Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Harlow

TWO WEEKS LATER

I curl my body into itself on the pavement of our driveway and my hands cover my head as a metal bat slams into my ribs. Screaming out in pain, the tears flood down my cheeks.

“You fucking bitch!” the guy shouts above me for the second time.

The first was after I kneed him in the balls.

“Please stop,” I cry out.

“Get away from her!” Dad yells from inside the doorway of the garage, but he can’t help me. He’s in his wheelchair and no one else is home. “I’m gonna kill you, ya bastard!”

Dad’s roaring voice lands on deaf ears because the guy continues kicking me. When his heel digs into my chest, he forces my body to unfold and then the toe of his boot slams into the side of my head.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I can’t feel much anymore.

My legs are probably broken. I know a few ribs cracked.

I taste blood from my nose.

“S-stop,” I whimper, the air constricting in my lungs.

My eyes can hardly stay open, but when I hear a shotgun blast, they struggle to see where it came from.

And then a second blast.

A harsh ringing in my ears and the sound of sirens are the last things I remember, and then I lose consciousness.

“Harlow! Sweetheart, wake up.” Mom’s panicked voice echoes as she palms my cheek.

The bed shakes when she taps my arm a few times and I finally come to enough to open my eyes.

“What is it?” I ask, looking around and finding Moose resting his head on my thigh.

“You…were screamin’. I assumed you were havin’ a nightmare.”

Oh shit, she’s right.

Blinking away the fog, I swallow hard and clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She helps me sit up and then sits on the bed next to me.

“Was it about?—”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “I haven’t had a nightmare about it in a while.”

“Could be stressed induced,” she offers. “Or maybe side effects of some of the new vitamins you’re takin’.”

“That’s possible,” I agree.

After being aware I could be vitamin K deficient, I made an appointment to get my blood checked and found out Mystery Guy was right. I only started taking supplements this past week.

But I don’t think that’s what’s causing the nightmares.

She probably doesn’t realize it—and I’m too nervous to remind her and Dad—but the man who broke both my legs and put me in a coma is up for parole soon.

I look up his case at least once a month.

Mostly to ensure he’s still behind bars.

Logically, I know he is, but I need to see the confirmation in order to sleep soundly at night.

After he was caught and I was able to confirm he was the one who did this to me, he made a plea deal instead of going to trial.

The police had video evidence from our neighbor’s security cameras, so there was no denying what he’d done. After that, Mom hired someone to put up cameras in and out of the house. It traumatized all of us.

I was in no condition to testify anyway, so him pleading guilty was the best outcome. Since Dad shot him in the shoulder, he had to undergo surgery before he could be arraigned.

Ten years for aggravated assault with the possibility of parole after eight.

And he’ll be eligible in a couple months.

He can apply for it, but he’s not guaranteed to get approved if he’s had any behavior issues while behind bars.

“Want some pancakes for breakfast?” Mom asks, breaking up my thoughts.

“Sure, that’d be great.” I smile.

Mom kisses the top of my head, then walks out toward the kitchen.

She’s off work today, which means I have a shift at Rodeo Belle this morning. Yesterday was my first day back since getting poison ivy. The rash is ninety-five percent gone and there’s very little itchiness, just some scabbing. I could’ve probably taken another few days off work, but I was bored out of my mind. Ever since Black Friday, the stores have been packed with early Christmas shoppers, so I wanted to get back and help out.

After my shift, I’ll come home and change before driving out to the ranch to see Piper. I missed her too and am so relieved I’ll get to ride her this afternoon.

Checking my phone, my cheeks heat at seeing a new message from him .

Mystery Guy: Good morning. How did you sleep?

We still haven’t bothered asking each other our names. We talk in the group chat sometimes but mostly separately now about anything and everything—mostly small talk.

We dived a little bit into mental health. He asked what got me into horses after I mentioned I’ve only been riding for four years and that it was a form of therapy to help with my anxiety and depression. I didn’t get into where they stemmed from and he didn’t push me to explain further. But then he admitted it’s something he and one of his brothers also suffer with and understood the challenges it brought from day to day. His brother has been hospitalized for it and he worries about him every day.

Something I sadly relate to as well.

The more he talked about it, the more it validated my own experience because he understood that depression isn’t black and white, and it doesn’t look the same for everyone. Some days are good, but then some are bad and they can seemingly come out of nowhere.

