clock.”
Thundering hooves draw my head up as I’m mid-lean, angling the hay bale enough for Devon to roll out from under.
“Heard I had a new hire,” a lazy, graveled voice says from atop a gray gelding. “As I suspected, he’s a pretty boy who tries to kill all the other pretty boys so he can stay king of the pretty boy castle.”
“Rome,” I greet while wiping sweat off my brow. Except I think I smear more dirt on it. “Good to see you.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Rome swings his leg over his horse, then lands beside it with a cocky grin and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “How long’s it been?”
“Not long enough.” I stagger away from the truck, the stacked hay bales, the stumbling kid who’s found enough of his voice to curse at me while pulling twigs from his mouth. “I forgot how shit this job is.”
“Good thing I ain’t paying you, then.” Rome’s gray eyes shine bright under his cowboy hat. “Remind me to send your mama a stack of pies as thanks for the free labor.”
“Don’t be surprised if you find a pile of these hay bales in your bedroom tonight,” I retort.
“That would mean you’d have to carry them there and we both know that ain’t happening.” Rome looks me up and down. “I thought you were meant to be a big honcho now.”
“I am,” I say. Spotting a kerchief looped through his belt, I swipe at it and use it to wipe my face. “And don’t you use your fucking cowboy stance on me.”
Rome Miles, my elementary nemesis and then best friend from high school, stands with his feet apart and hands on his hips like he’s still on his goddamned horse. He’s dressed in a Canadian tuxedo and rounds out his fashion choice with beat-up cowboy boots I would consider murdering Devon over, now that my ruined Ferragamo’s cover blistered feet.
“How long you been out here?” Rome asks.
“Before the sun came out and after everyone sane went to bed.”
“Devon welcome you properly?”
I glance at the boy, who’s recovered enough to step into the driver’s side of the truck and slam the door. “Sure. Real friendly.”
“He’s efficient. You can ride with him to the Merc, drop off the bales, then come back and uncap a beer with me.” He studies me again, his expression unreadable but his eyes saying enough:look at how much you’ve changed and how different we now are.
I pull at my dark-green tee, realize the uselessness, then just peel it off and use it as a sweat collector, too.
Rome whistles. “I see what has all the ladies hollering!” He tosses a pitchfork at me, which I catch before I’m stabbed. “Prove those muscles are more than just for looks and tidy up the stray blades. Devon’ll wait till you’re done.”
“You are too kind.” I blow out a breath, tie my shirt through the belt loop of my jeans, and get to collecting. I can’t bring myself to banter with my old friend or complain about mycurrent farmhand circumstances. All I can think about is Ma, then Noa, then more Ma, then a ton of Noa.
Obviously, I’ve drawn more of a silver lining around our past than she has. I remember her as shy and obedient until I got my hands on her. I convinced her to break into the fairgrounds after hours, climbing up the darkened Ferris wheel as high as we could go without falling to our deaths. It’s where we shared our first kiss. Her tongue tasted like the cotton candy I stole for her after leaping over the snack counter and picking the storage door lock. It’s also where we found a stranded, half-starved kitten that I jokingly said looked like a rabid mouse and a mad cow had a baby and Noa insisted we take him with us and name him Moo. I introduced her to pot. I dragged her onto the rocky lake shore and dared her to swim with me under the moon. Naked. I watched her bloom from a quiet, unnoticed sixteen-year-old into a confident, clever woman who would then challenge me to a swim race, naked.
Then I broke her.
The years helped heal me. Keeping busy was crucial. Becoming successful is an insanely useful tool. I didn’t have time to think of the girl I left behind or the pain I left her in.
It’s safe to assume she had all the time in the world to hate me. To wish me dead for the callous way I brushed her off when she told me she was pregnant, or for my utter silence when I learned she’d miscarried while getting my first real merger that ended up an enormous success and changed my career.
I shove that feeling aside with the strength of slamming a pitchfork into the dirt, leaning on it, and cursing.
“You almost done, man?” Devon asks.
His head pokes out from the orange pickup truck, hair flopping over his forehead and eyes as he watches my cleanup with the amusement of a teen boy who’d rather be looking at his phone.
I wipe my hair off my sweaty brow, suggesting, “You could always assist by suffocating underneath it again.”
