Depths of Lake (21 page)

The red, white, and blue
runs through my veins, but it has
a tendency of breaking my heart.

In the other picture frame is Cal.
 
It was just after he asked me to marry him.
 
I snapped the picture of him with my phone.
 
He’s
smiling,
his eyes squinted small, like they did when he was truly happy.

I trace a finger over his face as well.

Be happy, Ry
, Kyle had told me this morning.

Cal would have wanted me to be happy.

I try to tell myself that I don’t need to be happy again.
 
That I got my
chances, that
I had enough happiness in those short times to be contented for forever.
 
That was it for me.
 
Cal would be waiting for me on the other side of this life.

I pull open the drawer of my nightstand and reach for the small black box at the back.
 
My fingers close around the soft velvet, and I pull it out.

The hinges squeak as I open the box.
 
My fingers close around the cold gold, and I pull the ring from the lining.

It’s a beautiful ring.
 
A round cut diamond sits slightly off to the left side.
 
Five smaller diamonds wrap partly around it before curling off onto the band.
 
He had it custom made.
 
I always thought it was a somewhat strange design, but it is gorgeous.

I slide it onto my finger.
 
It’s loose.
 
I’ve been working so hard lately and Mom hasn’t been around to keep any padding on my frame.
 
I’ve dropped nearly ten pounds since she left, and I’m leaner than I’ve ever been in my life.

Keeping the ring on, I grab Cal’s picture again and hold it on my stomach.

“Do you want me run out my contract?” Cal had asked me just minutes before he proposed.
 
“I’ve got nine more months of service left, and then
it’s
up.”

“How is that up to me?” I had asked.
 
I was lying in his arms in the back of my truck, wrapped in a pile of blankets and pillows.
 
We were parked in the middle of nowhere, stargazing.

“I was just wondering if you wanted me around for more than two months at a time,” he said, squeezing me tighter.
 

“You know the answer to that,” I said, leaning in and pressing my lips to his.

“That’s good,” he whispered.
 
“Cause I want to stay home with you, for forever.”

He then reached into his pocket, brought out this black box, and asked me to marry him.

I pick up the box, pressing the lid to my nose.
 
It used to smell like him.
 
He’d carried it around in his pocket for at least a week before he worked up the nerve to ask me.
 
But it doesn’t smell like anything now.

I start pulling the ring off, about to put it away, when I notice the lining of the box is poking up slightly.

My brows furrow together, I pull at it.
 
It comes out easier than it should.
 
A piece of folded up paper falls onto my stomach.

It’s a letter, addressed to me.
 
And at the bottom is Cal’s name.

Hey Riley,

Of course I had hoped that you’d never, ever find this and have to read it, and because you are reading it, I’m really, really sorry.
 
But because I know you, and because I love you, I have to write it.

I always wanted to serve my country, you know that.
 
I knew the risks of being in the services.
 
There’s always a risk.
 
And if you are reading this, then I am a statistic of war.

I love you, Riley.
 
I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at my unwanted birthday party.
 
And I have no doubt that you love me.
 
If we had gotten married, we would have had a happy life.
 
Sure, things wouldn’t have been perfect, and I’m sure there would have been days you would have called me an asshole and I would have called you a bitch.
 
But we would have been happy.
 
We would have loved each other for the rest of our days.

But, Angel, life changes.
 
It throws us curveballs and sometimes rips the rug right out from under our feet.
 
And that’s okay.

If you have to read this, I want you to know that it’s okay to move on.
 
I thought about making some joke right here about asking you to not do it within the first few weeks of whatever might happen to me, but that’s just not you, and I know that’s not how it’s going to be.
 
But it is okay.
 
I know you love me, and I am a damn lucky man to have been loved as deeply as you did me.
 
But it’s okay to feel that way about someone else at some point.

I need you to be happy.
 
I’ve seen a lot of terrible things come about because of people’s unhappiness.
 
And I need you to be happy.
 
Let yourself be happy.

I need you to promise me that you can let go.

I need you to promise me that you will
live and be happy
.

Love, always…forever,

Cal

Tears roll down my face, and my breath catches in my throat.

But still I whisper, “I promise.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

I need something to go right today.

It’s a Monday, which is bad enough, but considering everything else going on, it’s time for a
triumph
.

Dust billows around my boots as I step into the barn after lunch.
 
I’ve already fed the horses, rotated them through the pasture, mucked out the stalls.
 
The farrier will be by to shoe the first half of the horses this evening.
 

But right now, I will ride the Devil.

When I get to his stall with his halter and a lead line, he tosses his head and gives a little snort.
 
