Breaker

by Rae, Harloe

  He rolls his eyes. “Stop fishing.”

  Pretty hard not to when he’s giving me the bait. But I bite my tongue. “All right, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. He probably doesn’t want anyone stomping into his personal space yet.”

  “Nah, it’s more than that.”

  Because it’s special for us. The sweet whisper warms my cheeks. That reality seems too farfetched, like the dream it used to be. I shove that giddy notion away. But testing the theory seems necessary.

  “Have you been inside?”

  “He let me use the shitter once when I was there lending a hand. I don’t think mom and dad have been invited over.”

  I force my expression to remain neutral. What does that mean about me? My pulse is a stampede of wild horses, making it difficult to hear beyond the pounding of hooves. I try not to let that little kernel expand into something more. But it’s impossible. Grady barely hesitated before leading me into his place. This is big. So effing huge. I need to tread lightly, but remaining upright is a feat in this moment.

  Jace plows forward with his revelations, unaware of my internal meltdown. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Grady is a massive prick to everyone except you. He’s never been able to deny you a damn thing.”

  I let my mouth pop open on a strangled exhale. There’s no doubt my face is the shade of a ripe tomato. So much for keeping my attraction a secret. If I try to speak, the lid is bound to blow off this charade. I remain silent while the chaos in my mind rages on.

  My brother tilts his head. “You okay, Sutt? Looks like a ghost spooked your ass.”

  I manage to pull myself together enough to form a mumbled response. “Something like that.”

  Happy something #41: Uninhibited bouts of laughter. I never hear that enough.

  I toss the wrench into my toolbox and slam the tractor hood shut with a resounding bang. The afternoon sun is relentless, immediately searing my skin once I step out of the shade. Motor oil is a thick layer on my hands and shirt, evidence of the several dirty jobs I’ve done. There’s only one answer to give when Barry Olsen asks if I can spare a few hours to fix some shit around his farm. I could never refuse the man who practically raised me. That responsibility doubled after my own dad was locked up.

  The old log bench along the barn calls my name. I park my ass on the sturdy wood, reaching for the filthy rag tucked in my pocket. It takes a good five minutes to dig the grit out from beneath my nails. Not sure why I even fucking bother. I lift my ballcap and drag a hand over my matted hair. There’s a damn laundry list of shit waiting for me at home. The only thing I want to do is sleep. But talking to a certain blue-eyed girl holds an inflated level of appeal. A nap is more plausible, but still highly unlikely. I grunt at my shitty choices.

  My dry throat aches for something cool to ease the burn. A cold beer has never sounded better. Lucky for me, Barry keeps a fridge stocked in one of the sheds. I get to my feet with a groan and wander that way. Freshly cut hay and sawdust cling to the humid air, making the temperature even more sticky. The property is quiet. It’s almost startling how calm and still the farm is. I’m sure everyone is enjoying a lazy Saturday as it’s meant to be.

  I adjust the hat on my head, tucking the brim low to shield the harsh rays. This summer is already proving to be hot as fuck. This weather might call for the voyage dive off my dock. I’ve been stupid to hold out. It’s not like anyone else will join me. Not that I’d want her to. My boots stumble to a stop on their own accord. No fucking way. That is absolutely not happening. I roll my shoulders and shake that shit off. The happy something she whispered to me almost a decade ago is ancient history.

  I duck into the building with a sigh, heading straight for the back wall. A breeze passes through the open doors. That slight wind is enough to ease the sizzle from outside. I grab a beer and pop the top, dropping my ass into one of the open camping chairs. Weariness seeps into my bones. Every inch of me is weighed down with a heaviness beyond normal limits. A moment of rest won’t kill me. I tip the bottle to my lips and guzzle the final drops of cool relief.

  Just as I’m letting my eyes fall shut, the shuffle of footsteps jolts me wide awake. Barry strides toward me with a wide grin stretching his weathered face.

  “Hey, son. Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

  I scrub a hand across the coarse bristles on my jaw. “Just finished. That orange Ford should be running the best a thirty-year-old model can. I also fixed the leak in the Deere.”

