Sweet Home Montana

by Shann McPherson

  I shiver, wishing I’d stopped to grab a coat on my way out of the house. But we’d been in such a rush, I didn’t even think about it.

  “You cold?”

  I flash Colt a glance as he focuses intently on the dimly lit road ahead, his face impassive, illuminated by the lights of the dash.

  “Yeah.” I rub my arms through the thin wool of my dress.

  He reaches forward, twisting the dial, and warmth blasts through the vents, heating my cheeks, and I can’t help but sigh in a contented relief as it stifles the chill coursing through me.

  “I feel so bad,” I confess, looking down at my hands in my lap. “After the funeral … I thought Tripp had just passed out in his apartment. I didn’t know he actually left.”

  “He’s not really dealing too well with it all,” Colt offers in slightly more than a murmur.

  “I’m worried about him.” I sigh, my shoulders falling.

  “He’ll be okay. I’m looking out for him.”

  I jump a little, startled by the sudden and unexpected feel of Colt’s hand as he reaches over, gently squeezing my shoulder. My eyes move from his hand, meeting his eyes before he quickly turns back to the road, but his hand remains in place for a moment longer, and I take the opportunity to place mine on top of his before he takes it away. Another silence follows, this one a little more confusing than the last, the only sound that of the tires treading the uneven country road, and the warm air blowing out through the vents.

  “Is Dwight still sheriff?”

  Colt huffs, a combination of an exasperated sigh and an incredulous laugh, and I look at him to see him shake his head. “No. He retired a few years back.” He casts me a sardonic glance in my direction. “You remember Robbie Shepherd, from school?”

  “Yeah …” Dread sinks low in my belly.

  “He’s sheriff, now.”

  “You have got to be kidding me!”

  Colt shakes his head.

  Robbie Shepherd made Tripp’s life hell through school. He made all our lives hell. It all started when Tripp kissed Robbie’s girlfriend at the spring dance in sophomore year. Robbie kicked Tripp’s ass. A few months later, Robbie made up a horrible rumor about me, something about giving him a hand job in the boys’ bathroom during third period. Tripp beat Robbie’s ass, and then Colt jumped in and finished him off. After that, Robbie planted weed in Tripp’s locker and got him suspended for a month. It was a vicious cycle that went on and on until graduation, and then some.

  “Is he still a dick?”

  “Why do you think Cash gave me three grand?” Colt scoffs with a shake of his head.

  I gawp at him. “You have to bribe him?”

  He nods, his jaw clenching.

  “Asshole …” I whisper under my breath, glaring straight ahead.

  Colt chuckles softly, and we continue into town with a slightly more companionable silence settling between us; our mutual hatred for Robbie Shepherd bringing us just that little bit closer as we hurry to bail Tripp’s stupid drunk ass out of the county jail.

  Chapter 12

  The sheriff’s station is on the outskirts of town, with nothing and no one around.

  I shiver against the night air as I get out of the truck, following Colt up the neatly landscaped path to the front door. He presses the after-hours buzzer, looking at me over his shoulder as we wait impatiently for someone to let us in. When the click of the latch sounds, he doesn’t hesitate before opening the door, standing aside and allowing me to enter first.

  Inside, the fluorescent lights overhead sting my tired eyes, but I proceed to the counter with my game face on, ringing the service bell not once, but four times to show that I mean business. I know they know we’re here—there’s security cameras all over—but I ring the bell anyway, and then once more in the hope of annoying Robbie Shepherd as much as I possibly can.

  The glass door opens, and a somewhat familiar face appears. I’d know those shifty eyes anywhere. Although he’s at least thirty pounds heavier, and clinging on for dear life to the thin smattering of hair that barely even covers his head, Robbie looks like the same piece of shit he was in high school.

  “Well, well, well …” He flashes a smug smirk, looking me up and down. “The wayward Wagner returns.”

  I roll my eyes, throwing my head back in dramatic exasperation.

  “And with the poor sucker you left standing at the altar.” He laughs a high-pitched cackle, his eyes flashing to Colt over my shoulder.