I hold his eyes as I open the stall door and step inside.

He paws one hoof over the ground and backs away from me.
 
It’s all for show though.
 
We’ve made huge strides lately.
 
I successfully got a bridle and saddle on him two weeks ago.
 
All last week I worked on sitting on him just tied up to a hitching post.
 
He didn’t particularly like it, but he tolerated it.

Today, I will get on his back and ride.

Sir Devil only shakes his head once as I slip his halter on.
 
I clip the lead line under his chin, and we walk out to the hitching post next to the outdoor arena.
 
I tie him up, get his tack, and saddle him up.

I’m a bit nervous, I will admit.
 
Every time I did this last week, Lake was here and he held Sir Devil still while I got on and stayed on.
 
It’s just me here this morning.
 
By myself.

Random people kept dropping on me earlier today.
 
The Sheriff, Julianna.
 
Kyle has called a few times.
 
But right now, I’m all alone.

I slip my foot into the stirrup and grab the horn.
 
I pause here for a moment, gauging the beast’s level of crankiness.
 
He looks back at me, his ears turned in my direction, but he stands still.

Pulling myself up, I swing my other leg over the saddle and wedge my foot into the other stirrup.
 
I reach forward, unclip the line tied to the post, and rein us out into the arena.

Sir Devil walks sideways for a second, feeling his belly out against the cinches around him.
 
He tosses his head for a second, the feel of the bit in his mouth uncomfortable, the reins leading back to me disorienting.

My heart rate picks up, but there’s a triumphant smile on my face.

We go
slow
.
 
We simply walk around the perimeter, keeping close to the fence line, but not close enough for him to hang me on it if he decides to throw a fit.
 
He wiggles himself into his tack, getting used to the feel of it on him, with a person on his back.

And once he gets used to the feel of me up there and seems more comfortable, I give him a little nudge.

He twitches hard when I do this, but I’m prepared for it and hold his reins firm.
 
Once he realizes I’m not trying to beat him, he works into a trot.

Every new step we take, every new speed we try, it takes him some getting used to.
 
But one by one he settles his way into it.

The grin on my face must really look crazy.

The most out of control horse I’ve had to deal with yet, and probably the most expensively bred one too, and I’m on his back.
 
And he’s listening to me.

It took us a few months to get here, but here we are.

After a full three hours of work, I tie him back up, unsaddle him, brush him down, and put him back in his stall.
 
Because he did so well, I even give him a scoop of grain.

I rest my hands on his gate, and look out toward the driveway.
 
There’s still no truck that’s rolled up it.
 
Still not one parked next to the barn.

There’s one person in the world that I wanted to see me actually
ride
Sir Devil.
 
To share this huge triumph with.
 
And he’s gone.

I’ve been watching the driveway all day.
 
For a rusty old beat up truck to drive up.
 
For Lake to come back.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, the random people keep dropping in to check on me.
 

I’m fine.
 
No signs of Travis.
 
But I keep my handgun nestled close to me at all times.

I head into the house that night at nine o’clock.
 
Make myself a ham sandwich.
 
Shower.
 
Collapse into bed.

I stare up at the ceiling as the house grows dark.
 
Outside it’s silent—as bad as I want to be hearing the sound of tires on gravel.
 
It doesn’t come.

It isn’t in me to go chasing Lake down, begging for forgiveness.
 
But as I lay there, I feel sick.
 
I feel hollow.
 
I feel as if there’s that extension of me that is one of my better halves, and it’s missing.
 

I miss Lake.

I want him back.

I need him back.

But there’s this snake around my heart.
 
And it says I’m too prideful to go chase him down.
 
It says you need to be careful and protect yourself.
 
It whispers nasty things about him not wanting me anymore after everything I’ve put him through.

Lake is probably at his parents’ house, and I’m sure I’ve got an address for them as an emergency contact somewhere.
 
If I really tried, I could probably go track him down.

But the snake inside of me says I’m too scared to do it.

In the morning, I wake to the rising sun.
 
In the midst of my tangled thoughts I forgot to set an alarm.
 
I roll over and see it’s six-fifty.

The house is always so quiet and still in the mornings now.
 
I miss Mom being downstairs, cooking something up.
 
I miss her yelling at me to come down and eat.
 
It’s just me now.

Comfortable, worn-out jeans hug my legs as I pull them on.
 
A tank top I’ve had since high school goes on next.
 
I walk downstairs.
 
Make some toast to take out to the barn with me.
 
Pull on my boots and step outside.

The first thing I notice is the dogs acting fidgety.
 
Bear simply stares up the stairs to Lake’s apartment, his nose twitching.
 
