Page 11 of Texas
I stand, coffee abandoned. My hands curl into fists before I even think. I don’t like this. I don’t like that I’m here. I don’t like the tone he is using one bit. For a moment, there’s silence and I think the worst, but before I react, there’s a knock at the door. Three short raps. They are not tentative, not aggressive, just entitled. I open it without a word, and there he is wearing a button-down shirt, expensive watch with hair cut clean and neat. He smells like expensive cologne. His eyes flick to the bike parked outside, then back to me. Clearly, he expected someone else. A man, probably. Someone he could size up and dismiss. What he sees instead is me. A butch in a tight black tee, jeans, and combat boots. Hair still damp. No smile. I know the type. He’s the guy who thinks his money is armor and his smile is a weapon, but he’s not ready for someone like me. Someone who doesn’t play his game or give a damn about his rules. He blinks once, then offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Morning,” he says. “I’m looking for Kristin.”
I don’t move. “She’s not here.”
He tilts his head, pretending not to be annoyed. “She didn’t answer my knock or when I called to her in the main house. That’s where I thought she would be.”
“I imagine she is,” I say. “Maybe she’s busy.”
He gestures toward the Harley without looking at it. “Yours?”
“Yep.” He waits, like I’m supposed to explain myself. I don’t.
Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’m Will Cleveland. Kristin’s husband.” I nod once. Let it hang. His smile falters just a touch. “And you are?”
“Reggie.”
He waits again, but I give him nothing else. “Well,” he says, “Reggie. I wasn’t expecting company. I stopped by to drop something off. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You are.”
That flicker of irritation sharpens around the edges. He’s used to people making space for him, but I don’t. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, becoming a problem. His eyes scan the room behind me, but he’s not looking for Kristin. He’s looking for signs. Clues. Evidence. A second mug. A shirt draped over the chair. Anything that might confirm what he already suspects but I don’t blink. I want him to see it. He shifts his weight, the smile back in place. “You two know each other long?”
“Long enough.”
He nods like that tells him everything. “Well. I’m glad she has... friends.”
I see that word tastes rotten in his mouth, and he doesn’t like not knowing what I am to her. But mostly, he doesn’t like that I’m not intimidated, or that I’m not a man he can measure. I see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex at his side. Before he can say whatever bullshit he’s building up to, I hear the crunch of gravel behind him. Kristin. She’s walking fast, her hair pulled back, face calm but tight. She’s wearing soft linen pants and a loose top, like she just walked out of a boardroom and not a fuck session with me.
“Will,” she says, her voice cool.
He turns, hands spreading in mock surprise. “Kristin. I didn’t know you had company.” She doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t flinch. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I brought the insurance paperwork,” he says. “The clinic’s renewal. I thought it might get lost in the shuffle.”
“You could’ve emailed it.”
He shrugs. “I was in the area.”
Her mouth tightens. “You’re never in the area,” Kristin says, and Will smiles again.
“I am now.”
I observe the way her shoulders rise, just a fraction. The way her spine straightens. She’s holding herself together with pure will. I don’t like it, and I don’t like the way he looks at her, like she’s something he used to own and might again. And I don’t like the way she’s not looking at me, like acknowledging me would cost her something.
“I’ll take the paperwork,” she says, stepping forward. He hands her a sleek envelope. Their fingers don’t touch, but it’s close. He lets his hand linger a second too long. Kristin doesn’t react. “You should go.”
He nods, but he doesn’t move, only looks at her, then at me, then back at her. “You always did like strays,” he says with a smirk.
I take a step forward. It’s not fast or loud, but it’s enough to make him step back.
Kristin’s voice cuts through the air. “Will. Leave.”
For a long moment, he studies her, looking like he’s going to say something else. Probably something cruel, something mean, but he doesn’t. He just smiles again and walks toward his car. A door slams. The engine revs. Then he’s gone.
Kristin exhales, slow and shaky and she turns to me. Her hands are tight around the envelope, and her eyes don’t quite meet mine. “I didn’t know he’d come today,” she says. “But I should have considered it since he knows the days Mrs. Tomas isn’t here.”
I nod. I don’t say what I’m thinking. That he’s the kind of man who always shows up when he smells independence. That somehow he saw the bike and came to piss on his territory. She steps into the guesthouse, and I close the door behind her. She leans against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should’ve told you everything.”