Although I’d love to put a name to his messages and maybe even a face, I’m enjoying the simpleness of having a friend who doesn’t know anything about me outside of what I tell him.

Someone who doesn’t know about my past or what I’ve been through. Someone who won’t look at me with pity and see a weak, scared little girl who was traumatized years ago.

Every time I meet someone new and tell them my name, they already know who I am based on what they heard. It was big news in Sugarland Creek, and since Dad’s accident was the year prior, our family name had been in the local and state news a lot .

And even though the conversation turns flirty sometimes, it’s been harmless fun so far and I’m okay keeping it that way for now.

Harlow: Fine, until I had a nightmare. How about you?

Mystery Guy: Aww, sorry to hear that. I’ve had my fair share of nightmares, too. Luckily, I slept good until my alarm went off at 5:30. But I was sad we didn’t get to chat before I went to bed.

Yesterday was Thursday, which means it was Grey’s Anatomy night with Natalie. Besides last night, we’ve texted every night for the past week. Usually until one of us falls asleep and then we start up again in the morning during his break. We don’t talk about anything specific, mostly random stuff. Nothing too personal but enough to keep the conversation flowing.

So far, I know he works on a ranch—which isn’t uncommon around here—and has a few brothers and a sister.

Harlow: Sorry :( I’m with a friend on Thursday nights and keep my phone on silent so there aren’t any interruptions.

The jumping dots appear on the screen and then disappear, twice , before he leaves me on read.

Well, damn. Now he probably thinks I meant a boyfriend.

“Harlow, breakfast is ready!” Mom calls from the kitchen.

I set my phone down on my nightstand and make my way to the table with Moose trailing behind me. Then I greet Dad with a kiss before I take my seat.

“Morning, Daddy.”

“Hi, sweetie. I heard you had a bad dream?”

I sigh, my shoulders drooping as I nod. “I’m fine.”

Smiling in his direction, I try to give him reassurance so he doesn’t worry, but he already knows what it was about.

Delilah slept in my room with me most nights before she moved out because I’d have them so frequently after the incident. But it’s been at least two years since my last one.

Halfway through breakfast, Dad’s fork clunks loudly against the plate as he groans in pain. He squeezes his eyes and his hands ball into fists.

“Deep breaths, Dad,” I softly remind him.

He tenses when another wave of pain shoots through his body.

Mom and I stop eating while we wait for his pain to decrease. Sometimes it’s subtle and tolerable, but other times, it can be extreme and come out of nowhere.

When a piece of farm equipment fell on his legs, it cut his upper thigh so deep, it was irreparable. They had to amputate to avoid infection, so sometimes when the phantom pain is at its worst, it feels like his leg is being crushed. Almost like his brain is having a flashback of the accident and since it doesn’t know that part of his limb is gone, it sends nerve signals to alert another part of his brain that there’s pain.

But since the physical part of the body doesn’t exist, narcotics and other pain medications don’t work.

“Daddy, you okay?”

He shakes his head, purses his lips, and smacks his stump a few times. Sometimes that works to startle the nerves, but oftentimes, he has to suffer through it until it goes away.

“Finish eatin’. I’ll be fine in a few minutes,” he grumbles.

I hate seeing him suffer. Hate it with a passion.

Mom and I continue eating so he doesn’t feel awkward having us wait for him. But instead, the room stays silent.

When his accident happened, we dropped everything to help him through his “new normal.” I was only twelve and took it hard because I had never seen him so helpless. Mom was a wreck but was trying to remain strong for the rest of us. Delilah and I were left alone a lot so Mom could stay at the hospital with him. Besides my own incident, it was the scariest moment of my life being told my dad had a bad accident and they weren’t sure if he’d survive.

Once he was home to recover, he quickly fell into a depressive state because he was bed bound and physically limited. For someone who’d worked every day for the past thirty-five years, he didn’t adjust well to it. He helped support the household and felt pride in his hard work, but then had to sit and do nothing while the rest of us did everything for him.

Years later, and he still hates every second of it. The accident took away his independence. His ability to drive—although there are ways to alter a car, him being on so many types of medication makes it unsafe for him to operate heavy machinery. It took away his ability to take care of us in the way he was used to.

“How long do you work today?” Mom asks, breaking the tension.

