The chainsaw whirs outside, and I sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the side. I run a hand through my hair. Will he fight me if I don’t want to leave this fucking room today?
Kaleb ditched us and went hunting again yesterday, and Dad’s barely said three words to me in the last forty-eight hours. Fun, fun. It’s like old times again.
I shake my head and stand up, throwing on some jeans before leaving the room. I’m getting out of this house. Out of this town. In the middle of the night like a coward, because I can’t handle confrontation, but I’m leaving. Maybe he’ll realize how fantastic I was once he doesn’t have me to push around anymore. Because he certainly won’t get in Kaleb’s face.
And maybe Kaleb will finally utter a word when I’m not here to do all his talking for him.
I can’t do another winter with them. I’ll go crazy.
Heading downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and go straight for the coffee machine, seeing my dad step in from the shop. I grab a mug and then the pot, seeing it’s empty just as he stops to refill his, too.
I sigh, my headache swelling more.
“Just…” He shoves his cup and stalks away. “Make another pot.”
I cock an eyebrow but do as I’m told. How long has he been up?
He throws a loaf of bread, some bacon he fried up, and a couple boxes of cereal on the table with the milk and butter, and I dump out the used coffee filter, replacing it with a clean one.
Once the coffee grounds are loaded, I fill up the water container and start brewing, grabbing an Oreo from the package sitting on the counter.
What am I doing today? More of the same, but there’s always beer. I’ve got that to look forward to, at least, now that I missed my window for the sponsorship with DeltaCorps.
And now that the house is fucking silent again, because…
He sits down, making himself a sandwich, and I plop down across from him, taking a bite of the cookie.
But at the taste, my stomach immediately rolls. I force the bite down but toss the rest of the cookie onto the table.
I feel like shit.
“This fuckin’ sucks,” I grumble.
I miss her. We all miss her. Even Kaleb, too, I think. He came home twenty-four hours ago with some waterfowl, found her gone, and left again soon after, disappearing into the woods again for another whole damn day.
I miss coming downstairs and seeing lights on. Girls like it cozy and warm. I liked that touch she added to the house. And seeing her outside or in the barn or padding around barefoot in our kitchen… The house felt good. Even her pissy moods amused me.
The front door opens and Kaleb walks in, tearing off his shirt, bloody from whatever he’s stocking our freezer with for the winter. I can almost see Tiernan holding the back of her hand to her mouth, looking like she was about to throw up every time she saw him like that.
My heart aches a little.
“Just go get her,” I tell my father, but I don’t look at him.
Kaleb fills up a glass with water, and I wait for the argument from my dad, because there’s no merit in anything I think or say. He never listens, just responds in the exact opposite of whatever I want.
“She’s dealing with the death of her parents,” he says, swallowing his food. “She’s an adult. I can’t tell her what to do.”
“She’s not an adult,” I retort. “Her place is here. It’s your say. Not hers.”
He sits back in his chair, dropping his sandwich to his plate. I know what he’s thinking. I sound fucking crazy. Would I really want him to drag her back here kicking and screaming?
No.
Maybe.
“The funeral was only yesterday,” he tells me. “She might still come back.”
Yeah, right. We fought with her like assholes, and she took no time to decide to leave. Why would she come back? I wouldn’t.
I reach over and pick up the juice, uncapping the container and lifting it to my mouth.
But then a door slams upstairs, and I hear a creak of the floorboards.
I freeze, locking eyes with my dad.
His eyes narrow.
“Did you have someone over last night?” he asks me.
“No.”
I lower the juice, both of us training our ears.
Maybe Kaleb had someone…
But before I can finish the thought, we hear footfalls on the stairs and all turn our heads, seeing Tiernan swing around the bannister, dressed in baggy jean shorts, my T-shirt, hair a mess, and sunglasses shielding her from the morning light as she hugs herself against the chill in the air.
What the fuck?
“Morning,” she says through a yawn.
I shoot up out of my chair, gaping at her as she brushes past the table to the coffee machine.
“Morning?” I burst out. “Where did you come from?”
She just strolls in, like she never left. Is this a dream?
“When did you get in?” my dad asks before she can answer me.
She pushes her sunglasses back on her head, yawning again. Kaleb stares down at her as she stands next to him, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Last night,” she replies.
“How did you get here from the airport?”
“Uber,” she tells him.
“You came back,” I say, still stunned as my heart pounds.
She’s really here? Like she was in her room this whole fucking time I was pouting down here?
She turns her head over her shoulder, looking at both of us like we’re idiots.
She definitely won’t handle a hug right now.
“Can someone look at the shift on the tractor?” she asks, changing the subject. “It’s sticking. And the vacuum? It’s way, way too loud.” She pours a little cream in her coffee and stirs. “Just because y’all build motorcycles does not mean everything on this property needs to be rewired to sound like a muscle car.”
She picks up her cup and starts to walk out of the room.
“I’ll handle Bernadette, feed the horses and dogs, and pick all the tomatoes before I get started on breakfast,” she tells us. “Would someone mind bringing a load of wood up to my room sometime today? It’s getting too cold at night.”
