Chapter 27
INDYA
Age Twenty-Five
There were ashes on the wind. They blew across the field in a gray cloud that thinned to white, then . . . nothing. Gone.
Mom let out a shaky breath and dropped her chin.
I held her hand tighter.
Don’t cry.
No crying.
Today, I couldn’t cry. I had to be strong for my mother so she could finally stop holding it together for my father.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard the metallic tang of blood coated my tongue, but my eyes stayed dry.
“He’ll be happy here.” Mom sniffled. “He always loved Montana.
And I think he knew last year it would be his final trip. We walked out here together, and he told me this was where he wanted to stay.”
Mom began to weep, gentle sobs no louder than that whispering wind.
I shut off my ears. Today, if I listened, I would cry.
I couldn’t cry.
If I cried, I’d scream. If I screamed, I’d rage. I’d fill this meadow with so much pain that the grasses would wither. The flowers would rot.
The trees would break.
I’d ruin Dad’s resting place.
So I tuned out the sound of my mother’s broken heart and stared blankly into the distance.
Should it hurt this much? We’d had years preparing for Dad’s death.
Years of him reminding us that he was still alive, just not for long.
I’d give anything to hear him say those two words again.
Still alive.
Fuck you, cancer. Fuck you.
Tears flooded my eyes. Mom was still crying. I held my breath and counted my heartbeats. One. Two. Three. The pain was bearable by the time I made it to twenty.
Mom wiped her eyes and rested her temple on my shoulder. “I’m
glad it was just us today.”
“Me too.” I squeezed her hand.
We stood together in silence. I wasn’t sure for how long, but it was easier in the quiet. I could still hear Dad’s voice. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was beside me, face tipped to the blue Montana sky to let the sun warm his skin.
What if I stayed here forever? What if I just stood here until I was nothing but ashes in the wind too?
Mom was the one to break the silence. She bent to pick up the box we’d carried out here and tuck it under her arm; then she turned and
walked away.
What if I stayed?
“Indya?”
I cleared the emotion clogging my throat. “Coming.”
The moment I turned my back on the field, turned my back on my father, grief and loss ripped through my heart so violently I stopped, pressing my hand against my sternum until it subsided and I could move again.
Every step was harder than the last, but I forced myself to walk, lengthening my strides until I was at Mom’s side. Then the two of us returned to the lodge.
“I think I’ll rest for a bit,” she said as we walked into the lobby.
“Do you want to meet for dinner?”
“I’m not all that hungry. You go without me.”
“All right.” I followed her upstairs to the second floor, waiting until she was in her room before continuing to mine three doors down.
The Beartooth Chalet was booked this week. Mom thought it was a blessing. She wasn’t sure she could have stayed in the cabin without
Dad.
But as I closed the door to my room, it felt . . . wrong.
We should be in the cabin tonight. We should be sitting on the couch, remembering all the naps Dad had taken in that exact place.
I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t sit on the bed in this small room. So I escaped to the hallway, then rushed outside, where it was easier to breathe.
My feet carried me out of the lodge and past the barn, toward the fenced corrals where once upon a time, West had introduced me to his horse.
What was that horse’s name? Clyde? Chance? Why couldn’t I remember?
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to a text from Blaine.
Go okay?
Two words. Was that really all Blaine could spare for me today?
Was making a fucking phone call to his wife on the day she’d scattered
her father’s ashes too much to ask for?
Apparently.
I cleared the notification, not bothering with a reply.
Blaine was working. That was the reason he hadn’t come along. Not that I’d invited him in the first place.
He’d been the dutiful husband this past weekend at the memorial service, shaking hands and accepting condolences. He hadn’t missed the public gathering.
But he had missed the moment that actually mattered.
Mom was right. It was better this way, just the two of us.
And now, just me.
I rested my arms on the corral’s top rail and breathed. I stood alone for hours, just staring into the distance.
The sun was beginning to set when I felt him.
I didn’t turn as West took the space beside me, propping his forearms on the rail.
He stood with me, both of us watching the sunset in quiet. Every few minutes, I blinked away the threat of tears. I bit my bottom lip when
I felt my chin quiver.
I fought and fought and fought, holding back that grief.
“You can cry, Indy.”
“No, I can’t.” I shook my head. “Not out here. I feel like I could fill every empty space with how much it hurts. It’s too big. It feels too big.”
“Okay.” He took my hand, pulling it off the fence. Then he led me from the corrals, past the barn, and into the lodge.
He wordlessly pulled me to the second floor, down the hallway, and to my room. West held out his palm for the key.
I dug it from my pocket, not sure what he wanted in my room but trusting him anyway.
He knew I was married. He felt the ring on my hand. This wasn’t about sex.
When the door clicked, he led me inside. “Take off your shoes.”
I obeyed, toeing them off as he did the same for his boots.
His hat was tossed on the dresser; then he pulled me onto the bed.
And into his arms.
He held me so tight my nose was pressed against his throat. My hair was tangled in his hand.
He brought me to a space that wasn’t so big.
So I could cry.
This was my chance to give in. To let go of the body-racking, soul-
splitting, life-changing cries.
But I hadn’t once let West see me cry.
I wasn’t starting today.
So I inched deeper into his chest, drawing from his strength as he held me for hours. Until the stars sparkled in the midnight sky beyond my room.
It took every bit of my willpower to keep it all inside, but not a single tear soaked his shirt. And though it took hours, finally, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
I feigned sleep as West tiptoed out of my room. I’d woken when he’d shifted off the bed in the early light of dawn.
Only when he was gone and the door was shut did I open my eyes.
Then I stretched a hand to his side of the bed, still warm from where he’d slept last night. I hauled his pillow into my face, drawing in his scent. Leather and soap and wind.
I’d miss that smell. For the rest of my life.
After one last inhale, I forced myself out of bed, then straightened yesterday’s rumpled clothes as I padded to the window.
West crossed the parking lot with that confident, easy stride of a good man.
Besides my father, West Haven was the best man I’d ever known.
He reached a silver truck and opened the door, but before he climbed inside, he turned and found me at the window.
We stared at each other. Memorized each other.
This was the last time I’d see West, wasn’t it? This was finally our
goodbye.
I pressed my hand to the glass.
He dipped his chin. Then he got in that truck, one I didn’t recognize, and drove away.
As his taillights disappeared down the gravel road, I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my recent calls.
Nothing from Blaine. One from my mother.
And eleven days ago, a call from Dad.
Eleven days. We’d talked about the weather. He’d asked me what Blaine and I were doing for dinner that night.
It had been only eleven days, but it might as well have been a lifetime.
I touched his name. The call went straight to his voice mail.
“You’ve reached Grant Keller. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”
His voice.
God, I missed his voice.
I missed his hugs and his laugh and his smile.
I missed him so much I couldn’t breathe. But I sucked in a short inhale and forced myself to speak.
“Hi, Daddy. I was just calling to say hello. I miss—” A sob broke free. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I miss you. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you every day.”
An hour later, after my suitcase was packed and loaded in the back of our rental car, my mother and I drove away from the Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort.
“I don’t think I’ll come back here,” she murmured.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, taking one last look at the lodge.
Then I locked my gaze on the road, refusing to turn back. “Neither do I.”