  “You’re saving my hide. I can’t keep up with it all anymore.” Barry settles into the chair beside me, relaxing deep into the seat.

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got business to complete elsewhere.”

  That’s very much the case, but being here isn’t a burden. “It doesn’t put me out. I have all evening to finish stuff at home.”

  Barry crosses his arms. “It might be time to consider hiring a ranch hand of sorts.”

  “Yeah? Or rope Jace into more. He can get the next round.”

  He snorts at that. “I won’t hold my breath.”

  Me either, but that doesn’t need to be said. Jace does plenty to help out. Mechanics aren’t one of his talents. “More for me, then. I don’t mind.”

  “You’ve always been a good kid, Grady. I’m grateful to have you around.”

  I tug the ballcap lower and avert my gaze. “I appreciate that, sir.”

  Barry toys with his own hat, the brim fraying and splitting apart. “None of that formal crap.”

  “Old habits and all.” I knew plenty about that. Hell, we both did.

  He presses a finger to his lips and releases a slow exhale. “How’s your mama?”

  I almost cringe at the question. She’s not a topic I’d ever choose to discuss. I can’t force myself to give her much thought. If I did, a lot of other dark shit would swoop in. But Barry has his reasons. They grew up together in Silo Springs. He watched the start of her downfall far before I was born. I flare my nostrils and shove out a breath. “Alive.”

  That earns me a raised brow. He gets a shrug in return. A lot of men don’t talk about emotions and feelings, me very much included. Barry is the opposite. I can’t count the number of conversations he’s had with me on the subject. But I won’t open up on this, even for him.

  “I get it, son. Sorry to pry.” He points to my empty bottle. “Want another?”

  “Nah, one is enough. I should be going soon.” I rub at a stain on my jeans, trying to force off the grime covering me. Just more evidence of how filthy I am.

  Seemingly out of thin air, Sutton struts into the barn. That sweet reprieve from the sun dissipates as the temperature spikes. Hot fucking damn. The sway of her hips is a fluid motion that instantly snares me. Her tan legs are on display thanks to a tiny pair of cutoffs. All that smooth skin creates a certifiable hunger in my lower half. The craving is fierce and direct, an intensity only she can provoke. I gulp down the saliva pooling in my mouth.

  Any signs of exhaustion I’d been experiencing vanish with Sutton’s bubbling laugh. Her head tips back, exposing the sleek column of her throat. A cascade of dark waves spill down her delicate frame. My muscles flex with the effort of staying seated. I could easily scoop her up and haul us to the hayloft. The man beside me would probably have plenty to say about a stunt like that.

  I belatedly realize she has a phone pressed to her ear. Finding out who’s on the other side of that call becomes a necessity. She’s giggling without restraint, clearly loving the recipient’s voice. A furious green monster rises from my gut. If it’s Deputy Dipshit, he’s going to get acquainted with my fist before the sun sets.

  The sound of a dry chuckle barely registers. “Don’t waste more years, son.”

  I jerk my eyes back to Barry. “Huh?”

  He lifts his chin toward Sutton. “I’m not blind. Neither is she. Don’t sit around waiting for a moment that will never come. If you want more from her, get up and do it.”

&
nbsp; This man is my role model. The only father figure I have. My heart thunders with an impending storm. I can’t possibly make a move on his daughter. No part of that statement is realistic. Admiring from afar is bad enough. Anything more is strictly forbidden, permission granted or not.

  I rip off my hat and wring the fabric tight. “I’m right where I should be.”

  And that’s the truth. We’re on opposite sides of everything that matters. Sutton is across the room, safe and happy. She’s talking to someone who brings her joy. All I’ve ever offered is bullshit and pain. I’ll never deserve her.

  Barry shakes his head. “Don’t be a fool, kid.”

  Of all the people rooting for this, it shouldn’t be him. I grind my molars. “It’s better this way.”

  There’s no missing his hollow scoff. “Suit yourself. Can I ask a favor if you’re set on staying in place?”

