Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I was ripped from the memory by a thumb on my cheek. I moved my eyes to Sia and saw her face was pale, distraught. Her eyes were bleeding tears. “Hush . . . baby . . . what is it?” Cowboy was sitting on the opposite chair now. He met my eyes and gave me an understanding smile. He knew what memory always came back to haunt me after these episodes. My brother had lived it with me. Been right by my side.
It’s why he’ll never let you go, a voice in my head told me. And I knew, no matter how much I pushed him away, he would never leave. We’d gone through too much.
“Darlin’?” I focused again on Sia’s sweet Texan voice. “Sleep. You look so tired.” Giving up the fight, I let her soft voice guide my eyes closed, feeling her hand on my cheek and her lips press again on my mouth.
And, giving me more peace than she would ever know, she took away that night from my head. Took away the sadness that consumed me as completely as those flames had consumed the brittle wooden house we once called home. And she soothed me to sleep.
Nightmare free.
For the first time in years.
Happily numb.
Chapter Seven
Sia
Hush’s breathing evened out, his beautiful face slackening slowly from the tension which had gripped him. He was asleep, but I couldn’t leave him alone. I couldn’t stop touching him, making sure he rested. His cheek was still damp from the few tears that had fallen . . . tiny tears that, though shed in silence, had screamed his pain as loudly as a police siren on a still night.
Cowboy was silent behind me. He didn’t tell me to leave his friend alone or to let him sleep. He let me have this time. Touching the other man who had, like himself, completely captured my shredded heart. A man who had pushed me away, kept me at arm’s length . . . and now I knew why.
“Epilepsy?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Cowboy replied. My heart ached with sympathy for Hush. I pulled up the blanket over his wide chest. Blood still stained his mouth from the fight at the rodeo. When I looked at his face again, stroked the dusting of black stubble that decorated his chin, I heard that dickhead’s slurs as loudly as if he were in the room. Please tell me you no longer have anything to do with that fucking mongrel . . . half-breed . . . manipulative cunt . . .
“How could someone say such fucked-up things?” I felt a powerful wave of anger and intense sorrow that Hush could ever have those words aimed at him.
Cowboy was silent. I turned my head to look at him. I slid my hand into Hush’s though. I couldn’t seem to let him go. Cowboy was tense. His eyes lost to the fire. Without looking at me, he said, “Where we’re from . . . it’s a tiny little bumfuck town in Louisiana.” He sighed, jaw clenched. “You know the type. Don’t like anyone who don’t fit in. Good ole white, old-money kinda place. Until Hush’s mamma met his daddy. They moved away, knew they couldn’t stay in our town if they wanted to be together. But then, years later, they returned. With Hush . . .”
“And people weren’t happy.” I looked back at Hush, gripping his hand tighter.
“Yeah.” Cowboy went silent. He was watching me and Hush with a strange look in his eyes. He shook his head. “I ain’t saying anything more, cher.” He pointed to Hush. “It’s his story to tell . . . one he never ever talks about.” I got what he was saying. That I may never know. But I knew it was bad. That much I could tell.
“So he’s not just closed off because of the seizures?”
After a few thoughtful seconds, Cowboy said, “No.” I wondered if he hesitated because he didn’t want to betray his friend. Honor, I thought. Cowboy was an honorable man. I hadn’t met too many of them in my life.
“How often do they happen?” I asked, smiling fondly at Hush. His big body was relaxed in sleep. I couldn’t help but stare at our joined hands. His skin was beautiful. Its color a deep caramel. Tattoos covered his arms, but when I ran my hand over them, every so often I would feel roughness. In those places, the ink of the tattoos was patchy and faded. I found several similar patches on his arms. Then I froze . . . because, to me, they were more than familiar.
“Whenever he’s stressed, mainly.” Cowboy’s answer to my question ripped me from my thoughts. “If he gets angry too.” He glanced at Hush. “His leg bouncing is the first giveaway. It tells me he’s stressing out about something. He gets dizzy, and usually right before it happens, he gets a metallic taste on his tongue.”