Page 37 of Broken Roads
Chapter 15
Bradley
The hammer strikes the fence post with enough force to send vibrations up my arm. I welcome the jarring sensation, the way it momentarily drowns out Hailey's words still echoing in my head.Scared little boy.The next blow lands harder, driving the post deeper into Montana soil that's as unyielding as my own stubbornness.Afraid of change. Another strike has my muscles burning with the effort. My jaw clenches so tight I can hear my molars grinding together over the metallic ring of steel against wood.
"Fuck, Bradley," Sawyer calls from the next post over. "You trying to drive that thing to China?"
I grunt in response, not trusting myself to form actual words. The leather of my work gloves creaks as I adjust my grip on the hammer. Sweat trickles down my spine, soaking into my already damp shirt. The morning sun beats mercilessly on my back, but the heat from outside is nothing compared to the burn smoldering in my chest since my confrontation with Hailey.
You're so afraid of change that you can't see it's the only thing that will save what you love.
Fuck.
I swing again, harder this time. The post barely moves, already driven too deep into the hard-packed earth. Doesn't stop me from hitting it again anyway.
Bandit trots up with a stick in his mouth, tail wagging expectantly. When I don't immediately acknowledge him, he drops it at my feet and nudges my leg with his nose. The simple, uncomplicated affection in the gesture momentarily breaks through the red haze of my thoughts.
"Not now, boy," I mutter, reaching down to scratch behind his ears, and for a moment, I envy his simple existence. No financial worries. No stubborn pride. No city women with hazel eyes calling him on his bullshit.
Bandit looks disappointed but picks up his stick and moves on to Sawyer, who tosses it with an easy laugh before returning to stretching wire between the posts we've spent the morning setting.
"Looks like rain coming in from the west." Sawyer squints at the horizon where dark clouds are gathering. "Probably hit us by evening."
I grunt again, moving to the next post. My shoulders ache from the repeated motion, a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
You're nothing but a scared little boy afraid that someone might actually have a good idea that isn't yours.
My hand slips slightly on the next swing, the hammer flying off the post at an angle. I manage to keep hold of it, but the sudden shift in momentum sends a jolt of pain through my wrist.
"You okay there, boss?" Sawyer asks, pausing in his work. "Seems like your mind's somewhere else today."
"I'm fine," I snap.
Sawyer raises his eyebrows but doesn't push. He returns to the wire, carefully unspooling it along the line of posts we've set. His movements are practiced and efficient, his expression easy beneath the brim of his hat. I've known Sawyer since we were kids, shared beers and bruises and everything in between. He can read me like a fucking book.
Which is why I'm not surprised when he finally breaks the silence that's been stretching between us for the past hour.
"So," he drawls. "Hailey seemed pretty adamant about not joining us at the Spur tonight."
My hammer pauses mid-swing. "And?"
"And nothing." Sawyer shrugs, but there's a glint in his eye that says otherwise. "Just thought it was interesting, that's all. Girl's been here a week and hasn't set foot in the only decent bar in town."
I resume hammering, focusing all my attention on the post. "Maybe she's not the drinking type."
"Everyone's the drinking type at least once in a while." Sawyer wipes sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Unless they've got a reason not to be."
Something in his tone makes me look up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He grins, that shit-eating smile that usually precedes him saying something that makes me want to punch him. "Could be she's avoiding you specifically. Can't say I blame her with how you've been riding her ass since she got here."
Heat rises to my face that has nothing to do with the sun. "I haven't been riding her ass."
"No?" Sawyer laughs. "Could've fooled me. And her, from the looks of it."
I turn back to the post, swinging with renewed vigor. The impact travels up my arms, but I barely feel it through the storm of confusion and irritation brewing inside me.
"Though," Sawyer continues, his voice taking on that teasing lilt that means trouble, "can't say I blame you for wanting to ride that particular—"