She leaves the room, heading back upstairs, and I stare at my dad, my mouth hanging open a little.
“I’m not feeding you until the stalls are done and Shawnee’s had her work-out!” she yells as she climbs the stairs. “Let’s go!”
My dad’s eyes go wide and he pops out of his chair, stuffing the last piece of bacon in his mouth as I laugh, downing a huge gulp of orange juice before rushing out of the kitchen.
Yes, ma’am.
I finish putting a blanket over the mare and run my hand down her head, between the eyes before closing the gate and scurrying out of the barn.
I shiver. Shit, it got chilly. The sun dipped behind the peak an hour ago, and while it’s not quite dark, I’m missing its warmth. Grabbing my sweatshirt draped over the logs, I pull it over my head, fixing my hat again.
“Tiernan!” I shout, watching her step out of the greenhouse and yank the hose back over to the side. “Let’s get drunk!”
She flashes me a small smile, and I inhale, smelling the steaks on the grill.
She jogs up the steps of the house, her rain boots covered in dried mud from the last time she wore them, and I run after her, both of us heading around the deck to the back of the house.
I grab two beers out of the tub, swiping off the ice and untwisting the tops. I hand one to her as we stop next to my dad.
“It’s chilly.” She bounces up and down.
I pull off my sweatshirt and hand it to her. She’s already wearing my old blue and white flannel, but she doesn’t argue. Taking the navy-colored pullover, she slips it on and takes the extra beer I offer.
“Never too cold to grill,” my dad points out.
She smiles. “It smells good. I’m starving.”
He loads the steaks on a plate, I take the grilled corn, and Tiernan runs inside to grab the macaroni salad and potato chips.
We set everything down on the picnic table in the shop, the doors open, and the music playing as the evening air grows crisper. The beer lulls my veins, and I polish off the bottle as I reach behind me and grab the bottle of Patrón off the worktable.
I pour us each a shot, handing one to Tiernan.
“Uh, no,” she says, setting the condiments on the table.
“Yes.” I nod, placing it next to her plate. “We’re getting fucked up.”
Kaleb walks over, taking a seat, and I throw back my shot, blowing a breath at the burn. I slam the glass down and let out a yelp as it hits my stomach, leaping around the table, scooping Tiernan up, and flipping her over my shoulder.
“Because she’s ours all winter!” I spin around, hearing her squeal.
“Noah!” she barks.
But I laugh anyway. Thank fuck this day is ending better than it started. I might’ve actually had to stand up for myself and walk out of here for good.
Having her around will make this house bearable. She makes my dad bearable.
“For Christ’s sake, sit down,” Dad orders. “Eat like a family.”
I put her back on her feet, chuckling and pushing her down in her chair.
Popping another beer, I watch as her eyes lock in on the tequila and she cocks an eyebrow.
Come on. My father never drinks enough to get drunk, and Kaleb could drink my weight in Jack, Jim, and Jose together and still not feel anything.
She takes a deep breath and picks up the glass as my dad doles out the steak, and she tips it back, swallowing the entire shot in one gulp.
And without training wheels. Good girl.
I refill my glass and then hers.
“Stop.” She holds out her hand. “I don’t need to be puking.”
“Tell you what,” I say as she scoops out salad onto our plates. “I’ll make you a bet. If I clean my plate of all my food before you, you have to do two more shots.”
She looks at the T-bone on her plate that’s bigger than her face.
“And if I clean mine first?” she asks.
“Then I’ll do the two shots.”
“You were going to do the two shots anyway.”
I snort. Yes, true.
“I’ll do your laundry this week,” I offer.
“No one else touches my underwear, thank you.”
“Yeah, that’s clear as day.”
Her eyes bug out, and my father breaks into a quiet laugh, he and her sharing a quick glance right before he shuts up.
She purses her lips and glares at me.
“Okay, okay,” I say, getting serious. “If you clean your plate first, I have breakfast duty for the rest of the week.”
She ponders it for a moment and then nods once. “Deal.”
I pick up my steak knife and fork, seeing we both have the same cut of meat and the same scoop of macaroni salad.
Her hands remain in her lap.
“Ready?” she asks.
“You don’t need utensils?”
She shakes her head, an unsettling smirk on her face. “Nope.”
Okayyy. You’re so doing these two shots.
“Go!” I yell.
I shovel in a mouthful and look over, seeing her take her plate and set it on the ground.
Huh?
I freeze, watching Danny and Johnny scarf up everything on her plate, one taking the steak and the other tearing off half as they both escape to a corner to savor their spoils.
What the fuck?
“That wasn’t the deal!” I blurt out, food nearly falling out of my mouth.
“You said I had to clean my plate.”
“You!” I reiterate. “YOU had to clean the plate!”
“Semantics.” She takes a swig of her beer, a look of self-satisfaction on her face.
“That was your dinner, honey,” Dad warns her.
She shrugs. “Saving calories for breakfast in the morning.” And then she looks at me. “Pancakes, please. With sausage and toast.”