  I squint at him, trying to read his intentions. As always, Barry keeps shit locked behind an impassive expression. “Okay.”

  “Do you have thirty more minutes to spare?”

  I didn’t, but turning this man down wasn’t an option. “Sure. What’s up?”

  He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “I’ve been trying to hustle with this second cutting. The fact we’ll be getting three this season is a miracle. That square baler stalled in the back field. I should have replaced it years ago. Can I bother you to take a look? I need to call some folks and let them know their hay delivery will be delayed.”

  I’m out of my seat before he finishes talking. “Any idea what could be causing it?”

  “Probably a bad belt or something jammed the engine.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  He stands up and claps my shoulder. “You sure?”

  “Positive. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

  “Feel free to drive the four-wheeler out there. Keys are in the ignition.”

  I nod at him. “Got it, boss.”

  Barry snorts. “If only you could be convinced to work for me.”

  “I owe you too much for that.”

  He waves me off. “We’re not discussing that nonsense.”

  “All right,” I mutter.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a bit. Thanks again, Grady.” He pivots on his heel and walks outside.

  A list of what I’ll need begins to compile in my mind. I grab a clean rag out of the cabinet. At this time of day, I’ll probably need a few to sop up the sweat and dirt. Those get tucked into my back pocket while I grab my tools.

  The four-wheeler waits for me outside of the barn. After strapping down my toolbox, I straddle the padded seat. I turn my hat backwards and pull it low. The engine purrs to life, vibrating with power beneath me. I crank the throttle and dart off across the field. The wind whips through the thin cotton of my shirt. For a few precious moments, everything fades into a blur of multi-color nothingness. I can just be.

  The square baler appears ahead of me and I pull up beside it. Barry wasn’t lying about needing to replace this hunk of junk. The old machine is more rust than metal at this point. I’m surprised this model hasn’t been tossed out sooner, considering the massive employee discount he gets. But he’s sentimental. I’m sure there’s a story behind this dinosaur.

  I grab a socket, pliers, extension bar, and ratchet. At the very least, I’ll get this piece of shit running well enough to finish the rear field. I lean inside the open front end to get an idea of what’s wrong. Debris and nameless gunk cling to every available spot. I reach further to pull out some clumps of hay.

  With a loud pop, one of the springs breaks in half. A whoosh of stale air is the only warning I get. In a split second, the baler’s mouth slams shut. Two gnarly spikes latch onto my arm before I can blink. Blinding agony rips through my entire body. Raging flames erupt over every inch of me.

  “Fuck!” I bellow the curse so loud my lungs burn. It’s the last thing I remember before black spots fill my vision.

  Happy something #131: Being able to help others, no matter how small, is a wonderful gift.

  A blood-curdling scream rips through the silence around me. I pull the phone away from my ear to listen better. Harlyn continues talking at rapid speed, unaware of the interruption that’s stealing my focus. I twist my head and wait for more shouting. A moment later, another agonizing howl shreds into my chest.

  “I need to call you back.” I end the call before she has a chance to respond. After shoving the cell into my pocket, I race toward the pastures. Cries of pain roar above my pounding heartbeat. I push myself faster, each inhale becoming fire in my lungs. The desperation fuels me to find a higher gear I didn’t know existed. With each passing moment, the sounds get louder and more traumatizing. I can practically smell the horror looming just out of reach.

  As I climb a small slope in the rear field, our old baler comes into view. I see a pair of booted feet wrestling to remain upright. My throat clogs with an impending sob. When Grady is finally in sight, I fear the worst. He’s practically hanging from the frontend of the machine. Two of the sharp teeth appear to be pierced straight through his forearm. From this angle, I can’t tell if the metal spikes are stabbing through bone or muscle. Grady is trapped with no conceivable way of escape. I almost crash to my knees from the visual impact.

  “Shit, shit, shit. Oh my God. Hold on, Gray.”

