Chapter Eight
Marjorie
Crying is for girls.
I’d lived by those words my whole life. Growing up on a ranch with a father and three brothers had made those words not only necessary but also a personal philosophy. Crying solved nothing. You have a problem? Find a solution. Don’t wallow in tears. It’s a waste of time.
I sniffed back the tears that wanted so badly to come pouring out of me.
I didn’t just live with men anymore, though. I had Jade, my best friend in the world, and Mel, who argued that crying wasn’t a waste of time. To the contrary, crying released toxins from the body and relieved stress.
It also left you swollen, red, and ugly.
I couldn’t help a scoffing chuckle. Release toxins? My relationship—for lack of a better word?
?with Bryce was pretty darn toxic. Maybe I needed a good toxin release. Sounded a lot better than a good blubbering cry.
Where, though? If I went back to the house, Talon and the boys would be there. I’d have to hold my tears until I got to my bedroom.
Certainly not on the path to the guesthouse. Bryce could walk out back and see me.
Our ranch was huge. I could go anywhere, but we had hands working around the clock most of the time.
Biggest ranch in Colorado, and I couldn’t find a place to be alone, really alone.
“Damn it!” I said aloud.
I didn’t have my purse with me, just my phone. No tissues, and already the tears were streaming down my cheeks like tiny flowing rivers.
“Stop it,” I said, again out loud. “Crying is for girls.”
I had no choice. I had to go home to get a tissue.
Damn Bryce Simpson. Why had he kissed me? Why had I let him? If he couldn’t give me anything, like he’d said in his letter, if nothing had happened between us, why had he kissed me?
Why?
Nothing could stop the crying now. Sobs racked my body, and I ran toward the main house. My vision was blurred from the tears, but I knew the way. No prob—
“Ow!” I screamed as I fell on the walkway. I’d tripped over something. Not that I could see anything at the moment.
My knee hurt a little, though the fabric of my jeans hadn’t ripped. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Growing up on a ranch, I’d had more than my share of cuts and bruises, and I’d learned how to walk it off the way my brothers did.
Not this time, though.
Not this time.
I cried. I crumpled on the walkway, and I cried and I cried and I cried.
Moments passed—how many? I didn’t know—while I sat on the concrete walkway, hugging my knees to my body as the weeping continued. Did I truly have this many tears to give? Would it ever stop?
I wiped my nose on my arm. Gross, but what other choice did I have? I sniffed back as much as I could, when—
“Hey.” A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I jerked and looked up. The face was blurry through my tears, but I’d recognize it anywhere.
I sniffled. “Go away, Bryce.”