Page 22 of Rough
She sips at her juice calmly, then digs her fork into her eggs. “Your daddy was thinkin’ that you were out in the world makin’ a name for yourself. He didn’t wanna tie you down until you were ready. Plus, it made things a lot easier for us when he got sick.”
Renee is as relaxed as Remy is tense. He’s working his jaw against the desire to shout at her. “You didn’t think to let me know what was goin’ on? I didn’t even know he wassick!”
Her eyes flick over at me, then Wilder, before setting her fork down and facing her son. “Honey. When we found out your daddy was sick, we all thought and were told he should be able to beat it. He didn’t want to pull you from what you and the boys were workin’ for. Wethoughthe had more time than he did.They said he had a few years as a worst-case scenario, notone. We weregonna tell you. This wasn’t expected.”
She studies his face and leans closer, catching his eye. “I’m so sorry it turned out the way it did. We didn’t mean to hurt you. We thought…” Her eyes fill with tears, and she sits back, clearing her throat. “We thought we had more time,” she whispers brokenly.
Remy hangs his head. Wilder’s just as unsure over what to say as I am. I’m positive that no one in this room thinks that the Landrys were intentionally being dismissive over his feelings. It seems like Donny’s death came out of nowhere.
“But the farm…” he chokes out. “I don’t want her—”
A screech cuts him off, and we all jerk our heads toward the stomping feet flying down the stairs. Trina comes crashing into the kitchen, pale and fearful eyes flying everywhere until they land on us.
“It’s allfucked!” she cries loudly.
Renee sucks in a gasp at her cursing so crassly. She knows we swear, but it’s something we’ve tried to tone down around her because it bothers her. “Trina,” I warn in a low voice, but she ignores me, rushing over to the space between Remy and Wilder, her elbows falling to the table with a loud thunk.
I reach out to catch the pitcher of juice as it rocks from her jolting everything. Renee pinches her lips together and stands to gather plates, while Trina continues to howl in apparent despair.
“It totally backfired! I’m trying to save it, but thousands of people have already shared the clip. They’refuriousand flipping overher!”
Wilder grabs her wrist and tugs to turn her phone to him. “What are you talking about? We haven’t posted anything since before we left.”
Blonde hair whips around her face, and she chokes out a sob. “No! I posted yesterday after we visited that girl’s shithole of a farm.”
“Betsy’s?” Renee cuts in, looking over at us with confusion, choosing to ignore Trina’s insulting remark. “You saw Bets yesterday? How’s she handlin’ everything? Our girl was beside herself after—”
The scowl that Trina levels at Renee is ballsy, and I grunt at Remy to rein her in before Momma Landry has a fit.
“Thatgirlrode up onhishorse in a whirlwind, happy as fuck to have her hand in his cookie jar. Couldn’t have been prouder of fucking him over.” Renee jerks her head back, a look of fury taking over her whole body.
“Now see here,” she cuts in, taking a step forward.
Trina ignores her, turning her back to Renee, facing Remy again and shoves her phone in his face. “Look!”
Wilder is blinking in shock after whatever he just watched. When Remy starts watching, Renee huffs, clearly pissed. Tossing her wadded up towel on the counter, she snaps, “Well, I’ll leave you all to look at your phones and be on my way. I think you can handle cleanin’ up.”
I swallow, wanting to follow her, but something tells me that Remy is about to explode. The volume is low, but I can hear the thumping of whatever song she’s chosen to back the videos she loves doing to make the girls go psycho over some simple dudes in boots.
The whole thing is honestly so fucking ridiculous.
Betsy is muffled, but I immediately recognize her voice. Narrowing my eyes at Trina, I fight back the desire to holler at her. “You included her in a video without her permission? What happened to gettin’ signatures sayin’ they’re cool with it? I don’t remember her signin’ anythin’.”
This woman waves me off, never taking her eyes from Remy, like what I have to say doesn’t matter. “It’s good practice, but technically not necessary. Remy,saysomething.”
No part of him moves, except his eyes which whip up to zero in on our ‘handler’. “The fuck did you do, Trina? Why on God’s green earth would you have posted somethin’ like this?” His voice is low. Controlled. Furious.
Her fingers twist together. Whatever indignation she was feeling moments ago fades away. The phone is slid to me. I don’t give a shit what’s on there, but my curiosity is piqued.
Ignoring her explanation of wanting our followers to know more about us, reach them on a personal level, I play the video from the beginning.
It’s edited, flipping between shots of us standing in the dirt, looking out across the field in all our glory. Then Betsy riding up on Zeus, escaped hair from her braid flying around her, a massive grin on her face as she slides to a stop and gracefully drops from his back.
The video is badass until the frame changes to the next. Betsy’s shoulders slightly hunched, chewing on her lip, the brim of her hat tipped down to hide her eyes from me and the world. Remy’s there yelling, insisting she’s taken his horse as well. Another frame change showsmewith my arms crossed, peeking from under my brim with a frown, then another flash to Wilder, hands on his hips and anger radiating from his eyes.
Trina is still explaining, the shrill of her voice grating on my nerves, when the scene changes again. Remy telling her she fucked up, demanding to know if she really did own his farm. One last time to her telling him to write her a check, then Betsy walking away with Zeus’s reins tangled in her tightly fisted hand.
I watch it again.
