Burn It Up(92)

“Should I take you back?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. I’d like to get back before Mercy needs feeding.”

“Are we still friends?” he asked as they began the descent.

She considered it. She still wanted James in her life—strictly on her terms, but she valued him in significant ways. Like James, she valued Casey despite his mistakes. She couldn’t be with him, knowing what she did now, but neither did she hope never to see him again.

“I think so,” she finally said. “I need time to figure out how I feel about everything you’ve told me, but I hope we can be.”

A frail ghost of a smile passed his lips. “Me, too.”

And they didn’t speak again, not on the hike down, not on the ride back east, not a word until Abilene climbed off the bike.

“I’m gonna go and check on my mom,” Casey said. “But tell Miah I’ll be back later, just in case any more weird shit decides to go down around here.”

“I will.”

He held a thought in, lips pursed.

“What?” she prompted gently.

“Thanks. For listening, I mean, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

She nodded. “Thanks for being honest . . . I won’t tell anybody, by the way. Rat you out, that is.”

“I think I already knew you wouldn’t, but thanks all the same.”

Her turn to pause, caught on a thought. “I never did tell you my own secrets,” she said at length. “If it’s any consolation, they might’ve had you second-guessing us right back.”

He smiled softly, looking sad. “I never needed to know those things, Abilene. Whatever it is you’ve done, it couldn’t change how I feel.”

Tears brimmed at that. “Even if we weren’t meant to be,” she offered, voice just on the edge of breaking, “it was real nice, for what it was, even just for those few days.”

“It was.”

“And even if we weren’t meant to be, at least you’ve still got your mental health, right? Nice long life ahead of you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

A nice long life, she thought, and in time, other chances at love. Other women, and eventually one for keeps, one who could either forgive his crimes or else live peacefully not knowing the details. The thought filled her up with sadness, and jealousy, too. But deep down she was proud of herself. She’d grown up today.

“It’s cold,” she said.

“Go inside. I’ll see you soon, tonight or tomorrow. If you want to avoid me for a while, I won’t be hurt.” His eyes said otherwise.

“See you around, I guess.”

And with another tight little smile, he backed his bike up, woke his engine, and rode away.

She watched until he was out of sight, nothing left but a settling cloud of dust lingering in the waning sunlight. She watched the best man she’d met in ages disappear before her eyes.

A good man in many ways, but still a criminal.





Chapter 22


Monday morning found Casey up early once again, though more for a lack of ever managing to fall asleep than anything else. He’d returned to the ranch around ten last night, knowing Abilene would likely be in bed and wanting to give her space. And yeah, to spare himself the sting of whatever he might see in her eyes—pity, or regret, or worst of all, disgust. That was what she’d thought of his past, after all, and in hindsight, he couldn’t blame the girl. Though that didn’t ease the ache in his chest any.

He’d hung out downstairs while Miah had gone out on a late-night patrol of the property, on the off chance any of the hands came rushing over with news of another creep sighting. Nothing on either count, and nothing from the deputies stationed along the highway, and he’d fallen into a restless sleep on the couch around one.

He’d heard Mercy wake an hour later, wailing, and his muscles had tensed, poised to get him up and moving toward the stairs. A reaction more instinctual than intentional, and he’d had to remind himself in that second to stay on his back, stay down here.

He’d gotten to a point where that baby’s needs felt like they were half his to meet. And he’d be smart to knock that shit off and content himself to help only when asked.

If she ever asks again, that is.

He’d never purported to be a good guy, never told himself there was anything redeeming about what he did in order to sleep at night. He’d slept just fine, knowing he was one of the bad guys. Not a terrible person, but no Boy Scout. Not unless fire starting had its own badge.

He did regret it all now—how couldn’t he, when just as he’d been poised to step up and become the man he’d been wanting to be, it all came around to bite him in the ass? In the deepest pit of his heart, he felt a little broken, a little sick, to realize he’d always reserve a fond, nostalgic place in his heart for those three years’ work. He’d enjoyed every second of those jobs, from the promise of a new gig through the planning and the sweet, torturous anticipation of a thousand Christmases, the adrenaline of the nights themselves, the euphoria of success, the trophy of the payout.

He supposed, for that reason, there wasn’t much arguing with Abilene.

Fuck, this shit burned. In the fashion of every lame metaphor he could think of, his heart hurt. Like a cut, a vise, a bruise, a hole. All of them.