Chico paces back and forth, giving a low growl.

My eyes dart up to the apartment.
 

The door is open.

But Lake’s truck is nowhere in sight.

The door to the barn is also open.
 
And I
never
forget to close it.

I rest my hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans and silently cross to the stairs.
 
The dogs whine softly when they notice me and start licking me like crazy.

“Stay,” I say quietly.
 
They both sit, but Chico continues to complain quietly.
 

One step at a time, my heart hammering in fear that one of them will give me away with a creak, I make my way up them.
 
My heart is racing in my chest so hard I can barely breathe.

I listen outside the door to Lake’s apartment.
 
But no sounds come within.

The handgun leveled in front of me, I push the door the rest of the way open and step inside.

Everything has been tossed.
 
The kitchen drawers have been emptied onto the floor and across the counters.
 
I find Lake’s few leftover clothes strewn out across his room.
 
His bed has been torn apart.
 
Someone has searched Lake’s apartment.

But there’s no one here.

The dogs whine quietly again when I come back down the stairs, Chico jumping up on my legs as if to say “Don’t go searching, Mom.”
 
Bear glues himself to my side.
 
But I creep into the barn, never resting my gun.

The horses seem agitated when I walk inside.
 
Lady snorts, Trooper stomps and shakes his head.
 
This is more than being morning hungry.
 
This
is knowing
something wrong.

Sometimes animals just know.

I check each stall.
 
And my grip on my handgun nearly falters when I reach the end.

Radio’s gone.

My blood runs hot and vengeful, and I swear I see red.
 
I tuck my handgun into the back of my pants and reel back one stall.
 
The gate creeks loudly as I open Dakota’s stall.
 
He whinnies and tosses his nose, excitement and agitation obvious.

He follows me out of his stall and I dash to the tack room for his bridle.
 
Not bothering with a saddle, that’s as much as I suit him up before I climb onto his back and head out.

For all of two seconds, I’m not sure where to start looking.
 
But as soon as the dogs see me, they dart toward the back of the property.

I urge Dakota into a lope and we follow the dogs down the driveway, past the garage.
 
Past the pasture fence.
 
And I see the hoof prints in the dirt.

Headed straight for the mountain trail.

“Bear, Chico!” I yell to the dogs.
 
As soon as they hear my voice, they grind do a halt.
 
They both turn and look at me expectantly.
 
“Stay,” I say firmly, pointing to the ground.

They both whine, but they sit their hairy rear ends on the ground and obey.

I race past them, into the trees.

The air is still and quiet around me on the trail.
 
It’s only three feet wide and tends to get lost in the undergrowth.
 
Trees press in on us, overhanging the trail, creating a tunnel.
 
Sound doesn’t travel far, and the sound of Dakota’s
hooves pounding the soft ground falls
flat.

Every once in a while, Radio’s hoof prints disappear, but they always resurface.

This is it.
 
This ends now with Travis.

He’s stalked me with calls and gifts.

He’s watched me, and seen who knows what.

He’s threatened Lake.

And now he’s stolen my
horse.

I reach to my back and grab my handgun from my waistband.

One mile stretches into two and still Radio’s hoof prints continue.

I finally hear something up ahead.

It’s Radio, I know it is.
 
He snorts, and I hear him stomp his feet in aggravation.
 

Someone swears.
 

I slow Dakota to a walk,
then
pull him to a stop.
 
Looping his reins around a tree branch so he won’t run off on me, I creep along the trees, my gun ever before me.
 
The trail makes a slight curve and I’m familiar enough with it to know it opens up to a little meadow.

And sure enough, there in the middle of the meadow, is Travis.

I watch him from the shadow of the trees, hardly daring to breathe.
 
He’s got a blanket laid out in the tall grass.
 
Some kind of picnic is spread over it.
 
A bottle of wine, glasses.
 

It would look romantic.

Except for the handcuffs that dangle from the back pocket of Travis’ jeans.

Radio is tied up to a tree nearby.
 
He’s tugging on his reins, trying to free himself.
 
Good boy.
 
Travis keeps himself busy preparing everything.
 
He looks exactly the same as I remember him.
 
Tall and lanky.
 
Curly brown hair that he keeps a bit too long.
 
Button up plaid shirt, jeans, and always cowboy boots.
 
His bottom lip bulges slightly from the chew that is always there.

This entire scene makes me sick.
 
I’m so tired of this.
 
Of having him over my shoulder, in the shadows, creeping into my room.
 
Of feeling like he has any control over my life.
 
I can do this.
 
I can make him leave.
 
I can make him see that if he keep coming around, that I will hurt him.