Page 35 of Redemption

This program is something I’m incredibly passionate about, and I’m grateful to have the James’ support. They’ve always been like family to me, but they’ve proven that ten times over in recent years. After Pres left, part of me was worried things wouldn’t be the same, but Mr. and Mrs. J, and Clayton, for that matter, made it crystal clear from the start that my father and I would always be part of their clan, regardless of whether or not Presley and I were together.

“So... how’d it go? Did you and Pres have a big happy reunion filled with fluffy bunnies and rainbows?”

I scoff. “I’m pretty sure it was the exact opposite of that. She’s probably packing her bags right now to get as far away from me as possible. I probably did her husband a favor.”

Clay raises his brows. “That bad, huh?”

“It sure as shit wasn’t good.” I hop off the fence. “I should probably get back to work.”

Clayton kneads the muscles at the back of his neck. “She’d be pissed if she knew I was telling you this, but I don’t think she’s leaving anytime soon, Beck. If Presley tried going back to that bastard, I’m pretty sure my parents would chain her to the barn to prevent that from happening. Hell, if they didn’t, I would.”

I frown. “Why?”

He stares at me for a moment. I get the feeling he’s trying to tell me something without actually saying the words. “He doesn’t deserve her. For many, many reasons, he doesn’t even come close to deserving her.”

“What the hell does that mean? Why is everyone so damn cryptic all of a sudden?”

Clayton hops back on the four-wheeler. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s known trauma at this ranch. If you want more than that, you need to get it out of Pres.”

I scrub a hand down my face as Clay drives away. What kind of trauma could Presley have possibly been through in her cushy life? And why should I care? That woman had no trouble casting me aside as if our past meant nothing to her. After all this time, I should be able to do the same.

So, the question is... why can’t I stop wondering what secrets she’s hiding and what I’m going to do to uncover them?

Chapter Twenty-One

Presley

– Age 18

Today should’ve been one of the happiest days of my life. I should be wearing a pretty white dress and walking down a makeshift aisle to marry the man I’ve loved my whole life. Instead, I can’t stomach the thought of leaving the safety of my bedroom and facing the world. It’s been just over six weeks since my miscarriage. Six weeks of cursing God, wondering why this happened to me. A month-and-a-half of dragging my lifeless body around just to meet my basic needs of eating, bathing, and using the bathroom. I still can’t manage to use the powder room where all of my dreams went down in flames. I avoid that hallway at all costs.

One of the biggest downsides of living in a small town is that nobody can keep a secret for long. As one could imagine, my father caused quite a stir when he ripped Beckett out of the graduation ceremony. It wasn’t hard to figure out that I was the reason. It took only two days before my phone started blowing up. Apparently, somebody’s cousin was sitting in that ER the day I was admitted. She told someone who then told someone else, and so on and so forth.

“Presley, honey,” my mother calls through my closed door. “Beckett’s walking toward the house. I’m going to send him up, okay?”

Beck’s been coming over every day, trying to coax me out of my room.

I finger the small diamond on my engagement ring. “Okay, Mama.”

The door cracks a few moments later, and he slips through before closing it again. I can’t stand the way he looks at me now. The way they all look at me—my parents, my brother, all of the ranch hands. I know they mean well, that they care, but I can’t handle the pity on their faces. I don’t want their pity—I want my baby back. I feel like I’m losing my mind half the time. I still feel pregnant sometimes. I wake up and lovingly rub my stomach, but I’m quickly shocked back into reality when I feel how flat it is now. Hell, maybe I am going crazy. I certainly don’t feel like the same person I was before miscarrying.

The bed dips as Beck sits down and curls his hand over my hip. “Pres, you need to get out of this house. It’s not healthy, darlin’. Everyone is worried about you.”

“Tell them not to worry. I’m fine.”

He scoffs. “The hell you are.”

I sit up, breaking away from his hold. “I said I’m fine, Beckett. Leave it alone.”

He cups his hand around my jaw. “No, you’re not, Pres. And that’s okay. But you’re not going to get better if you stay holed up in this bedroom all the time. Why don’t we go for a ride? Mag’s been wondering where you’ve been.”

I feel a pang of guilt when he mentions my beloved horse. Magnolia and I would go for a ride every day, but I haven’t been to the stables once since this happened. The only time I’ve even left the house was when I had a follow-up appointment with my doctor.

I fight back the tears. “I can’t.”

“C’mon baby, I can get her tacked up for you and bring her to the front of the house. You don’t have to do anything but ride.”

I know what he’s doing—why he’s pushing this. Magnolia and I have always had a special bond. Our relationship is symbiotic—we bring each other joy. I need her just as much as she needs me. And I’ve been abandoning her.

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