“Until three, but I’m gonna visit Piper after,” I respond. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Dad’s only watched me compete a few times. Usually if Delilah’s performing in a trick-riding show, he’ll come out to watch us both. Mom puts his power chair on a rack on the back of the truck and then Dad can ride it around the event. The biggest obstacle is his agoraphobia that he developed a few years after his accident.

When the depression worsened, so did his anxiety and his fear of being out in public.

Dad finishes his food in silence before asking Mom to grab his chair. I give Moose my leftovers and then help clean up the kitchen before getting ready for work.

Checking my phone before leaving, I frown when there’s still no response from Mystery Guy. I know he stays busy at work and usually checks in when he can, but I can’t help feeling like maybe I said something wrong.

I also know there’s something wrong with me for even caring that much when I have no clue who this person is besides a few details.

One night, we got talking about our favorite movies and then another time about our top artists. There were a couple moments I was so close to asking him to video chat for a “face reveal,” but then I chickened out.

I don’t want to ruin this little safe space we’ve created where we can chat freely without any expectations. At least until I feel more comfortable about the idea of “meeting” him.

But there’s also this part of me that gets stupid excited to hear from him.

Still, I know it won’t last.

Because like most things in life, good things have to come to an end.

“Harlow, darlin’. So nice to see you.” Mrs. Harper smiles warmly when she walks up to the register with a few shirts and pair of boots. “How’s your mom and dad?”

“Just fine, thank you for askin’,” I say, although most people know his situation and that he’s anything but fine. “How have you been?”

“My younger sister’s comin’ to visit this weekend and she was supposed to bring her new boyfriend, who looks like a serial killer, and when I told her so, she got all defensive like how could I say that without even meeting him, but I said no offense, and I guess she took offense because now he ain’t comin’.”

My eyes grow bigger the longer she rambles, but I quietly ring up her items, and once she finally stops to take a breath, I tell her the total.

She continues talking about her sister’s serial-killer-looking boyfriend while she pays with her card and then even after I hand her the receipt.

“Well…good luck. Hope you have a great weekend,” I say, realizing she never even answered my original question and apparently needed to vent to someone who couldn’t run away mid-conversation.

“Thanks, you too.”

She takes her bag and then swiftly exits the store.

Funny enough, I don’t even know who her sister is, but now I’m still curious about what makes her boyfriend look like a murderer.

Once things slow down, I walk around the store to organize the racks. When the bell above the door rings, I glance over to find Magnolia and Noah walking in with their girls.

“Hey!” I greet, then notice Tripp and Waylon walking in behind them.

“Hey, girl,” Magnolia singsongs. “We’re here for the friends and family discount.”

I chuckle. “I gotchu.”

“Nah, I’m here against my will,” Tripp says, standing like a statue next to his brother.

“Me too.” Waylon looks as comfortable as he was when we nearly collided a few weeks ago.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“We were promised BBQ for lunch,” Tripp replies.

“Yeah, well, we’re makin’ a detour. Deal with it.” Magnolia hands Willow off to him so she can browse.

“We need some cute outfits for the NFR,” Noah adds, moving Poppy to her other hip.

“I’m so jealous! I wish I could go.” I point to the other wall. “We have some cute tops and skirts. Oh, and new boots that’d pair well with ’em.”

“Here, take your niece.” Noah lifts Poppy into Waylon’s arms.

Poppy reaches for his cowboy hat.

“That ain’t gonna fit ya,” Waylon tells her.

She giggles when it covers her eyes.

“She’s playin’ peek-a-boo with you,” I tell him.

“Yeah, she loves stealin’ my stuff. Don’t ya?” He puts the hat back on his head, which looks damn good on him.

“Are you lookin’ for a cute outfit, too?” I tease, leaning against one of the tables.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Though I’m not sure pastels go with my skin tone.” He lifts a shoulder.

I grin at his teasing voice.

“No? I think you’d look stellar in baby pink.”

“Especially with ruffles…” Magnolia returns, holding up a blouse she found.

“I love that. I have it in white!” I exclaim.

“Well, now we can be twinsies.” She smirks, then shows me a jean skirt she found. “I only hope I can squeeze my ass into this.”

Magnolia had Laken only a few months ago, but she’s gorgeous no matter what her body size is.

“I’ll get you a dressin’ room.” I grab the keys and she follows me to the back of the store.

Noah follows with a few items, and I set her up in one, too.

