But it wasn’t hurting someone else. He was so afraid he didn’t know how not to hurt someone.
He finished watering Mystery, and when Mel still didn’t appear, he went in search of her. When his bike came into view, she was still sitting in the seat, though the helmet was hanging off the handlebars. He wasn’t sure if it was his appearance or coincidence that she got off then.
She pulled a bag out of the compartment under the seat, then tossed it into the bed of her truck, never once looking at or greeting him.
He stopped halfway to her, uncertain. Something was wrong, and he didn’t particularly want to find out what.
Yes, you do. You’re building something, and you want her to be a part of it. He swallowed down the fear, because it was true. He wanted her to be a part of it, and he’d have to get over himself to make that happen.
So he forced himself to keep walking. All the way to her. She kept her back to him until he touched her shoulder. “Hey.”
She turned slowly, almost reluctantly, and he could immediately see why. Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes bloodshot. She had to clear her throat to speak, but then she didn’t speak at all.
He reached out to touch her cheek, warm and damp. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
She pulled away from his hand, almost wincing at his touch. She cleared her throat again, stepping around him.
Daniel, please, don’t make this any harder on me.
He snatched his hand back, not sure where that memory came from. Somewhere deep down. He had tried to help Mom, failed.
You’re not fucking five anymore.
But he’d been a teen when he’d started distancing himself from his grandparents, and he’d never made amends with anyone or dealt with any of the emotional baggage he’d skated away from. Even at thirty-five.
“Mel?”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was raspy. Everything about her was…even that day she’d cried on his shoulder hadn’t been like this. That had been more like a breaking point, a release. This seemed like she was already broken, and there was nothing left.
It made his chest ache hard enough to cover up the fear he didn’t know what to do with. “Honey, what is it?”
“I don’t…want to talk about it.” She stopped, her back to him, her gaze on something, though he wasn’t sure what. “But, um, can I stay here? For a bit?”
“Stay here? Well, sure, but…”
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
She was killing him with this shit. He crossed to her, turned her around so she had to look at him. “Why? What happened at Shaw? What’s wrong?”
She didn’t meet his gaze, no matter how he tried to get in her line of sight. “I… I don’t want to talk about it. Can we… Can we not?” Finally her eyes met his, full of so many things he had to drop his hand, step back.
It was too much like last night. Too much like when he’d told her that her father had her and Caleb, and the pain had been so clearly written all over her face.
He wanted to know what to do for her, how to make it okay, but he didn’t know what to do except what she asked. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about it.”
Some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
So that was the right thing, he guessed. Why did it feel all wrong?
“Did you come home with llamas?”
“Uh. No, but I made a deal with the breeder and he’s going to bring them out next week.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
They stood there in awkward silence, the beautiful sunset going eerie as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, as Mel said nothing, didn’t move an inch.
Silences used like a shield. Why did that feel so damn familiar? “Do you want me to get your bag?”
That finally got her moving. “No.” She grabbed it herself and began striding toward his house. To stay with him. Because something had happened back at Shaw that caused her to pack a bag and cry and leave.
Something she didn’t want to talk about. Didn’t want his help with. Would this turn into silences and pauses and painful conversations like he and Mom had? Into trying to only tell him the things she thought he could deal with?
She didn’t want to talk about it because she didn’t trust him with it. With her truck, maybe, but not with her pain.
He let out a breath and followed her to the house, reluctance making his steps feel heavy. He needed a plan. That had helped him with the ranch—maybe he could work that strategy to how to deal with Mel.
She really wasn’t anything like Mom, but they both had a tendency to pull in when they were upset. Shut it all down, and while any comparison felt kind of weird, maybe it could help. For everything he had failed at as a kid, he could figure out how to make right with Mel.