Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

“I had no choice, Rachel. No, wait, that’s not true. I had two choices. And I picked the one that I thought was best for the both of us.”

I blink at him, tears rolling down my face, my heart lurching around in my chest, trying to find a place to land. “What are you talking about?”

He takes in a deep breath and looks away, a quiet kind of madness flashing in his eyes. “Do you remember the night before? Your father…attacked you. You called me. I took you home. You told me everything. You fell asleep…” His eyes swing to mine. He swallows. “Do you remember how when you woke up, I wasn’t there. I was down at the barn. I had bandages wrapped around my knuckles because I had one of the horses spook on me when I had the reins wrapped around my hands.”

I remember. I remember everything because that morning was the last morning we had together. You always remember your last day with someone you love, like it’s your last day on earth. Every look, every smell, every touch. I remember that day he acted like he was wrestling one of his demons. I assumed it had something to do with what I told him the night before, that he didn’t know how to deal with it. I couldn’t blame him.

“Do you then remember that your father was severely beaten by a couple of junkies who tried to rob a house?”

I just stare at him and in my heart I feel the puzzle pieces come together before my brain can even catch up.

“There were no junkies. That was me. You told me what he did to you and all I wanted to do was kill him. And so I almost did. I fucked up, Rachel. And in the end…I didn’t have a choice.”

I can only shake my head, my hand at my chest, my heart throwing itself at my ribs. “You broke up with me…” I say faintly.

“I broke up with you because your father told me to. It was either that. Or it was jail.”

“He…he told you to break up with me? Why?”

He gives me a sour smile. “Because he knew that would kill me more than throwing me in jail would. He knew how much I loved you. He knew how to get to me. What would really make me suffer. And so I had to do it. I had to be as cruel and ruthless to you as possible. I wanted you to rip off your necklace and throw it at me, and you did. I wanted that kind of hate from you, because only then would you not question me. And only then would you finally leave this place. Only then would you be safe.” He licks his lips. “It worked. You left. And he couldn’t hurt you anymore.”

I can’t believe this. The parking lot is starting to spin around me, the lights swirling like galaxies.

How can this be? How can everything that happened be based on a lie? And while my heart is trying to sing for what Shane did, how it wasn’t about the loss of love but the protection of life, it’s beating to a different beat. Trying to catch up, trying to understand.

The last six years have been rewritten.

Everything I’ve based my new life on has been ripped out from underneath me.

I’m both elated and confused, angry…lost.

“I shouldn’t apologize again because I know you don’t like it,” Shane says. “But I’ve been dealing with this truth every single day since you left. It killed me to know that I had to hurt you like that and the only trade off was that you were somewhere safe and free. But, fuck, Rachel. I’m so sorry it came to that. I was young, I wasn’t thinking. I could only think of hurting him for hurting you and because of that, I fucked both our lives up. And I know it’s going to take some time to come to terms with it.”

I nod, glancing at him briefly. I can’t be here anymore. I can’t deal with him.

“I’m going to go,” I tell him absently, trying to find words. “See if Fox is back and can drive me home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I… I need time to think.” I suck in a breath, my chest tight. “Jesus, Shane. This changes everything.”

“For good or bad?”

I look at him and frown, sick to my stomach. “I have no idea.”

And then I walk off, unsteady at first, then quicker, until I’m back inside the bar.

Everything already looks different.





14





Shane





I have dreams of blood and guns. Of toothless grins and devil eyes. Of prison bars over beating hearts. Of Rachel’s lips. Those beautiful lips, the taste of whisky on them, maraschino cherries. Hope. So much hope.

Did that really happen?

The world seems different under the veil of truth.

A thud shakes the whole room, sending knives into my brain.

“Holy hell, Shane,” Maverick’s voice booms. “Did you tie one on last night or what?”

I groan and open one eye. The room spins. I’m no longer dreaming even though fragments of last night settle around me like dust.

“What time is it?” I mumble into the pillow.

“It’s nine a.m., sharpshooter,” he says, kicking the edge of the bed, blunt objects splintering through my head. “I thought you cowboys were up with the fucking roosters.”

“Most cowboys don’t drink their weight in whisky,” I manage to say. My mouth tastes like sour dirt.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mav says. “Of course they do. The only difference is they know how to handle it and you obviously don’t. I’m starting to think you ain’t a Nelson at all.”

“Why are you here, standing in my room, yelling at me?” I slowly ease myself up, ignoring the spins.

“Because dad said you needed my help today. He’s off on a ride, says you need to do the irrigation pipes. I know you need help for that.”

I nod. Irrigating is an all-day job and time-consuming. Usually we hire someone to do this but it’s a tough role to fill and we’ve already gone through three different guys this year so far. The pipes have to be moved every day to ensure the fields (which we use for hay or silage) get water and some of our lines are hand lines, so we have to manually move each forty-foot pipe over sixty feet to ensure the entire field gets water. It’s hard, tedious work.

So I’m surprised that Maverick volunteered for the job. Surprised but not at all complaining, especially when I feel like ass.

“Well I’m glad you’re here,” I tell him, moving slowly as I put on my jeans so as not to disrupt all the loose sharp stuff in my brain. “You do remember how to ride, right?”

He grins at me as I throw on my tee shirt and hat. “Fuck riding, brother. We’re taking my new truck.”

“That’s not technically yours,” I remind him. “And this field is all the way to the east, down by the lake.”

“Then we’ll see just how this baby will handle.”

As it turns out, it handles really well. Maverick loves his vehicles and he’s driving this truck with a big, shit-eating grin on his face, laughing maniacally as we careen over potholes and bumps.

Finally, we reach the field and get started, carefully moving the long, rusted pipe along the tall, green grass in sections. It’s a lot of lifting and shuffling and the sun beats down on us harder with each hour that passes.

We take a break at the truck, leaning against it as we drink sun-warmed water straight out of plastic jugs.

“So are you going to talk about what happened last night?” Maverick asks, dipping over to sprinkle some water on the back of his neck.