Prologue
Silas
“Boy, you best get your sorry ass back here! Don’t make me make you, now.”
Pushing the screen door open, I muttered under my breath as I stomped my way across the porch, the rotting floor boards kicking up dust and pulp under my boots.
I hated this time of day; the early afternoon was always a crap shoot as far as my dad went. Some days I’d find him in the barn, mending tack and making himself useful for a change, and others I’d find him in varying shades of drunk. Nothing quite like seeing your old man weaving around the kitchen in his underwear, eyes blood shot and hair a mess, muttering and cussing about every damn thing he could find to really make you appreciate the fact that graduation was just around the corner.
Honestly, I think I hated the useful days more than the drunk ones. While the drunk days offered me glimpses of my dad that no son should ever have to see, the sober days offered something worse: hope.
Hope that maybe this time it’d stick. Maybe this time, he’d remember to pay the electricity bill, or my school fees, or even just to put food in the fridge.
No, it wasn’t the days seeing him passed out on the living room couch that I hated the most. It was the days he wasn’t.
Lucky for me, today wasn’t one of those days.
Hopping off the porch steps, I didn’t stop when I heard the screen open again behind me. I touched my thumb to my split lip, spitting blood into the dirt. It’d been a while since he’d smacked me around and my reaction times were slowing down.
I reached for the door handle of my truck and yanked it open. The rusted hinges squealed loudly in the afternoon breeze, reminding me again how much work my baby really needed. It was a burgundy and cream 1986 Chevy Silverado pick up truck, and sure, it was held together mostly with duct tape and wishes, but it was all mine. I worked three consecutive summers bustin’ my ass at the feed lot to save up enough money to buy it, but the freedom it afforded me was worth every sweat-soaked afternoon I spent drenched in the smell of sour barley and cow shit.
“Silas!” my father shouted, and I looked up through the dusty windshield to see him leaned up against the post at the top of the porch stairs, one arm wrapped tightly around it to hold himself up, the other clutching at the neck of a plain glass bottle, one that I just knew was full of the bathtub moonshine he bought on the sly.
How I hated the sight of those bottles.
“Boy, if you drive away from me, I am gonna blister your ass when you get back here.” He was slurring something fierce, so I doubted he’d even remember this conversation.
I glared at him through the glass, wanting so badly to tell him to go to hell. To tell him that it didn’t matter how hard he hit me this time, I wasn’t gonna take the blame for his failings anymore. I was done letting him push me around.
Over the last year or two, while he’d been drinking, I’d been growing. Between my work on our property, my summers at the feed lot, and good old Texas high school football, I was taller and thicker and all around bigger than Doug Harrison ever was. Add to that all the years he spent at the bottom of a bottle, and it was no contest.
I was starting to think that’s what had him extra ornery lately. He knew his time as lord and master was up. I was the last of his sons; my two older brothers had both got shot of this place as soon as they could, and therefore I represented the last of his power. After me, there would be no one he could boss around anymore. Our ranch was nonexistent these days, because in order to make a profit you have to put in effort, and ranch hands didn’t work for free. I was pretty sure the bank was coming for the land any day now, and the thought of never setting foot in those dusty rooms again wasn’t as unpleasant to me as I might have expected.
“That’s right,” he slurred, waving the bottle in my direction. “Leave. Just like she did. Neither one of ya was no good for nothin’ anyway.”
Of course he’d bring my mother into this. Like it was my fault she took off.
Like she didn’t leave us both.
Slamming the truck into gear, I glared at him one last time before I pressed my foot down, throwing up a cloud of dust as I spun the truck around and headed for the highway at the end of our drive. I didn’t slow down as I hit the black top, my back tires spinning out as I fishtailed across the road. I didn’t even need to think about where I was headed; it felt like my truck just knew which way to take me. The one place I’d ever felt welcome. The one place I could feel wanted.
Stone’s house.
It had been a long few months since I had seen him, what with him being away in San Antonio at college. I stopped by to check on his ma every once in a while, but it would be good to see my best friend again, now that he was finished school for the year.
Up until a week ago, my own summer break hadn’t been looking so promising, with another year of shoveling shit in the Texas heat coming my way, but I was working on something that I thought would improve my prospects.
Or at least get me the hell out of Texas.
I turned my truck down the long drive that would lead to the house where Stone and his mom lived with her parents on their ranch. I supposed one day it would be Stone’s ranch, but for now, it was a mostly empty plot of land. With his grandfather getting up there in age, and with Stone not being around, they were leasing out land for grazing instead of keeping their own stock. Worked well enough, I supposed. Wished my old man had gotten his head out of a bottle long enough to have thought of that.
Parking my truck to the side of the barn, I noticed an unfamiliar vehicle parked in the gravel next to me. Out of place in these parts, the sleek silver sedan was shining like a diamond in the summer sun. A vehicle like that parked there could only mean one thing: Stone’s family was in town.
I groaned to myself as I climbed out of the truck. Just when I thought I was done with drama for the day, now I had to deal with this. Stone did not enjoy spending time with his half-sisters from New York. Well, with Constance anyway. I hadn’t met the younger one yet, but the few times I had interacted with Constance had been anything but pleasant. That girl was a grade-A spoiled brat who hated every second she spent in Stone’s presence. Safe to say, the feeling was mutual.
Walking around the barn toward the house, I didn’t see anyone outside, so I headed for the steps to the front porch. Just as I raised my hand to knock, I heard a noise coming from the side of the house. Curious, I followed the porch as it wrapped around the side of the building, wondering what the heck I was gonna find. From the soft mewling sound, I figured it was a cat. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the ratters in the barn had left a litter of kittens near the house.
My boots echoed on the wooden boards, smooth and freshly painted compared to the rotting decking I left back at my place. Keeping my eyes close to the ground to look out for animals, I stopped short when what greeted me was a pair of tiny feet shoved into bright purple rubber boots. Looking up, I could see the knobby knees, full of scrapes and bruises, belonged to a small girl.
Her arms were wrapped around her legs, and I couldn’t see her face because it was buried in her knees as her tiny body shook with quiet sobs. I froze for a minute, not sure what to do. I had zero experience with kids, but I couldn’t just leave her here. Stepping closer, she finally noticed me and looked up with a start, her green eyes widening in shock.
“Well, hey there,” I said softly, not wanting to scare the poor kid who could only be Stone’s littlest sister. She sniffed and used her hand to wipe away her tears clumsily. “What’s the matter?” She blinked at me a few times, her lower lip trembling as she tried to calm down enough to talk.
“I-it-it’s my twown!” she wailed, tipping her head back enough for me to see that she was missing her two lower front teeth.
“Your... what?” I asked, puzzled, as I squatted down to her level. I had no idea what she was talking about, but whatever it was, she was completely devastated.
“My twown,” she insisted, like I was a dummy for not knowing what she was referring to. When I continued to stare at her blankly, the little spitfire took pity on me and reached down beside her, holding up a mangled mess of metal and glitter. Looking closer, I finally realized what she meant.
“Oh,” I chuckled. “Your crown.” Reaching out, I took the twisted thing from her and stood. She scrambled to her feet, following me as I moved to sit on the bench nearby. The little thing climbed right up beside me, not caring at all that she was in a frilly blue party dress. I tried to hide my smile as I watched her situate herself beside me on the bench, her purple boots crossed primly at the ankles as she turned her big eyes my way. “I think I can help, if you’d like.”
“You think tho?” she breathed, her missing teeth causing a cute speech impediment and the hope in her eyes causing a tightness in my chest. No one had ever looked at me like that.
Like I was worth something.