Page 9 of Where We Burn


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“I don’t eye-fuck anyone.”

“You do, and the truth is, Travis is a cuntwaffle, and you deserve better. You could pick any other Crawford, and they’d be an upgrade.”

Violet’s been more of a real parent to me over the years than anyone else ever tried to be. She’s only ten years older than me, but my sister did everything a mom should do when I was younger. She read me bedtime stories that didn’t involve slurred curse words, held me through panic attacks, and walked me through my first period like it was just another Tuesday.

She even gave me the unfiltered truth about my first boyfriend, Thomas, and his wandering hands. She told me that getting felt up by some guy who peaked in high school wasn’t the epic romance story I was writing in my head, and maybe I should save my virginity for someone whose dick didn’t go into hibernation the second it got coldout.And now I’ll never know if that handsome cowboy was swinging a lasso or just twirling a sad little shoelace.

“You coming down to the bar tonight?”

“Maybe… Can you let me know if Dillon’s there?”

Even though it’s been months since they split, my sister still carries the weight of knowing Dillon would’ve settled and played house forever if she’d just said yes to starting a family. He wants that big, messyBrady Bunchlife, while she… well, she doesn’t even really know what she wants.

“You’ll be friends again someday, you know.”

“I hope so.”

I lean over and kiss the top of Violet’s head, and she swats me away with a laugh. Pushing off the couch, I grab my keys and phone, shoving them into my back pocket before slipping into my coat. It’s the kind of cold outside that makes your bones ache, and the second I step outside, I swear to god, my nipples feel like they’re about to freeze clean off.

Ten minutes later, my loyal little rust-bucket of a car rattles into the bar parking lot, and sure enough, the place is packed. Trucks are lined up like cattle at feeding time, engines are still ticking, and tires are caked in mud. Happy hour seems to bring out every cowboy and ranch hand within twenty miles, and honestly, I’m here for it.

Before I even push through the wooden doors, I hear laughter mixing with the clinking of bottles and the unmistakable sound of people who work hard and play even harder. It’s loud, a little wild, and thick with the scent of spilled beer and testosterone.

I love it here.

But then someone has to, considering Travis barely bothers to show his face in his uncle’s bar.

He doesn’t have time for this town or the family he has in it, while I’ve embraced them all. Not just the Crawfords, who welcomed me with open arms, but everyone who calls this little town home. These people have adopted me like a stray cat that wandered in and never left, and unlike Travis, who’d rather eat glass than spend an evening here, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Inside, country music plays from the old jukebox in the corner,drowning out everything but the sharp crack of pool balls and the low murmur of men shaking off another day of frozen fingers and aching backs.

“Here she is,” Callan calls out over the noise, “the light of my life and savior of my day.”

“You’re just saying that because you know Old Jack won’t corner you with his ‘lost in the mountains’ story when I’m here.”

“Can’t deny it, but you are a beacon in here. Look around at all these swinging dicks—it’s nice to have a woman here to soften the place up.”

“You soft, Piper?” Christian’s voice slides over me like warm whiskey as he appears at the bar, his forearms resting on the wooden surface like he’s got all the time in the world. “Because I’ve seen you drag Travis’s ass before.”

“That’s because your son has a way of royally pissing me off.”

“You handle him well. He needs that.”

His eyes catch and hold mine, just like they have since the very first time we met. We rarely share space with Travis, thank God, but Christian’s here every week, and the more time that passes, the more comfortable we get with each other. Which only makes it harder to ignore the way my pulse kicks up every time he walks through that door or how my skin practically sparks whenever he leans across the bar to talk to me. The easy friendship we’ve built should make things simpler, but instead, it’s like a slow torture.

Meanwhile, the better I get to know Travis, the more I see who he really is, and the less I can stand him. As soon as our time at the farm is over, I’m out. Done. No more pretending. No more faking it.

Because while I’m dating the son, it’s his father who makes my blood sing every time he walks into the room.

“Travis is coming here tonight,” I say, watching Christian out of the corner of my eye as I wipe down the bar.

“Yeah?” He straightens a little and tips his whiskey back like he suddenly needs it.

“Yeah, he’s staying at my place so we can head up to the farm together tomorrow, but don’t worry, I’ve already told him to play nice while he’s here.”

Not that Travis has ever listened to a damn thing I’ve told him.

Christian exhales through his nose, already resigned. “We’ve got two weeks up at the farm together. We’ll see how long playing nice lasts.”