Page 11 of Under Pink Skies

I nodded, and the conversation moved on from the festival sponsorship to other administrative tasks. Kameron gave us an update on the lumber sourcing, and Lucas gave his morning update on the livestock. I’d visited the far fields to investigate the corn and wheat growing there.

“The crops are doing alright, as far as I can tell,” I said with a shrug. “Since it’s the first year trying to grow anything out there, it’ll be a few weeks before we can estimate how much our potential yield will be.”

Kameron scribbled something on his notepad as he nodded.

“Sounds good. Lucas, would you be willing to take on communicating with the organizer? Her name is Abbie Collins. I’ll send you her contact info. We’ll also be working with—”

The floor dropped out from under me as I stumbled, whirling around to face Kameron.

“What did you just say?”

Blood roared in my ears; Kameron’s response barely audible as my heart lodged up in my throat.

“Abbie Collins is our contact in Watford?” Kameron said, tone inquisitive. “She’s planning the festival.”

My mouth went dry at the sound of her name. I hadn’t dared to say it aloud in the five years since I’d left Watford. Saying her name made it real. Saying her name was a painful reminder of what I’d done to her. Of how I’d thrown away my one chance at true happiness.

You left her.

It was the one sin I could never atone for, and at the mention of her name, it was suddenly the only thing I could think about.

“Wait,” Lucas said, looking from Kameron’s confused expression to my pale face. He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t tell me she’s your ex or something.”

“Don’t,” I warned, my tone sharper than I intended. “Don’t say another word.”

Lucas frowned but pressed his lips together in a fine line.

Kameron no longer looked confused. Instead, the guilt of this decision etched deep lines into Kameron’s face, and I hated it. He opened his mouth to speak, but after taking another deep look at me, he closed it once more.

I hated that I was making my best friend, the man who had saved my life in every meaning of the word, feel guilty for making the best decision for himself and his business. I was the problem in this situation. Me and my trauma, me and my stupidly complicated feelings about Watford andher—

I was the one who needed to get my shit together, so I didn’t ruin this incredible opportunity for Kameron.

“I just need some time,” I forced out, my voice rough. I swallowed back the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. “I—I’m going to take a walk. Please don’t call.”

Kameron nodded slowly. Lucas was still frowning, the gears turning in his head as he fought to put the pieces together.

I would tell them. I had to, especially now that we would work with her in the coming weeks. I would have to tell them about my history with her. Maybe my entire life story. All of the raw, ugly, disgusting pieces that I preferred to keep to myself and in my conversations with Anna.

I stepped outside, letting the screen door slam behind me. I barely heard the loud smack as I set off down the dirt path that would take me away from the farmhouse and towards the back pasture, where the horses were grazing.

As I ventured farther down the path, the familiar scent of hay and fresh grass filled the air. The wind rustling through the trees provided a white noise background to my thoughts. The vibrant green of the surrounding meadows contrasted beautifully against the clear blue sky above. With every step, the distant figures of the horses grazing in the back pasture became clearer.

As I approached the pasture gate, some of the lingering tension eased. The horses, sensing my presence, raised their heads and turned toward me, their curious eyes meeting mine.

Carefully unlatching the gate, I stepped into the pasture, surrounded by the comforting presence of these magnificent creatures. The soft grass beneath my feet provided a cushioned pathway as I made my way towards them. I reached out my hand, feeling the warmth of one’s velvety nose against my skin.

I was tunneling down into the darkness, barely cognizant of where I was walking.

I’d gotten damn good at managing my triggers. I rarely felt the urge to drink, or punch walls, or do any of the many of the unhealthy coping mechanisms I used to have. I wasn’t a particularly sunshiny person, but I’d learned how to control my temper.

But Abbie . . . Abbie was my biggest trigger. The only part of my past that I hadn’t—couldn’t—reconcile.

Because what I’d done to her—tousand the future we would have had together—was unforgivable.

Chapter 5

Abbie

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