“Just let me know if you need a different size or wanna try on anything else.”

My manager, Ashley, comes over and clocks Waylon.

“You look like a natural with her.” Her over-the-top flirty voice has me cringing. She gets closer to him and playfully tickles Willow’s tummy.

I roll my eyes when Waylon smiles and comments how he’s the favorite uncle.

Magnolia and Noah show off their outfits before trying on a few more. In the meantime, Ashley’s plastered to Waylon and asks if he’s going out this weekend.

I can’t fault her for being interested in him. The Hollis boys are all good-looking and charming. They’re close in age, which means she’s legal to get into a bar. Unlike me.

Oh, and he didn’t date her sister, so I’m sure that makes her ten times more attractive.

“Most likely if Wilder is,” he tells her.

“It’s cute you two hang out together so much,” Ashley coos.

“Mm-hmm, sure, you could call it that.” Waylon’s tone makes me think he’s not excited about tagging along with his brother.

“Sunny, we gotta get going. Poppy’s gettin’ antsy,” Tripp tells Magnolia. His nickname for her is adorable.

“She is or you are?” she counters.

“Both,” he deadpans.

“And we’re hungry,” Waylon adds.

It’s past noon, so I don’t blame them. I wasn’t hungry on my break an hour ago, but I am now since BBQ was mentioned.

“Fine…” Magnolia groans. “But you’re buyin’.”

Noah snorts, carrying her items toward the counter. “Mine, too.”

“I don’t think so,” he tells her. “You got a husband for that.”

I chuckle at their sibling antics and how serious Noah’s brothers can be. Well, besides Landen and Wilder. Those two love goofing around.

As I ring up their items and bag them, I watch Ashley and Waylon out of the corner of my eye. At one point, she takes his phone and adds her number to his contacts.

“Text me when you guys are out this weekend.”

She’s not even trying to hold back her flirty tone.

“Sure, will do.”

Bringing my attention back to Noah and Magnolia, I hand them their bags with a smile. “You better take photos when y’all are in Vegas.”

“We will,” Magnolia says. “And don’t be surprised if you can hear Noah screamin’ for Ellie all the way from the arena.”

I laugh, only slightly sad I can’t go. Maybe one day.

“Have fun at your lunch,” I call out when they head for the exit.

“Hope to see ya later, Waylon!” Ashley waves.

When they’re out the door, she looks at me with her jaw to the floor. “He is so dang hot.”

“Who?” I play dumb. “Waylon?”

“Uh, yeah! He’s a few years older than me, but I’ve seen him out at The Twisted Bull and was always too nervous to ask him to dance.”

“Oh.”

I walk to the dressing rooms to clean up and she follows, not getting the hint that I don’t want to talk about her crush on him.

“I’m gonna need to find a new outfit myself.”

“I’m surprised your closet ain’t packed with how many clothes from here you must have…”

“I need something hot. Sexy. Jaw-dropping. Something to stand out from all the other girls.”

Perhaps a muzzle.

“Mm-hmm,” I mutter, putting the clothes Noah and Magnolia didn’t want back on the hangers.

“Maybe I’ll stop by Lacey’s for a new push-up bra.”

Oh God. Maybe I should give Delilah a heads-up. Imagine if I told her my manager was coming in to find something to impress her ex-boyfriend.

I chuckle to myself.

“I wonder if they’re into threesomes…”

“Wait, what?” I ask, realizing I stopped listening to her but caught the tail end.

“I know it’s cliché, but twins sharin’ one girl is so hot. I would fold so fast for either one of ’em, but together? I would die a happy woman.”

Please do so this conversation ends.

“Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t be talkin’ about this around you. You’re too sweet and innocent.”

“ Innocent ? Why do you say that?”

And how would she know? I don’t tell her about my personal life.

“Because you’re young and look too sweet for your own good to be anythin’ but innocent.”

Great . Is that why I can never get out of the friendzone when I do talk to a guy? I must have the word VIRGIN on my forehead.

“Anyway, I’m gonna take my break.” She walks to the backroom, leaving me with four new customers who just walked in.

Instead of getting frustrated, I put all my energy into helping the girls who are looking for cute bachelorette outfits and make a good chunk of commission.

When my shift ends, I check my phone and smile stupidly at the text waiting for me.

Mystery Guy: So maybe Friday nights can be ours?

Harlow: I couldn’t love that idea more.