Page 18 of Chaos

Apparently, every meal is served family-style at the main house. Cooked by Eliza—go fucking figure, considering the last time I saw her, she couldn’t boil water.

It’s monkey bread Monday,Yasmin informs me excitedly, raving along with the rest of them about my little sister’s exceptional cooking. They tell me I’m in for a treat. They promise I’ll see God after a single bite.

But despite those lofty claims, when Finn—the designated driver around here, apparently—pulls up outside our destination and everyone files inside, I head for the barn. I’m hungry, but I’m notthathungry. Not hungry enough to face my sisters this early in the morning—not Eliza, and definitely not Lux. I figure that’s a shared sentiment, considering my older sister was nowhere to be seen yesterday, and she’s not exactly waiting around for me this morning either. She’s probably steering clear for as long as possible, the same way I am, both of us putting off the inevitable clash I can practically taste.

Besides, I don’t want to be in that house. I’m not in the mood for a trip down memory lane. I feel fraught enough as it is already. Too fragile to meet my match just yet.

Jackson, on the other hand, I think I can handle.

Straddling the top rung of the fence surrounding the round training paddock next to the main barn, my brother watches an unfamiliar black Arabian pitch a fit. Agitated as all hell, the stallion tosses his head and squeals shrilly, putting on quite the show.

I only hesitate briefly before saying a silent‘fuck it’and hauling myself up the fence. As I kick both legs over the edge and let them swing, Jackson tugs on one of the braids woven into my ponytail. It feels so natural to swat him away, so normal, as if our relationship isn’t as precarious as my perch.

Digging my fingertips into the rounded wood on either side of me, I focus on the young stallion pitching a fit instead of the ever-growing pit in my stomach. “What’s his damage?”

A shoulder brushes mine. “Got some reactivity problems.”

Maybe I’m sensitive, but I swear that sounds a little pointed. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Jackson hums in agreement, and though I keep my gaze on the stomping horse, I feel his burning a hole in the side of my face. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try and fix him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t wanna be fixed.”

“Maybe. But it’s gotta be tiring, being that angry all the time.”

“Must be.” I swallow, shifting awkwardly. “Where’d you get him?”

Hesitation thickens the air, and I don’t understand why until my brother reluctantly murmurs, “The Webers.”

I tense so hard, my stomach hurts.

Fucking hell. Talk about a blast from the past. A terrible, regrettable past full of the terrible, regrettable men belonging to the family that owns another one of the ranches in the area. “He’s one of theirs?”

Jackson nods, looking none too happy about it. “We’ve been taking on their rejects for a while. Usually, they’re not in great condition.”

I make a mental note to kick a Weber in the shins next time I see one. “This one got a name?”

“We’ve been calling him Ruin.”

“Why?”

“He wrecked the first stall we put him in. Snapped a halter. Almost took Finn’s head off the first time he tried to check his hooves. Seemed fitting.”

As I watch him kicking up dirt and shooting us the evil eye, I can’t help but agree.

Tugging my hair once more, Jackson swings around and hops off the fence. He dusts his hands off before reaching back up to help me, but I ignore him, jumping down all by myself.

Something I regret the second my feet hit the dirt and my ankle twinges, and Jackson goes from smiling faintly at my old boots to frowning at my grimace. “Your ankle still bothering you?”

“Nope,” I lie, casually giving it a shake like it’s not on fire. “Just a little stiff.”

He doesn’t buy it one bit. “Maybe you should help out Eliza in the kitchen for a little while.”

“No.” I don’t want to be in the house. I want to be out here, keeping busy, staying distracted. “I’m fine. Put me to work, boss.”

Jackson hesitates, face scrunched as he considers pulling the big brother card—or thebosscard, I guess is more accurate now. He must decide he doesn’t want to break our cautious truce this quickly because he relents with a sigh, jerking his head towards the barn. “You remember how to muck out a stall?”

I scoff, feigning offense. “Course I do.”

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