  I feel a sting from his words, but I do all I can not to show it, deadpanning and arching a brow while folding my arms over my chest. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Drunk tank.” Robbie nods back in the direction of the lock-up, chewing on a toothpick. “I’m not letting him go tonight. He’s a goddamn threat to society.”

  “He just lost his father,” I exclaim. “We … We just lost our father.”

  He doesn’t even flinch; heartless bastard.

  Colt leans over me, placing the wads of cash onto the counter. Robbie’s eyes linger on the neatly stacked money, and I can almost see him mentally calculating how much is there. He flashes me a dubious glance.

  “Three grand.” I sigh. “More than enough for your … troubles.” My eyes rake up and down his lofty form, to where his buckle is straining against his rotund waist.

  He picks up one of the stacks, flicking through each note, his gaze remaining on me. “You know he beat a guy with a pool cue? Broke his nose.”

  “He has a temper …” I shrug nonchalantly. “You of all people should know that.”

  “He picked up a barstool and smashed it over some other unsuspecting guy’s head.”

  I blink once. “He’s a Wagner.”

  “He’s completely lost his shit.”

  “That’s for me to worry about.” I rest my hands flat on the counter, leaning forward, my eyes never once leaving his. “You want me to sign a bail sheet, or what?”

  Robbie regards me, slowly looking me up and down, the ghost of a smug smirk playing on his lips as he turns, retrieving some paperwork from the filing cabinet behind him. He slams the forms down in front of me, takes the pen from the chest pocket of his neatly pressed shirt and holds it out. I snatch it from him and commence filling out the documentation, fully aware of his eyes trained on me, watching my every move. His gaze is weighty, uncomfortable, and as if Colt can sense my unease, he steps forward, staying close, a tentative hand coming to rest upon my shoulder, and I can’t help but release a shaky breath of relief at his presence.

  When I’m done, I place the pen onto the papers, sliding them over, glancing up at Robbie as he picks up the forms and studies them closely, which I can tell he’s only doing to waste more time and further aggravate me.

  “You got your money, Shepherd,” Colt speaks up. “Quit being a dick and just bring Tripp out here.”

  I force myself to walk away, knowing if I stand here any longer, looking at Robbie’s smug face with his red cheeks and sweat-beaded receding hairline, I’m going to say or do something that’s only going to give him reason to assert his power and throw me in the cell along with my brother. So, I turn, and walk back outside, braving the cold in the hope the night air brings some semblance of relief to the skin prickling at the back of my neck.

  A plume of white smoke billows out with my heavy breath, snaking up into the night sky, and I wrap my arms around myself, looking out at the silhouetted mountains across the way, darkness looming overhead. I can’t even begin to fathom everything. Here I am, standing outside the sheriff’s station at eleven o’clock on the night of my father’s funeral, freezing my ass off while waiting for my brother to be released on bail. Where did it all go so wrong?

  Robbie was right; Tripp is losing it. My brother. My twin. My other half. The one person in my life that I used to be able to feel and sense. I don’t feel him anymore. The person I knew almost as well as I knew myself. I don’t know him anymore. This is the guy I’ve shared some of my deepest, darkest secrets wi
th. Once upon a time, I used to turn to Tripp for everything. He was the one I went to when I couldn’t go to Dad. Now, he can’t even stand the sight of me, and it’s almost as if he’s a stranger.

  Behind me, the door opens before closing heavily, followed by inaudible cussing and grunting. I turn quickly to see Colt walking out, struggling with a clearly unsteady Tripp trying to break free of his hold. But he stops struggling the moment his gaze lands on me. In fact, he stops altogether, gawping at me, his eyes darkening.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, taking a tentative step forward, noticing the nasty gash above his left brow, taped together with bloodied butterfly clips.

  “Pfft.” He scoffs dramatically, swaying on his feet. “As if you give a shit.” His voice is hoarse, gruff, and laced with disdain.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I hold my arms out at my sides. “Only hours after laying our father to rest.”

