CHAPTER 87

west

T he guilt wouldn’t leave me alone.

Gay cowboy brings his convicted murderer boyfriend to a family-friendly event.

Fuck. That wasn’t the kind of publicity Jackson needed. And that was my fault. That was the shit I brought to the table. No one gave two shits about anything I did now. This was fucking karma coming to bite me in the ass. This was what I got for letting myself get comfortable with Jackson. For wanting something more with him.

But he and I were done. That writing was as clear as day on the wall. I wasn’t good for his career—his agent would remind him of that much.

I should’ve gone to Darla’s house, but I didn’t. No, I plopped my ass at the bar. The breakfast crowd started to wander in, and with the rodeo came alcohol. Nothing was off the table.

I stared down at the glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid. I hadn’t drunk any—couldn’t quite convince myself to do so. It’d make dealing with this shit easier, so why the hell couldn’t I do it?

“It ain’t worth breakin’ your sobriety, darlin’.” I frowned at the sound of Darla’s voice. I only spared her a quick glance as she slid into the spot next to me. “Trust me.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

“Honey, all my drinks are virgins.” She leaned a little closer, and I pulled back before her shoulder could bump into mine. She grinned as she added, “Unlike me.”

“Right,” I scoffed. “You trying to tell me you party with a bunch of fucking cowboys and bunnies while sober?”

“For about two years, drinkin’ was all I did,” Darla said. “And I made some real bad choices, and a lot of those choices I don’t remember. You ain’t got a clue what it’s like wakin’ up, naked in a room with no idea what the hell they did to you and only hearin’ the stories later.”

“I wish I didn’t remember,” I muttered mostly to myself.

“ Oh, ” she let out softly. Something crossed her face—something that looked a lot like pity.

“You can fuck off with that whole feeling sorry for me bullshit,” I snapped quickly. “I don’t need it, and I don’t fucking want it.”

“Either way,” she continued as she took away my glass. She damn near climbed over the fucking bar—ass in the air and all—to put it as far away from me as possible. I scowled but made no move to grab it. “One stupid headline ain’t worth breakin’ your sobriety. Jackson will figure it out, handsome. You ain’t got a thing to worry about.”

“He shouldn’t have to fucking figure it out,” I shot back. “I did this, and he doesn’t deserve me ruining his life.”

“Jackson’s tough,” she said. “The men around here can be real mean—not most of the time, but they can be—and he’s always good about handlin’ them with that big fuckin’ smile on his face. This? This ain’t nothin’.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“You got a hell of an ego, y’know that?” She cocked a brow as I stared at her, scowling. “You think anyone can do anythin’ to Jackson Myles’ life without his permission? No fuckin’, Sir. Look, if you were ruinin’ Jackson’s life, he’d have kicked you to the curb already. If you’re here, it’s because he wants you here. The rest is just bullshit and speed bumps, baby boy. ”

“Just bullshit and speed bumps,” I repeated under my breath. “That’s the story of my fucking life.”

“Mine too.” She gave me one of her too-big-for-her-face smiles. “But don’t it make life more interestin’?”

I rolled my eyes.

“You and I have very different definitions of interesting.”

“Then we just need to redefine your life to one that don’t involve drinkin’ alone in a bar when you should be making bacon with me. I make a mean omelet”

“What is it with all you damn people and trying to feed me?” I asked.

“It’s a love language. So, you ready to stop mopin’ about that article?”

“No.” I didn’t know how to let that fucking article go. It was only the start of many. I could feel that much in my bones. Jackson deserved better than my messy past.

“Did you really kill someone?” Darla asked, leaning as close as she could without touching me. Thank fuck. I stared hard at her as I contemplated what to tell her.

“Yeah.” I went with the simple one and offered nothing more.

“How do you like your bacon?” This girl needed to come with a whiplash warning.

“I don’t,” I said.

“What do you mean you don’t?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t like bacon.”

“Who the fuck doesn’t like bacon?”

“Me.”

“Obviously,” she retorted as she slid off the stool. “All right, get on up, ponyboy.”

“Ponyboy?” What the fuck was this shit?

“You have a way with the ponies, I hear,” she interrupted. “Now, get on up, I’m goin’ to make you a damn good breakfast and tell you about the gator incident in Louisiana two years ago. It was not inflatable, by the way.”

“What?” I made a face. What the hell was this girl going on about? The only thing I did understand was why Jackson liked her. They shared the same fire. That single thing about her made it easier to trail after her and give in to the idea of her feeding me.