When the Heart Falls(16)

I’d packed light—a few pairs of jeans, t-shirts, flannels, socks, boxers, a jacket, my laptop and a few books on architecture. None of this should remind me of home, but it does. These are the clothes of a rancher, not an architect. My jacket still smells of hay and horses. An unexpected longing stirs in my gut, and for the first time I fear my chosen path.

Paris—the city of artists and dreamers. Being here is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. So why do I still feel so out of place?

I don't belong in Texas, running my dad’s business. And if I don't belong in the city, pursuing my career, then where do I belong? Where will I ever find the peace that’s been missing from my life for so long?

My dad’s voice echoes in my mind. "What’s bothering you, kid?" He always asked me that when I was young, and I never had an answer for him.

I still don’t.

The suitcase sits nearly empty on my bed, save for one last item. I pull out the envelope, weathered by years and tears but forever unopened. The familiar scrawl across the front, just the one word, Goodbye. I run my thumb along the seal, wondering, not for the first time, what words he could have written that would make a difference, that would make the ache of his loss easier to bear.

But I don't open it. I’ll never open it. Instead I slip it into my pillow as memories of the past flood me.

The mocking.

The pain.

The end.

“What's bothering you, kid?” Dad's voice whispers through me again. At least this time I have an answer, a way to act on the anger crashing through me.

I can’t go back and right the wrong done so long ago, but I can right a recent wrong, and dag nab it, will it feel good.

Pulling on my boots, hat on head, I lock up my room and seek the object of my righteous rage.

I pause, staring at the door to Winter’s room as if I could see through it. She and her roommate went out; I heard them leave. Her pale face and eyes the color of a frozen lake, haunt me. Eyes filled with tears when that * stepped on her small hand, so delicate. I held it as it turned blue, swelling in pain.

Pulling myself from her door, I hunt the hallway looking for Rodney. I don’t know what their history is, and I don’t care. No one deserves to be treated that way. I’ve seen guys like him before, known them all my life, and I’ve never backed down from putting jerks like him in their place.

I’m not about to start today.

It’s not because of the girl, I’m sure of that. She’s beautiful, sure. And funny, in an offhanded way. But that’s irrelevant. I’m doing this because it's the right thing to do.

I spot him just outside of our dorms, leaning against a tree. Or rather, pinning a girl against a tree as he does what I can only assume is his version of flirting.

The girl in question doesn't appear to enjoy his attentions, if the bored droop to her face is any indication.

Rodney's not a small guy, probably played football back home, but I've got several inches and a lot more hard muscle on my side.

I pull him from the girl, who looks wide-eyed at me before scampering off, and grab the front of his shirt, glaring down at him. “I don't know why you like tormenting girls. I don’t even want to know. But you’ll leave Winter alone. Got it?”

My face is inches from his, close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

He laughs, spraying me with his saliva. “You think she doesn’t like having me around? Guess you don’t know what a slut she is.”

Growling, I slam him against the tree.

He groans, but offers another cocky grin. “If you want my advice, stay away. She’ll spread her legs easily enough, but you’ll regret ever sticking—“

I’m done listening.

I knee him in the groin. His mouth opens, a high-pitched yelp escaping as he collapses on the ground. “This is me politely telling you to back the hell off Winter and leave her alone."

Rodney curls in the fetal position as he spits at me and misses. “And if I don't?”

I pick up a stick from the ground and toss it in my hand. “Then I’ll have to figure out a creative place to stick this in."

The smirk leaves his face.

I lean down and look him in the eyes. “You’ll leave Winter alone?”

Rodney nods.

“Good.” I drop the stick and hesitate, my foot poised to kick him again.

He deserves it. I know he does. But do I want to be that guy? The kind of guy who kicks someone when they're already down?

I can't become the thing I hate the most. I walk away, leaving Rodney to his own misery.

Tormenting someone, using their fear against them, it kills them piece by piece until there's nothing left but a few words scrawled on paper.

A goodbye that will never be read.





WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 5





COUNTRY MUSIC COMING from Cade's bedroom across the hall competes with Jenifer's modern rock as I try to ignore both and focus on the rewrites of my novel. My entire future rides on this book, and each word feels like a piece of flesh being cut from my body. Everything I've written so far is maudlin and depressing.

In an effort to bring some humor into the storyline, I use the Italian from tonight as inspiration, pulling from his dialogue.

My fingers fly across the keyboard as I think over the evening.