10. Red

Isink into her couch and look up at the mantle clock. I should head home, but I find myself staying later and later each night, even though it makes the early mornings painful. From the moment her front door closes behind me, it's an excruciatingly slow countdown to when I come over again. There aren't many places I'd rather be than on the back of the horse, far from civilization, with nothing but open skies and endless mountains. But these days I spend the entire time itching to get back to the barn, untack, shower, and drive to her house.

My new favourite place on Earth is wherever Cassidy Bowman is.

Nothing could've cleared that up for me like being out of cell service last week. My body was moving cattle with the boys, but my mind was right here with her. When somebody made a funny joke, I wanted to text Cass. While I made dinner, I wondered if she was eating the meals we saved in her fridge. Falling asleep at night, I pictured her watching TV alone. We haven't talked about whether she missed me—not that she would ever break and admit to it, anyway. But the moment we returned to the ranch, my phone went crazy with incoming delayed text messages to the point Colt and Denny both made snippy comments about me being whipped. It seemed she texted me every single random thought that popped into her head over those three days.

Tonight, it's late. I should leave, yet I make no move toward the door. Instead, I tuck her frozen feet under a blanket while she flips on our nightly reality TV binge. I've never been a big television guy but I can get behind sitting here with her every night. Rubbing her feet when she says they're sore, talking about our friends, planning a nursery. And, as fucked up as it is, I've unwittingly become invested in all these women competing to date one guy.

"Imagine making it all the way to the hometown episode, then discovering the other person's family is completely off the rails." Cass gathers a section of her golden hair between her fingers like she's creating a paintbrush and begins toying with the ends. "Do you dump them because of that, or just accept the insanity?"

"Who am I to judge? My family's a fucking train wreck. I'd be the one getting dumped after the episode, not the other way around."

"I'm sure your family can't be that bad. Your brothers always seemed like decent guys. I know your dad's a drinker, but your parents are still together, right?"

I snort. "They shouldn't be. My dad's not a good guy, Cass. Way beyond the drinking."

She pauses the TV and turns in her seat, worry filling her pretty blue eyes as she considers my words. "How bad are we talking?"

I waffle between telling her or not. My family situation isn't a secret, per se. Austin, Jackson, and Denver know all of it because they were there. Even still, I usually prefer not to bring this shit up. Although the anxious look on her face tells me she genuinely wants to know. She wants—and probably deserves—the honest answer, as the mother of my child.

"I don't want you to think less of me."

She squints, shaking her head with a small, confused smile. "Why would I think less of you because of your dad?"

Why wouldn't she? That's the better question.

"I don't want you to question who I am as a person." I look down at my lap, sliding my calloused palms together until they're fiery. "And I really don't want you to wonder if I'll be the same type of dad he was."

"Never. Promise." The soft kindness in her expression and the quivering corner of her lip ease my worry. A gentle nod encourages me to talk.

I grab her hand and run it over the circular scar on my forearm. It's covered with thick, black tattooing in a pine tree design, but you can feel the raised, scarred skin underneath. Her eyes narrow, searching for an explanation of why I'm making her feel an old wound. "This is where he burned me with the twelve-volt lighter in his truck. I was ten and left the window down a crack on a night when it rained… so when we got into the truck the next morning, my mom's seat was wet."

"Jesus Christ. Did your mom know he—"

"She was sitting right there." I suck my teeth.

Her shoulders drop, and she blinks up at me with doe-like, watery eyes. I feel bad sharing this with her. Worried Cass hearing about my shitty upbringing would make her regret letting me be involved with Little Spud, I didn't consider she might feel empathy for me.

"W-why didn't she try to…" Her voice trails off, silently answering her own question.

My hand fully covering hers, I move her fingers toward my wrist. "This scar here, I had surgery because I broke my arm when I was twelve. He smacked my mom, and I charged at him. He shoved me pretty hard, and I fell down the front porch steps of the house we lived in at the ranch."

"God," she says under her breath. "I can't imagine."

Good. It's good she can't imagine it. It's good she didn't have to deal with anything like that. It's so fucking good she knows what it's like to have a loving, safe parent, so she can teach me how to be one.

"None of us were safe. When it came down to choosing between us kids and Joe, I guess she thought it was better in the long run to side with him. Keep him happy or whatever."

She tosses the blanket aside and crawls across the couch cushions until she's practically on top of me. Tight against my side, cradling my arm in her hands. She leans in to study my skin, suddenly noticing all the scarring I've done a great job of disguising behind tattooed trees, horses, and heavy shading.

"Is that why you have your tattoos?" she asks in a whisper.

"I got my first at fifteen and, when I realized it was a way I could cover up my past, I started spending every spare dollar on them. Until my body, and my memories of him, were nothing but a canvas for something better."

"That's really sad… and beautiful." The pads of her fingertips trace my tattoos, stopping briefly each time she feels the uneven texture of an old injury. I can't even breathe with her hands on me, and the fire in my veins feels like I'm pounding back hard liquor. Her touch is a fucking drug, and it's no wonder why I'm addicted. "Are all these scars from him?"

"No, no. A lot of them are from growing up on a ranch and working on one. I've gotten my fair share of cuts, scrapes, and broken bones just from roughing it with the Wells boys. But I think that only made the shit my dad did less noticeable. Teachers and nurses and doctors couldn't tell when my injuries were from something stupid I did versus something he did."

