Page 103 of Crystal Iris
“Because I trusted you with all my stuff. All my prism’s stuff.”
“You knew about the sensing shit. I told you.”
“You didn’t say you knew things, you didn’t give me any… examples,” I say, shutting the car door a little too hard when we arrive at the house.
“Iris,” he calls after me.
I stop and look back.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I... I don’t like talking about it.”
“I need honesty, Hoyt. If we have any chance of...” I don’t let myself finish the sentence. Instead, I turn and walk away, heading to my bedroom.
I need to be up in a few hours for my first day of work at the ranch.What the hell did I get myself into?
Twenty-Three
“The most seductive thing about art is the personality of the artist himself.” – Paul Cézanne
Iregret every sip I had the night before when my alarm rings. I know I’m under no obligation to show up, but I still have my pride. When I said I was going to be there, I meant it—a promise to myself, made many years ago,not to be like my father. I will follow through with my responsibilities, no matter what.
Broc is already busy when I arrive, even though it’s six sharp.
“Morning,” I say to him.
“Coffee?” He hands me a jar, and I pour myself some. There’s no cream or sugar, but I drink it anyway.
“You seem unaffected by the alcohol,” I tell him, sitting on a bundle of hay.
“Just used to it,” he replies.
I look around and ask, “What time do they wake up?”
“Between four and five,” he answers.
“Okay... so, what do I do?” I ask, setting my cup down.
“Here.” He hands me a brush. “I’ll take it easy on you today.”
I’m brushing the second horse when Hoyt shows up.
“What are you doing?” He eyes my outfit—I’m wearing my own boots with Johanna’soveralls.
“Working,” I tell him, brushing Jet in long, even strokes, just like Broc showed me.
“Iris, you don’t have to… do this.”
“I want to. I need to.”
“Iris.”
“Like it’s my home, remember? I’d have chores if it were my own house.”
“I didn’t think you’d take it as…”
Broc walks back with water for both of us.
“Broc!” Hoyt says, gesturing to me.