She laughs, and I growl under my breath.
At least I can still do her two shots.
We sit and eat, Tiernan picking a sweet pickle out of the little bowl and biting into it.
“Snow’s coming soon,” Dad tells us, lifting his beer as he looks at Tiernan. “We’ll hit town a couple more times, maybe get you some low-key attire of your own that fits.”
“She can wear my shit.” I chew my food. “I got plenty.”
“She’s drowning in it.” And then he looks at her again. “We’ll find some jeans that fit that don’t cost three-hundred dollars.”
“Three. Hundred. Dollars.” I arch a brow at her. “What the hell possesses you?”
She scowls and opens her mouth to snap back at me but then she stops, pausing as she notices Kaleb putting a new plate in front of her and scraping off half his steak, already cut up into bite-sized chunks.
He doesn’t make eye contact and goes back to eating and drinking as if nothing happened.
“Uh…” She searches for her words. “Th—thank you.”
I roll my eyes and take a drink of my beer. I should’ve thought of that.
It takes her a minute to remember where we were, but then she glares at me again. “First of all,” she says, “my family’s personal shopper buys my clothes—or bought my clothes—and second of all…they look good.”
“You don’t need to look good,” my father interjects. “Looking good around here ends you up married and pregnant at eighteen.”
“Your sons definitely know what a condom is and so do I.”
I snort.
“Besides,” she adds, “I haven’t had a single boyfriend. When I’ve had three then you can worry about me ending up pregnant and married.”
“Three?” I mumble over my food.
She hesitates, looking like she’d rather not explain herself. “My mother said no woman should get married until they’ve had at least three…”
She waves her hand as if I know how to finish that sentence.
“Three…?” my father prompts her.
“Lovers,” she blurts out. “Boyfriends, whatever.”
I pinch my eyebrows together. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She lets out a sigh, straightening her spine and looking visibly uncomfortable. Finally, she takes the ketchup, Heinz sauce, and A.1. bottle, moving them one next to the other.
“Lust, learn, and love,” she says, placing the condiments and touching her finger to the ketchup. “My mother said the first boy—or man—is a crush. You think you love them, but what you really love is how they make you feel. It’s not love. It’s lust. Lust for attention. Lust for danger. Lust to feel special.” She looks between us. “You’re needy with number one. Needy for someone to love you.”
My father forgets the food he’s chewing as he gapes at her.
“The second is to learn about yourself.” She touches the Heinz. “Your first crush has been crushed. You’re sad, but most of all, you’re angry. Angry enough to not let it happen again,” she explains. “To not give yourself over so much this time. To not give up your power to be his booty call at midnight and there waiting whenever he decides to show up.”
She’s describing us, I take it.
“Number two is where you finally learn what you’re capable of,” she continues, tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You start getting demanding. You grow bold, not afraid to start calling some shots. You’re also not afraid to be greedier in the bedroom, because it’s about what you want and not what he wants. Number two is to be used. In a way.”
My dad clears his throat, and I laugh to myself as I drop my fork and give her my full attention. She said bedroom.
“What the fuck did she teach you?” he mumbles.
But I want her to keep going. “And number three?” I ask, picking up the A.1.
“Love.” She snatches the bottle away. “When the lessons of your weakness with number one and your selfishness with number two sink in, and you find a medium. When you know who you are and you’re ready to welcome everything he is, and you’re not afraid anymore.” She puts the bottle back in its place. “You still might not have a happy ending, but you’ll engage in a healthy relationship and handle yourself in a way you’re proud of.”
“And you think your mother is the one to listen to?” Dad replies.
“She was a failure as a mother,” Tiernan points out. “But nothing else. It’s the only advice she ever gave me, actually, so I kind of hang on to it.”
It actually isn’t terrible advice. I’m so glad I didn’t marry my first. Or my fifth. People learn about themselves through sex. It’s true. And sometimes it may take a lot of living to become the person you want to be. I’m happy my future wife won’t have to experience the complete prick I was at seventeen. I was much worse. Like a lot worse.
“Well, sounds like you already know what you need to know,” my dad tells her. “Why go through three men to get it?”
“Some lessons can’t be taught,” she says, taking a bite of the steak Kaleb gave her. “Just learned. Don’t you think?”
I watch in amusement as he can’t fucking respond, because she’s right. Sometimes people have to make their own mistakes and feel the pain.
She takes her empty beer and stands up. “Anyway, nothing to worry about,” she assures him. “I have zero interest in relationship drama, and even if I did, we’ll be deep in snow for months very soon. The perfect chastity belt.”
She walks over to the garbage, tossing her empty bottle and reaching into the fridge to grab another.
Our eyes follow her, barely breathing as we watch her lean over in her three-hundred-dollar jeans to find a new bottle.
I shift in my seat, the sudden bulge between my legs swelling.
“Yeah,” I murmur sarcastically as I lift my bottle to my lips. “Because there’s no danger here whatsoever.”
Dad shoots me a look.
Pretty sure he knows by now that it’s going to be a long fucking winter.
