Ugh. Pathetic.
I take a deep breath and my eyes drop down to the half-empty bottle of tequila.
Not good. We’re both buzzed, really buzzed, and strung out from today. A flash of skin catches my attention, and I realize my thigh is on full display.
Oh, for heaven’s sakes. No wonder he wants to jump your bones. You're half-naked.
I pull the fabric over my legs and yank the blanket over me as he strolls back in. He glances at the TV and then back at me.
“What should we watch?”
He flips through the channels, and we debate different movies. I want a John Hughes film, and he wants Die Hard or Terminator. I shake my head. Men.
He tosses the remote next to the half-eaten box of pizza, and Steve Carell’s voice fills the room. We settle on 40-Year-Old Virgin without ever saying anything. It just happens to be on TV.
I don’t miss the way he sits on the other side of the couch this time or how he leans away like he’s deliberately putting distance between us.
For some reason, this makes me like him more. So many men would use today as an excuse to get in a girl’s panties. But not Brady. He totally could have had me ten ways to Sunday a few minutes ago.
But then a nagging thought starts looping in my brain.
Maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he realizes that a short fling with a farm girl is more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe he’s not attracted to me like I am to him.
Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I pour another shot of tequila. I’m gonna regret the alcohol tomorrow, but this might numb the sting of rejection.
It’s late. We’ve been downing one Steve Carell comedy after another. The pizza is gone and so is half a casserole I microwaved. My buzz has worn off, and I suspect Brady’s has too. We stopped drinking a while ago.
I turn to Brady as I stand up and stretch. “Want some Advil? I’m gonna grab a couple before I go to bed.”
He nods and mutters thanks.
When I return, I hold out his glass of water and two orange tablets, which he takes with a small smile. “Wake me up tomorrow so I can help feed all the little beasts.”
Oh, crap.
How being around Brady could make me forget the obvious things I should be doing right now frustrates me. “I should check on everyone. It’s been raining pretty hard.”
I bolt out of the room before he can answer. I know he doesn’t understand why we have so many animals, but Mel loved them, and Izzy does too, and despite how much work they are, I’d rather lose a limb than let anything happen to them.
In my bedroom, I throw on my work boots and shrug into a coat. As I’m heading out the back door, Brady grips my arm. I turn and find him inches away, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin.
“You shouldn’t go out there in the storm. Let me go.”
His words send a panic through me. That night. The way my friends left in the thunderstorm. How they never came back.
My heart races, and I grip his shirt with both hands. “No fucking way.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go out there.
I shake my head, my hands trembling. I can’t breathe, and I start gasping for air.
He closes his eyes briefly. I see the moment he realizes why I’m freaking out, because he reaches for me and presses me against his chest.
His chin rests on top of my head, and I want to melt into him, but the secret I’ve been keeping is too much to bear. I’ve been trying to put it out of my head all week just to get through the funerals, but I can’t let this go any longer. He deserves to know. He might kick me out, but I have to tell him.
“Brady.” My voice is muffled against his chest. Inhale. Exhale.
“Shh. It’s okay. Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen tonight.”
Guilt floods me. I can’t let him comfort me. It’s not right.
“I have to tell you something.” I push against him until he lets me go. “It’s about the accident.”
We stand in the dark hallway, and I hear little meows coming from the back porch. I ignore the kittens and prepare myself for what needs to be said. “It was my fault.” My face tilts down. “What happened. Why Sampson got out. The reason Cal and Mel drove out into the storm.”
He stills, and even in the dark, I can feel his piercing eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I was supposed to lock up Sampson. I had gone to the barn to check on him. He was restless.” I blink back the familiar sting of tears in my eyes. “That horse hates thunder and was kicking against his stall. I walked in there to brush his mane and talk to him until he settled down. But I must have left the stall unlatched because later it was banging in the wind.”
I can tell Brady doesn’t get what I’m saying, so I continue. “It’s why Mel and Cal went out that night. Because Sampson got out. It’s why they took their truck and went down to the back creek. He always wanders down there when he breaks loose.”