Page 69 of Milked

Dad said nothing, burying his emotions deeper than I ever could.

My eyes leaked, and I stood abruptly to grab a paper towel and dry my eyes. I snagged my beer bottle and drank half of it back.

“I didn’t just run because I was in pain, but because I blamed myself for her death.”

Dad protested, and Mom stood to comfort me, but I held out my hand. “Please, if you touch me again, I’m going to crumble into dust.”

“How can this possibly be your fault?” Dad said, a bit too aggressively. I loved him, but he’d always been intense, which was another reason I’d never come out to my parents. “Bryce did this. Not you.”

“Because Rowan made me keep quiet about his behavior. She said you liked him a lot, and she made excuses for his outbursts and aggressiveness. I tried to get her to leave him all the damn time, but she always talked herself into staying. I’ve been holding on to this guilt for not telling you the truth. That if I had just spoken up, he wouldn’t have had a chance to kill her. But I always caved to Rowan. You knew they were fighting that night, but not that they were fighting all the time.”

I chugged back the rest of my beer and grabbed another. Between the drinks on the plane and the beer, I was getting buzzed already. “I should’ve fucking said something!”

Dad sighed heavily, and Mom sniffed. “Perhaps you should’ve told us.” I nodded and sipped my beer. He validated my belief that it had been my fault and one of the reasons I stayed away. “But even if we had known, she was a stubborn young lady. She wouldn’t have listened to us, either. Son, look at me.” I lifted my head as he met my eyes, locking our stare in place. “You telling us wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”

Mom stood with her arms out. “Ryder, please, don’t hold on to this. It wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to run anymore.”

I set my bottle down and finally fell into my mother’s arms as the sobs came out. “It’s… why I’m here. It’s been so hard to breathe and live, and I’ve missed you both.”

Dad stood and held us in his muscular bear arms. “We’re glad you made it back to us, son.”

Another person I’d completely avoided was my best friend, Waylon West, and someone I had crushed on for the better part of a decade. It never affected our friendship, and I was happy to have it until I lost Rowan. I hadn’t just run from my family, but from my friends. It was just easier to shut everyone out.

After fixing shit with my parents, it was time to fix things with Waylon.

I sat on the front porch of my house in the late morning and watched as he drove his blue pickup truck along the dusty drive. I took a sip from the can of soda to wash away the lump in my throat.

The day was brisk and cloudy, with threats of rain later in the afternoon.

He turned off his truck and hopped out, walking toward me wearing bootcut jeans, cowboy boots, and a blue-and-black plaid shirt over a white Henley. His light brown hair was tousled, which he combed back from his face with long fingers, exposing his gorgeous pale blue eyes. The dimple in his chin had always been a favorite of mine.

Waylon was even taller than Knox, standing at six-foot-six. He wasn’t massively broad, but I’d always loved his bigger size, fantasized about him controlling me… taking me. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, but in a rugged way, not as smooth around the edges as Finn was.

But those days were over. There were flickering feelings for him still. How could there not be after a decade? But Knox and Finn were mine now. I loved them, and I was perfectly happy to be in their lives. It couldn’t have happened any other way.

When he stopped in front of me, I set down my can on the porch and stood with my hands shoved into my jeans as the surge of guilt for not staying in touch coursed through me.

“Hey,” I said.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, making me wince. “Fuck your ‘hey.’ It’s been a year, Rye, and you just call me out of the blue to tell me you’re in town. What the hell?”

I stared down at my feet, having no words to justify my actions. To my surprise, strong arms enveloped me and pulled me into a bear hug, squeezing the literal breath out of me.

“I missed you, asshole.”

I also wrapped my arms around him. “God, I missed you. I’m so damn sorry, Way.”

We let go of each other, and he gave me a hard, blue stare. “You’re going to tell me what the hell happened to you after the funeral. Let’s go over to the barn there and talk.”

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans again and followed Waylon.

We both sat on the fence and stared out at the field that had cows instead of the usual wheat, letting it go fallow.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“Six months ago was the trial. I came back for that, but I just… I couldn’t stay here. Rowan is in every damn fiber of this place, so I ran. It wasn’t just you I abandoned, but my parents. I buried myself in the big city of DC, hid like a coward, blaming myself for what happened to her.”

“Jesus… It wasn’t your fault, Rye. I miss her, too, you know, and I missed you.”

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