Page 90 of For Fillies and Monsters

“I guess not.” He lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes now hollow and empty, his face and body devoid of life and happiness, like the confession sucked everything from him.

“I warned you to stay away from them. It is my job. But you didn’t listen, just like you never do. And now you’ll know what it is like to be the devil to the only one who you love, too.”

Love? He doesn’t understand the first thing about love.

THIRTY-EIGHT

STETSON

April 27th, 2024

The memory replaysin my mind like a broken record. He was here, ten years ago, standing in the street like a dark, fallen angel—like the devil in flesh—and I had run into him. Not another soul on the streets that night, and I had foundhim. Almost gave up running away for the chance to get to know him more.

How is this fucking possible?

I stare at the ceiling, my chest clammy with the warm Texas morning air, and the heat of anger. There are just so many questions when it comes to Gus.

Where the fuck did he come from and why is he here, now, after all this time? How has he popped up so many times in my life without me realizing it? First in Denver at the stock show where I saw him ride, then the morning at the coffee shop, then the night I fled Moztecha. And now here, or rather, at the bar and then at the feed store.

Is it divine intervention or something more? Something by his own design?

Could he be my stalker?

I swat the idea away, the thought far too scary—and real—for this early in the morning.Surely not.

I sit up, too unsettled by my questions to lie here a second longer. The only way I’m going to get answers is to face the man who can give them to me. Which is an idea I hate, but I also loathe uncertainty—I hate not having control. And not having answers is beginning to feel more like loss of control than blissful ignorance.

I quickly dress, desperation fueling my need to get answers, and stumble from my room. But instead of feeling angry as I descend the stairs, I have the overwhelming sense I should run. Answers wait below, and I have a feeling I won’t like what I find.

May 4th, 2024

“He dropped the charges.”

I stare at Gus, his words pelting against me and bouncing off like marbles against tin. They ping, rattling around in my brain but don’t sink in.

He dropped the charges.What? Why? How?

“Stetson, did you hear me?” Gus looks exasperated, his hair disheveled and beard untrimmed from his six days in lockup. He was in jail this morning, and now you’re telling me he’s not going back?

“How?” I finally squeak, the questions piling into a painful weight on my chest.

“Doesn’t matter how. What matters is, it’s over. I won’t be going to jail. I won’t be leaving you.” His eyes scour my face, and I silently wonder what he sees there. What he’s looking for there.

I literally have no idea what I’m feeling, much less how to compose my face at this moment. “But Gus, I?—”

He sighs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and runs a hand irritatedly through his greasy locks. “Can you just trust me?”

Can I trust him?I’m not even convinced I know anything about him. Not anything real, anyway. Not anything that matters.

Like why is he always there—just around the corner, or behind the door when I need help with something? Why is he always looking at me when I find his eyes—what is he looking for? Why is he soprotectiveof me? Why is he protective of me, but knows me well enough to let me fight my own battles?

It’s like he knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and that thought is terrifying. How can he? Why would he?

And can I trust him? Logically, not a fucking chance in hell. But instinctually? There’s no one I trust more. Which makes zero fucking sense.

It’s like my body and mind know him and trust his intentions. But again, how? Why?

“There’s practically smoke coming out of your ears with all that overthinking.”

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