  Tripp’s eyes flash with anger and he lunges at me, sticking his finger right in my face, causing me to cower instinctively. “Don’t you dare fuckin’—”

  Colt stops him. “C’mon, Tripp, brother …” He hisses under the weight of my brother, trying to pull him away and lead him down the path. “Let’s get you back home.”

  “Let me go. I ain’t your fuckin’ brother!” Tripp suddenly erupts with an explosive fury, shrugging out from Colt’s arms. But then he launches forward, pushing his best friend in his chest.

  Colt, barely affected by the assault, collects himself, taking a step away, a step closer to me, his hands held in the air in surrender. He’s clearly doing all he can to avoid fighting with his best friend when he’s so drunk and broken.

  Tripp’s cold eyes dart between the both of us, his brow furrowed. “Awww,” he coos mockingly. “Will you look at y’all,” he continues with a teasing lilt. “It’s like a blast from the past. History fuckin’ repeating itself!”

  “Tripp—” Colt warns, his teeth gritting together.

  I gauge my brother, taking him in from his hollow cheeks, pale, clammy face. Glassy eyes, with little to no emotion left within them. He’s the shell of the man I remember him to be, and it’s a heartbreaking sight to behold.

  “Just like old times.” Tripp laughs a chilling, humorless laugh that echoes through the quiet night. He points to Colt as he continues, “Before you were a pussy.” His accusatory finger then lands on me, resentment clear and evident in his hard stare. “Before you were a bitch.”

  I rear back from his words. It’s as if he’s slapped me. I find myself instinctively reaching up to touch my cheek, just to make sure he didn’t strike me without me realizing.

  Tripp chuckles to himself, pushing past Colt and me and staggering down the path toward the truck parked in the lot. And sure, I could say something. Stand up for myself. But he’s drunk. He’s a mess. What’s the point? He’s not going to remember what I say tonight when he wakes up in the morning with a hangover from hell.

  “C’mon,” I say to Colt. “Let’s just take him home.”

  I turn to follow my brother, but suddenly I’m being pushed out of the way by a force so strong, I almost fall to the ground. I collect myself in time to see Colt launching at Tripp from behind, crashing into him like a freight train. And, with an almighty thud, it all happens so quickly. Colt has Tripp on the ground, pummeling him to within an inch of his life, the two of them cursing one another out, grunting and crying through their violent tussle in a flurry of fists, elbows and knees, right there on the immaculately manicured lawn outside the damn sheriff’s station.

  What the hell is even happening?

  “What are you doing?” I scream, running toward them. “Stop!”

  But I can’t do anything. There’s no way I’m big enough or strong enough to come between these two brutes. I’m forced to just stand back and watch the two of them fighting on the ground, punching one another with everything they have. But the longer I watch, the more I realize that maybe this needs to happen. Colt and Tripp are like brothers. They love hard, and they fight harder. And there’s obviously a lot of unresolved emotion in the air between them—it’s almost stifling.

  I flinch when Colt’s fist connects with Tripp’s face, when Tripp’s knee finds its way to Colt’s groin, each of them groaning out in pain. I can’t bear to watch them hurt each other. It’s sickening.

  The door to the station behind me opens and an unexpected laughter rings through the air, causing me to swing around and watch as Robbie Shepherd stands in the doorway with two of his officers, all three of them watching on with bemused smirks, cheering and clapping as if they’re at a damn boxing match in Las Vegas.

  “You’re really just gonna stand there and watch this happen?” I yell back at the three of them.

  “We’re on a break,” Robbie says through a smarmy grin, shrugging casually as he takes a sip from his coffee mug.

  I throw my hands in the air in resignation, glancing up to the sky before cursing under my breath as I step around the two grown-ass men fighting on the ground like teenage boys.

  “Hurry the hell up,” I throw over my shoulder on my way back to the truck. “I’m not standing out in the cold while y’all fight like a pair of damn idiots.”

  Chapter 13

  I smooth a hand over Tripp’s back before pulling the bedsheets up over his shoulders, watching as he snores softly, oblivious to my presence. He passed out in the back seat on the way home, after Colt dragged him by the scruff of his collar once the two had sufficiently kicked each other’s asses.

