My house.
“Sorry, bud,” I say to Ash as he lays his head back down. “One can only watch so much television before it drives them mad.” Which, unfortunately, is about where I’m at. It’s only been two days, and I’m already so bored I’m ready to risk them finding me again.
Okay, maybe not that bored, but I’m getting there.
Pushing to my feet, I head over toward the large picture window that overlooks the front of Bradyn’s house and the property in front of it. It’s gorgeous, the hills covered with tall grass that dances in the slight breeze.
I may be bored stuck inside, but I can’t doubt the beauty of my view from this gilded cage.
Dylan crests the hill just in front of Bradyn’s house. Without knowing that I’m watching, his expression is far less guarded, and he even smiles at Delta, who trots beside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, ears perked.
He’s wearing dark jeans, cowboy boots, and a sweat-stained white T-shirt. A dusty cowboy hat sits atop his light brown hair, shielding his hazel eyes from the sun. Gorgeous. The man is gorgeous.
From a distance, you’d never know just how haunted he really is.
I haven’t seen him since yesterday when he’d stormed out of his parents’ kitchen. He hasn’t called, come by—it’s been no-contact, and I’ve hated every minute of it. At least before, I stood a chance of running into him in town.
Of catching sight of him from a distance. Whether it was going into the diner, the post office, or the feed store—which he typically does on Thursday. Trying to see him from time to time, even if it meant going out of my way, was how I coped with losing him.
He was all I had after my parents died.
And then I didn’t even have him anymore.
His gaze lifts to the window, and he stops walking. For what feels like hours, we stand there, staring at each other. Two people unable to have even a simple conversation without it turning into a fight.
Dylan raises his hand.
I raise mine.
Then he continues toward the house, so I cross the living room and pull the door open right as he steps up onto the wooden porch and removes his hat.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks, tension squaring his shoulders.
“Yeah.” I step aside to let him into the house, but he shakes his head.
“Out here.”
“I’m allowed outside?” I ask with added theatrics.
It brings a smirk to Dylan’s face, which catches me entirely off guard. “Right now, I think it’s fine. And I can’t—” He trails off. “It’s better if we’re out here.”
Closing the door behind me, I take a seat on the porch swing. Dylan keeps his distance, opting to lean back against the porch railing instead. He sets his hat aside and crosses his arms.
“Why are we better out here?”
“So we’re not alone.” He gestures toward the pasture, and I see Elliot restringing some fence alongside Riley.
“You don’t trust me?”
He starts to respond, to say something, but then pauses for a moment. “I’m the one I don’t trust.” He swallows hard. Delta trots over and leans against his leg. Dylan drops his hand, and he threads his fingers through his dog’s thick fur. “I tried to kill Riley.”
“What?” I ask. Surely, I heard him wrong. Right?
“Back when he and Tucker pulled me out of the pit. I was so far gone mentally that I attacked him. If I hadn’t been so weak from starvation and dehydration, I probably would have killed him.”
“I didn’t know that.” I try to imagine how Dylan must have felt when he’d slipped free of the nightmare and realized what he’d nearly done. The guy who wouldn’t even kill a spider when we were growing up, nearly murdering his brother.
It must have destroyed him.
