Page 34 of Ride or Die

“Not fuckin’ yet,” I mutter under my breath, thinking about that son of a bitch that has Clara so scared she ran away with nothing much more than the shirt on her back just to save herself and her kids.

From my periphery, I see Wyatt glance over, looking at me long and hard. “Alright, what’s crawled up your?—”

“Nothin’,” I cut in, quick and flat. “Just wanna get this shit done.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not long, but long enough. Brady and Wyatt exchange a look. But they don’t push. They never do.

“Fine,” Brady finally says. “Then quit draggin’ your ass and help me stretch this line.”

I’m grateful for the change of conversation, even if I don’t say it. Grabbing the wire spool, I walk it down the line while Brady holds the stretcher. We work it together. Him ratcheting tension into the wire, me keeping it lined up along the posts.

“Watch your spacin’,” he says. “You’re crowdin’ that last one.”

“I ain’t—” I glance, then adjust it an inch. “Alright, maybe a little.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The wire tightens with a creak, groaning low as it pulls straight.

“There you go,” Brady says. “Now it looks like a motherfuckin’ fence.”

I start stapling it in place, careful now, measured. My hammer hits clean, driving each staple just enough to hold without pinching the wire too tight.

Behind me, the traveling boys are setting another post, talking low about sinking beers after the working day’s done. Normal, easy talk. I try to let it pull me in. Try not to think about Clara and the fact that I haven’t heard from her since that night. Try not to think whether she and the kids left without saying a word. Whether or not I gave her a reason to.

“Fuck—” The wire snaps against my glove as I lose tension for half a second.

Brady looks over sharp. “Alright, that’s three mistakes too many. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on or am I gonna tell Webber how you’re fuckin’ up the fence more than the damn storm did?”

I huff out a frustrated breath, shaking my head. “Ain’t nothin’. Just didn’t sleep good.”

“Uh-huh.”

Wyatt walks up, resting his hammer on his shoulder. “You start seein’ double, you let me know.”

I narrow my eyes, looking at him hard. What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? Does he know? That’s the second damn time he’s mentioned something like that. Fuck, I swear if Bailey’s said something to Darcy, I’m gonna be so fuckin’ pissed. Before I can question him, Brady yells.

“Let’s get it done!”

Turning from Wyatt, I set another staple, then another, focusing on the rhythm until it smooths out again. Finally, the fence starts to look right. Straight lines. Tight wire. Solid posts. Reliable. If only everything was that simple.

A breeze rolls across the pasture, kicking up dust and carrying the smell of shit and sunbaked grass. I straighten, stretching my back, and that’s when I see it from the corner of my eye. Horse coming in from the south end.

“That your boss?” Levi calls out, shading his eyes.

I don’t need to look twice. Austin rides like a man on a mission—steady, direct, with pissed off determination.

Brady mutters under his breath, “Well, there goes the peace and quiet…”

Wyatt exhales. “Place your bets. What’d Cole do this time?”

“Why’s it always me?” I ask, but there’s no heat in it.

“Because it’salwaysyou,” they chorus.

And they’re right. It is always me. But not for the reasons they think.

Austin pulls up near the fence, his horse sidestepping once before settling. His gaze sweeps over the whole line—posts, wire, all of us—taking it in quick. Then it lands on me.