  As I watch my brother sleep somewhat peacefully, his left cheek swollen and bruised, his chin grazed, nostrils bloodied, my mind is reeling from everything that’s happened today. Today, we laid our father to rest. Today, I learned that my brother is on the verge of losing his mind altogether. Today, I found out that Colt has my name tattooed over his heart.

  When did my life become the messy, screwed-up situation that it is now?

  I wish my dad were here. He’d make everything okay again. Without him, it truly does feel as if things are completely falling apart.

  With a heavily resigned sigh, I lean down, and I place a kiss to the top of Tripp’s head, gently smoothing his sandy hair back from his face. And, with one last glance to check he has everything he needs—water, Tylenol, his cell charging on the side table next to him—I turn and leave the room, switching off the light on my way out.

  I walk upstairs from Tripp’s basement apartment to find the rest of the house dark and silent. A soft glow from the dwindling fire in the great room lights my way as I continue down the hall, and I stop at the landing, finding Colt sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. He looks so defeated, staring down at the rug on the floor, tearing his fingers through the longer lengths of his hair.

  “He’s asleep,” I say, stepping down into the room.

  Colt looks up, his face illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire, and I can barely contain my own gasp as I take him in, not having realized until now the extent of the damage my brother had caused. His left eye is almost completely swollen shut. A bloodied split cracks through his bottom lip. But beyond the physical damage his eyes tell the story of the deeper damage, the damage that can’t be seen at first glance, the damage I know goes a lot deeper than just my brother’s drunken fists.

  I stop, clasping my hands together nervously. “Are you okay?”

  He manages a nod, but when he makes his way to his feet, he winces out in pain, clutching a hand to his left side, and I hurry to him, holding him steady with a strong grip on his arm. I study him closely, racking my brain with how I can help him, but when our eyes meet, there’s a sudden shift in the air between us. I see tears in his eyes, one winning the battle and slipping over the edge when his lashes flutter. It hits his swollen cheek and slides painfully slow down his face, and he makes no effort to wipe it away.

  “Colt?” My voice falters. “What do you need? Ice? Pain meds?”

  He shakes his he
ad, closing his eyes tight, more tears slipping free, and I know in that instant more than medication and pain relief, more than anything else, all he needs is me.

  I lean up on my tiptoes, hesitating momentarily before wrapping my arms around his neck, coaxing his head down to rest upon my shoulder. His hands grip my waist so tight as he buries his face into the crook of my neck, crying so quietly that his trembling shoulders are the only thing giving him away. I smooth my hands over his hair, shushing him.

  After a moment or two, slowly he lifts his head, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, a heartbreaking fragility radiating from him, causing my own tears to threaten to break me. But, then, in the flash of an instant, I see the look in his eyes change right before me, his big hands moving up over my arms, my shoulders, following the curve of my neck until they’re cradling my face, cupping my cheeks so tenderly, so carefully, it’s as if he’s afraid I might break.

  And, at that moment, I can’t even breathe.

  At that moment, as I stare into his eyes, it’s as if my whole world stops.

  At that moment, it’s just the two of us.

  Colt leans in, his gaze flickering between mine, lingering so dangerously close I can feel his breath as it dances over my skin before, tentatively, his lips press against my forehead, pausing there a moment as if he’s scared to move. But I want him to move. God, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. And my breath trembles when he does move, peppering slow, languid kisses down over my temple, my cheek, before finding the corner of my mouth, just shy of my lips, driving me insane with his trepidation. It takes all I have not to pull him closer as he teases me, before taking my bottom lip between his teeth and gently sucking it into his mouth.

  When a whimper escapes me, he takes that as permission, inundating me with a kiss so all-consuming it takes a few seconds before I fully come to. My hands instinctively find their way into his hair, my fingers tearing through the soft lengths as his tongue pushes its way into my mouth, the two of us reduced to nothing more than a flurry of hands, lips, and inexplicable emotion. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, desperate for him. For all of him. It’s been too damn long, but the familiarity is like home. A kiss has never felt so right.