  Tears leak down my cheeks as I cover the remaining distance between us. He’s no longer crying out, which raises an enormous red flag. I slam to a halt beside him and attempt to catalogue his injuries. This type of incident usually results in the loss of a limb. I’m no stranger to farming accidents. It’s an occupational hazard around these parts. Malfunctioning equipment is far too common and one of the reasons my dad works so hard to engineer new parts. We have to plan for this. But this is completely different than anything I could prepare for.

  “Gray?” I curl my hands into fists. All I want to do is hug him. That’s the last thing he needs. What should I do? The blank I’m drawing is far and wide. I try to shake off the stunned fog. “Can you, um, talk to me?”

  A muscle in his jaw pops. Grady isn’t moving otherwise. He’s frozen as stone, which is exactly what we’re taught to do in these situations. Struggling can make the damage worse. His green eyes are flaring wide open, dilated and unfocused. He appears to be staring at nothing. There’s a clammy sheen to his complexion, the color pale and ghostly. My mind scrambles with the proper steps I should be completing. I can’t see past the helpless image of Grady. The daunting possibilities are fangs sinking into my neck.

  A stinging slap of clarity knocks some much needed sense into me. I fumble while digging out my phone. The numbers are a blur, but I don’t need them. I press the red button with a trembling finger.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  My tongue is five times too large. “M-my friend is s-stuck in a hay b-b-baler. He n-needs help. R-right away.”

  “I need you to remain calm. What’s your name?”

  “Sutton.”

  “Okay, Sutton. I have assistance on the way. Is your friend breathing?”

  I gulp down a lungful of useless air. It does nothing to ease the flames in my chest. “Y-yes.”

  “Okay, that’s a good sign. Is he able to communicate?”

  Grady’s throat bobs with a forced swallow, but he doesn’t speak. I bite my tongue while trying to trap another sob. Fresh tears gather in my lashes that I can’t seem to blink away. “I’m, uh, not sure. He isn’t saying anything.”

  The dispatcher hums softly. “That’s all right. Don’t force anything. Just stay with him.”

  As if I could possibly leave. The thought alone is inconceivable. I reach for his free hand and almost jolt backwards. He’s cold to the touch, even though it’s nearing ninety degrees outside.

  “Stay with me, Gray.” The plea drips off my quivering bottom lip.

  Grady’s grip on me is weak at best. I shuffle closer to inspect his gaping wound. Rivulets of blood flow
out and puddle onto the grass. A pool of bright red is collecting, too big and spreading wider. I want to collapse under the weight of it all, and this isn’t happening to me. I can only imagine the agony Grady is experiencing.

  “Sutton? Are you still on the line?” Her voice is a distant buzz.

  “Yes, we’re here.” I keep my gaze locked on Grady while answering her.

  “Feel free to put me on speaker while tending to your friend.”

  I follow her suggestion robotically without pause. The screen lights up when I set my cell down. I watch the seconds tick by on the call tracker. It’s been five minutes. Grady appears more ashen and despondent. The air grows thick and gray, a suffocating cloud descending upon us. I scoot forward, ready to do whatever is necessary to save him.

  Where the hell are they?

  The dispatcher interrupts my rising panic. “The rescue team is about two minutes out. Will they have any trouble finding you?”

  I glance around at all the open space. “We’re in the far corner field of my property. There’s a trail they can take straight back. It’s easily accessible. Tell the driver to follow the gravel path. Or they can take the private drive off Batron and Straller. That leads directly to us and might be faster. Either way, just hurry. Please.” I’m on autopilot at this point, spitting out whatever information seems important.

  “All right, Sutton. They’ll be arriving any moment. Just sit tight.” Her tone is measured and level, meant to soothe jagged nerves. But I barely hear the words over the rush of my pulse.

  I squeeze the chilled fingers that are laced with mine. “Hear that? It’s going to be okay, Gray. They’ll be here soon.” Even to my own ears the attempt at reassurance sounds like a hollow echo. I clench my eyes shut, silently chanting for them to hurry.

  The wailing siren alerts me first. In the next beat, flashing lights appear in my periphery. An ambulance races up the small hill and across the pasture to where we wait. Through bleary eyes, I track the wheels bouncing over the rough terrain. I will them to speed up, impossible as that might be.