Page 87 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Do you have any idea of what kind of monster he was? What kind of life I had?” I’m hysterical now, my restraint lost somewhere after the first ‘did you forget’.

“I know if you’re still around, it wasn’t bad enough,” Craig states flatly, his tone so shallow I can picture him looking down at his nails as he says the words. And even if I know they shouldn’t hurt, they slice through my walls in a way very few words did. I’ve known hate in my life—my father made sure of that—but never like this.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice quivers once more and I berate myself for it.

“Because I will be selling that ranch in a matter of months, and I don’t care what I have to do to get it. I will never forgive my brother for leaving me you to have to deal with.”

I stand in my kitchen, staring out over the living room, full of swirling rays of evening sunshine, chest aching, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Unable to control my voice any longer, I remain silent. I will not show him any more weakness than I already have.

“I will burn that house down with you trapped inside if I have to. But I will have what is mine.” He clicks the line, effectively ending the conversation, but I continue to cling to the small box pressed to my ear.

Gus stands with me in the silent kitchen as the sun tracks lower and lower down the wall. I don’t move, my body numb. Hot tears flow down my cheeks, unnoticed and unchecked. Gus continues to stand with me, a blank expression on his face. Even in my haze, though, I notice his knuckles are white, and his jaw rolls and pops.

He never says anything, even as the sun disappears completely. But he never leaves my side either—never leaving me alone.

THIRTY-SEVEN

AUGUSTUS

June 7th, 2024

Life has always letStetson down—abandoned her, disappointed her. And I’m beginning to think I’m doing the same.

It’s fucking me up.

Stetson is the one person I don’t want to disappoint or hurt, and yet, I think that’s all I’m doing. When did my love for her get so lost in translation? When did I become such a coward?

We are meant to be together—the villain who gets the girl. But not if I don’t get my head out of my ass—and soon. Like, today.

I have to tell her today.

If I don’t, I know I’m going to lose her forever. She has been so inexplicably withdrawn, ever since the rodeo, and I can’t wrap my head around why. I know everything is piling up, but I thought we were finally getting somewhere. But as each day passes, I see that for the lie it is.

I might not have the perfect words, the perfect plan, but anything is better than being shut out completely. I know she’ll be shocked, probably even pissed off and sassy in that way only she can be, but that I can handle, that I can rationalize, talkdown, fuck out of her. But silence? Rejection? Hopelessness? I can’t live with that.

Once she sees she is not alone—never has been and never will be—she will open up.

She has to.

Boots whinnies, the shrill noise pulling me from my thoughts, and I pause. My fingers are tangled in her dark mane, her silken neck soft against my callouses.

“Thanks girl.” I lean forward, sinking into the comfort of her warm neck. She leans back into me slightly, her version of a hug, and I smile into her hair. “You’ve always been my best friend, even when I don’t deserve it.”

She knickers her agreement as if to say,“You’re right, you don’t deserve me,”her body shaking slightly, and I smile. What can I say, I like my girls sassy.

“You’re supposed to be agreeing with me, not calling me out, ole girl.”

She snorts, yanking her head up, eyeing me with her giant black globes.“Fuck that. And who are you calling old?”

The thing about Boots is, she provides me peace and comfort, even when she’s calling me out. She sees me and accepts me for my flaws, even if they piss her off.

So much like Stetson, it hurts.

Stetson makes my dark soul feel at peace, but alive. I won’t let her go, no matter how hard she shoves me away, but I also don’t want to hurt her or disappoint her.

I lean into Boots again. “She hasn’t said five words to me in days.” I even texted her from my burner phone last night, and she ignored it completely. I regret doing it—“the stalker” most likely another barrier between us—but I’m getting frantic.

Aside from talking to me, she barely looks at me, and when she does, it’s filled with questions and expectancies, but I don’t know how to decipher. If she would open up and tell me how Icould help her, nothing in this world would stop me from doing it.

---