He drew his arm away from me like I'd shocked him. "Yeah, and?"
I regretted seeing it on his arm. The way he looked at me just then, it was a mixture of wounded and defiant, like he was daring me to ask him more, but terrified that I would. I hated seeing that look on him.
"It was a long time ago now," he said. Clearing his throat, he took another swig from the bottle. He was silent for a while. Then, "I was going to get in touch, you know.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Ditto.”
He took another long swig of the bottle and offered it to me.
"No, thanks." I shook my head, wondering exactly how much of it he had already drunk tonight. A lot, by the looks of it.
“I emailed your aunt every so often to see how you were doing," he said. I just never could bring myself to - after what happened, you know?”
“I never blamed you,” I said. That wasn’t true, not really. After their deaths, I had blamed anyone and everyone, especially myself. "We were just kids."
"Yeah,” he said. “We’re not kids anymore, though, are we?” I could feel him looking at me, and I forced my eyes straight ahead. Don't look at him. If I did, it would be all over.
"No," I said.
"We're definitely both grown-ups now," he said, his voice thick. "And now we're both back here."
He suddenly felt too close. "Why did you come here, Cade?"
"I already told you."
"Not to West Bend. Here."
“Why do you think I came over here, Junebug?” He looked at me, those piercing blue eyes hooded, then reached out, ran his finger along my arm.
I bristled at his touch. The nerve of him, thinking he'd come over here and get laid. After all this time, that's why he came over here? And drunk. I wasn't exactly a teetotaler, but when your parents are killed the way mine were, you get a little touchy about booze. Cade should have known better.
And still, even with all that, his touch made me shiver.
I needed to get away from him. I stood, leaning against the porch railing. "I hope you didn't think it was a good idea to drink most of that whiskey and come over here for ex sex."
He smiled crookedly.
The shithead.
Then he stood, bottle in hand, stepped close to me, and leaned in. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Don't tell me you're not interested."
"Fuck you, Cade." This Cade, the drunk, arrogant, criminal one, was nothing like the one I'd left behind in high school.
This one was just an asshole.
"I'll fuck you when you beg me, Junebug," he whispered. He stepped back and winked, then started down the steps. He turned around, wobbled a little as he walked backwards toward the field. "Don't forget, I know you. I know what makes you beg."
Fuck him.
Beg him? He had to be kidding. I wouldn't beg him for anything.
Axe
"Uncle Axe!" MacKenzie launched herself into my arms, the way only little kids can do, with no reservation. "Eew!" she yelled. "You're sweaty!"
I swung her around in circles in the grass, until after a few turns I started to feel nauseous. It had been a couple of days since the last time I'd had something to drink, but I swear I still felt hung-over.
"Of course I'm sweaty," I said. "Uncle Axe has been working like a dog all day long."
"Because your dad made you?"
I looked over at my dad, talking to April on the porch. "Yeah, something like that." My dad hadn't kept up with the fence around the property, and I'd spent all morning since daybreak repairing fence posts. I leaned in close to MacKenzie, and spoke to her in a stage whisper. "But don't tell anyone- I kind of like working here."
She giggled. "Me too, Uncle Axe! Mr. Austin let me help him feed the horses!"
"Did he now? You know, when I was a kid, I had to muck the horse stalls."
Her brow wrinkled. "What's mucking?"
"Mucking is where you clean all the horse poop out of the stall."
"Eew!" she yelled. "Horse poop is gross!"
"It is," I agreed. "Just imagine if you had to clean it out of the barn."
"Was your dad punishing you?" she asked. "My dad wouldn't make me clean up horse poop."
"Nope, it was just part of growing up with horses on a ranch. But you should go tell Mr. Austin he was punishing me, making me do all those chores," I said. "He'll laugh." As she scampered off to talk to my dad, I stood there and drank it all in. I was sweaty and covered in muck and grime. My shoulders ached after hours of digging holes in the hard ground, and my back kept reminding me I wasn't twenty years old anymore.
Despite all of that, I could feel this place beginning to permeate me, eating away at all the shit from Los Angeles, the shit from the club. It had been a long time since I felt alive. More days than not over the past year, I'd felt dead.
I watched MacKenzie tug at my dad's sleeve as he stood there, talking to April. I should feel happy, watching all of them relaxed, having fun. But I didn't. Instead, a feeling of fragility washed over me, this sense that everything could change in a moment. One extreme meant the pendulum would inevitably shift.