She licks her lips, blinking away the glassy sheen in her eyes, then presses her cheek to my chest and tucks her arms around me. I breathe in her hair like I'm trying to get high off her scent. Sharing my secrets comes with a weightlessness I've never experienced before. My heart's so light it floats, bouncing against my sternum like a balloon hitting the rafters; her embrace the singular thing keeping me from floating away. And, fuck, her hug's infinitely more healing than the liquor and weed I've previously numbed my pain with.

"I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve any of what you went through. And somebody should've stopped it. I wish I'd known the pain you were in."

"It's okay. I learned to stay out of his way, for the most part. And especially when he'd been drinking. Thankfully, the Wells family was always there when I needed to get away."

"Is that why you came back here instead of staying in the city?"

Driven out of town when I was fifteen—after my dad started one too many fights, stole one too many items, and pissed off one too many people—we moved to a shitty two-bedroom apartment in the city.

Though she can't see me, I'm sure she can feel my nod. "My dad struggled to find and keep jobs—turns out, construction sites are slightly more strict about drinking on the job than cattle ranches. We barely scraped by, which made things at home significantly worse, if you can believe that. As soon as I could, I called Grandpa Wells to ask for a job. Coming back to all the terrible memories was hard, but not coming back would've been harder. If he would've said no, I don't know where I'd be today—sure as shit wouldn't be in Vancouver. Only deranged people prefer to live somewhere where you can't see the stars, smell clean air, or jump on a horse and ride for hours without seeing a soul."

She sits up straight, keeping her hands on me. Her painted pink nails run up and down my forearm, igniting my skin like a grass fire that spreads quickly up my arm and explodes in my chest. "I always thought I'd end up in the city."

"Really?" I choke out the question—a piss poor attempt at masking my concern that she might pack up our baby and leave Wells Canyon. "I have a hard time picturing you anywhere but here."

"Well, don't waste your time trying to imagine it because I'm stuck here now."

"You're not stuck… If you want to move to a city, you can expect me to put up a fight. Anywhere else, I'll come with you."

"You'll come with me, eh? Did you seriously just invite yourself to move in with me again? Starting to worry I'll come home one day and all your stuff will be here." Her cheeky smile's illuminated by the cool glow of the paused television in an otherwise dark room. It sparkles in her eyes and highlights the deeply grooved cupid's bow above her upper lip.

"We don't have to live together, but I told you I won't be the dad who's never around except for holidays. Living hours away from my kid isn't an option."

"I seriously doubt I'd ever choose to move, anyway. I always said I wanted to, but I've never been able to find a good enough reason to leave. No dreams big or worthy enough to justify leaving my dad here alone." She lets go of my arm, and I feel the loss of her touch all the way down to the marrow in my bones.

"You were easily the smartest kid in our school. I always assumed you'd be a doctor, lawyer, scientist, or something."

She halfheartedly laughs. "I wish that were the case. But I never found my thing, y'know?"

"Maybe your thing is having a disturbing amount of knowledge about reality television."

"Too bad I can't figure out a way for that to pay my bills instead of gossiping about it with Blair every week. I'd be living the dream." She lounges back, farther away from me than I like. But we're friends. Just friends. That's why she comforted me when she felt I needed it and why she's moved back to her end of the couch now that the moment is over. "For what it's worth, I'm not worried about you being like your dad."

"No?"

"I know you're quick to solve problems with your fists when it's another guy involved. A few months ago, I may have been a tiny bit concerned. But since I've gotten to know you better, no shot. You're like… well, you're somewhat of a growly farm dog."

I recoil. "The fuck?"

She flaps her hand in my direction, silently telling me to calm down because she's laughing too hard to get words out. "Relax. I only mean you won't hesitate to fuck somebody up if they mess with the people you care about, but you wouldn't dream of hurting the people you love."

"And you figure you're one of those people?"

She absolutely is. Tops the list, honestly.

She pulls a face. "I'd fucking hope so, considering I'm carrying your child."

"Okay, okay. You're right. I guess I'll pretend being compared to an old farm dog is a compliment."

"Hey, you're the one who added ‘old', not me." Her foot taps on the couch as we sit silently for a moment. "Nobody knows this, but I have secret accounts online, so I can keep tabs on my mom."

"Yeah? Why?"

She shrugs, chewing the inside of her cheek like bubble gum. "I guess to see if she's happier… without me."

"She's not."

"Mmmm, agree to disagree. She seems pretty happy travelling around in a camper van with a boyfriend closer to our age than hers."

"Everybody seems happy online. I bet she misses you. I can't see how anybody who's ever had the privilege of knowing you wouldn't miss you."

Hell, a few days without her was physically painful. I can't imagine years.

With a huff of disagreement, Cass snuggles down deeper into the plush couch. "Every time I get a fleeting feeling of wanting to leave town, I get scared I'm turning into her."

"You're not," I state matter-of-factly.

"You don't know that. I could be."

"If I'm a growly old farm dog, you're a barn cat. If I keep feeding you, I doubt you'll go anywhere."

"You're an asshole." She kicks me in the thigh playfully.

Cass presses play, and we return to the show. Well, she returns to the show. I'm having a hard time paying attention to whatever Courtney F. and Sara P. are bitching about when the most incredible girl in the world is sitting across from me. Instead, I watch her with complete adoration. One hand resting on the tiny baby bump while the other twirls a loose strand of hair. Some nights, I worry she's going to pull her hair right out with the way she absentmindedly twists it around and around for the two-hour episode.

I've known her for so many years and wasted so much time not trying to know her. Or letting her—or anyone—know me. I bared the heaviest part of my soul tonight, and nothing changed in the way she looks at me. She glances over at me from across the couch, and her eyes light up, a crooked smile traipsing across her lips. My only regret is not finding a way to be here with her sooner—years sooner.