Page 60 of Till The Cows Come Home
As the paths narrowed, a musty smell entered my nose and I knew we were in the right place. Virginia had plenty of barns, and while I enjoyed some of the modern looks, I was hoping to go old school with the reconstruction, which meant taking a leap back in time.
“Take these, and go sit at the table around the corner,” Jane ordered, handing me a stack of tattered envelopes, labeled with fading script.
I happily obliged, and as soon as I pulled out the first blueprint I was enthralled. Gambrel roofs paired with braced frames caught my attention, and images flooded my head as I sorted through my potential options. No matter how hard I tried to be independent in this endeavor, though, I couldn’t help but think of Sage as I flipped through the layouts.
I knew I should just put my head down and focus on getting my girls home, but Jane was right, she was one of them. I wanted her to come home as much as them, but she’d broken my heart. The look on her face as I reached for her support was ingrained in my soul, and my confidence in her to handle the reins I’d eagerly handed over had wavered.
As Jane rounded the corner with another stack of the records, I felt yet another call buzzing from deep in my pocket. My phone seldom rang, and in the last two days I’d gottenmore calls than the last two years. After I relieved Jane of the second stack, balancing them in one hand, I fished for my phone with the other. Mouthing thank you to her, I took a few steps into a vacant row of books before picking up.
“Hello?” I answered, and if I wasn’t listening closely I may have missed the small “hi,” that echoed back.
Chapter Thirty
Sage
Miles had agreed to meet me at my parent’s house when he was free, mentioning briefly that he was at the library, which left me on the edge of my parent’s guest bed rehearsing everything I needed to say. I’d replayed the accident countless times, exchanging my actions with the multitude of other options that wouldn’t have left the man I cared for most alone on the worst day of his life, but it was too late. I had made my choice, and I had to sit with the fact that it wasn’t the right one.
I held onto the shame though, allowing it to settle, an ember to fuel me through the inevitably difficult conversation I was about to have. I’d forced him to prove himself over and over again, and he repeatedly gave me the assurance I needed to trust him, and like a hypocrite, the moment the roles were reversed, I did the exact thing I was most afraid of.
I left.
Anxiety seeped in, and I grabbed my book from the nightstand, rifling through the pages as I leaned back into the headboard. I had no idea what Miles was doing at the library and I couldn’t think mindlessly for hoursand stay sane, so I dislodged my bookmark from its spot and began scouring the page. On a good day, all it would take was a catchy string of words to hook me into distraction, but on a bad day? I could sit and stare at a page, absorbing nothing. My wandering eyes finally settled back on the page I’d opened to, and a paragraph about a cowboy in the rain happened to capture my attention.
I’d become so engulfed in the story that I didn't notice the familiar figure step into the doorway, and my head shot up as the soft raps of his knuckles landed on the door. My attention shifted immediately to my own cowboy, who was now striding towards me from across the room. I took a deep breath through my nose, willing my heart rate to slow as he rounded the bed, taking a seat on its edge. He was keeping his distance, and the intention of the choice stung, but as he sat, the bed dipped at his weight, forcing my knees to graze against his legs. It took everything in me not to inch back towards his touch as the mattress settled and we were back to what seemed like miles apart.
“Hi,” he mumbled, turning his head to look at me.
Our eyes met and the pressure of every unsaid word pushed me to look away, but I fought it, scanning his face instead. I’m not sure what I was looking for, maybe a sign that he was alright or that I didn’t inflict any lasting damage, but as I looked him over, noticing the dark circles settling under his eyes and the shadow of scruff along his jaw, I knew neither of us were so lucky.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
His hand moved towards me, muscle memory threatening to betray him, but he quickly retracted it, placing it instead firmly in his lap. The silence that followed was deafening, but he didn’t speak, undoubtedly waiting for me to make the first move.
The pressure of knowing whatever I said next determined where we went or if we’d ever exist again created my mind tospiral as the thought of him walking away for good surfaced as a real and true possibility. The swirling what-ifs took over my brain and in an attempt to ground myself out of the tornado of thoughts I’d been swept into, I focused on my rehearsed script. The opening lines were ingrained in my brain, and when I was confident I could somewhat regurgitate them, I leaned forward, picking my head up from where it was resting on the headboard. I reached out to retrieve the hand he’d reined in, ignoring the limp muscles under my grasp, his fingers relaxed instead of the affectionate squeeze I ached for.
“I’m so sorry, Miles.”
“Sag—” he began, but I gently cut him off, worried that if he only heard the mere tip of the iceberg of an apology that he deserved, he wouldn’t accept.
“I’m not quite done,” I whispered, before clearing my throat in an attempt to dislodge the panic that had settled there. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I abandoned you on the worst night of your life. I’m sorry that I watched you count your cows, watched you mourn the ones you lost, and left anyway. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you sooner and I’m sorry that I based the entirety of our brief relationship on reliving my old life instead of focusing on the new life you were giving me. Which was honestly more than I ever deserved. And most of all, I’m sorry for making you carry the burden of responsibility on your shoulders alone when I should have been standing next to the man I love lifting my share.”
The silence that followed lasted minutes, and I searched his face for any hints of how he planned to respond, but his expression was blank. I waited and waited as he stared into nothing, until eventually he stood, tugging his hand free from my hold.
“I need some time,” he said, and the emotion that finally settled on his face scared me to death.
“Okay.” I nodded, willing my tears not to fall.
I didn’t want his pity. If this was the decision he wanted to make, I didn’t want to sway him. He hesitated for a moment, searching my face, but the finality of his demeanor remained the same. The familiar smile creases I’d gotten accustomed to were smoothed into neutrality.
“Bye, Sage,” he whispered.
The house was quiet, the shuffle of his feet echoing as he navigated his way out of my life, and the moment the sound of the latch of the front door clicked shut, I could feel myself begin to fall apart all over.
Miles was gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Miles
