The taste of forbidden

2. Open wounds.

2. Open wounds.

Becket.

Lucas is dead.

The words repeat over and over again, drilling into my head, pounding hard, trying to sink into my mind to establish this shocking, new reality.

But I reject them.

No.

He died two years ago.

I grip the steering wheel tightly in my hands, the tires against the dirt making a chilling sound that tells me how fast I’m going.

How can you not know?

The girl’s words keep playing through every part of me, nearly blinding me with pain.

No.

No.

Fuck, no!

The screech of my brakes is deafening, my body thrown forward and only my hands on the wheel keep me from crashing into the windshield.

I close my eyes.

Lucas is dead.

Dead.

A ringing floods my ears and my heartbeat is erratic.

Goddammit, this can’t be true.

My breathing is shallow, wild, even animalistic, like something deep in my chest is growling, ready to escape and destroy everything in its path.

No.

“No,” I say aloud.

And I deny it, and I say it in my head and I repeat it out loud and I tell it to myself in every f*****g way possible.

No.

No.

No.

My knuckles start to ache, the pounding begins, the vibration of my fists would scare anyone… and there I am, punching the steering wheel hard, not even knowing what I’m doing, not knowing what I’m feeling, not knowing what’s real anymore.

Fuck this.

I get out of the car and call Douglas.

“Is Lucas dead?” My question falls on deaf ears, he says nothing. “Is my brother dead, goddammit?!”

“I don’t… what?”

“His wife just showed up at the ranch with his ashes in a f*****g urn and she said that… said he’s been dead for two years, Douglas. Two f*****g years.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“What the hell is going on, goddammit?!”

“Wait, let me think.”

I run a hand through my hair and pace like a caged animal, back and forth.

What the hell is going on?

I refuse—f**k, every part of me resists the idea of my brother being dead. But that it’s been two years and I didn’t even know?

Fuck, who the hell am I?

Who the hell am I?

I know Lucas didn’t want anything to do with me, with this ranch, with this life. And yeah, we lost touch, but he’s my brother… my little brother, for f**k’s sake.

What the hell is going on?

“Speak, for f**k’s sake, Douglas, I’m about to…”

“Calm down, I’m checking.”

I hear him typing on a computer, shuffling papers, cursing here and there while I struggle to keep calm.

“Becket, they sent a notice with the news two years ago, the letter was received and signed by…”

“Son of a b***h,” I mutter through clenched teeth, because I already know the name he’s about to give me.

“Loretta Carver.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to breathe slowly, but the rage keeps rising, higher and higher.

“They only tried to reach me by letter?”

“They called you, but… f**k, Becket, when was the last time you talked to Lucas?”

I shake my head. It’s been many, many years.

“What does that matter?”

“Did he have your current phone number? Because the contact number his lawyer used was your old one, the same one you haven’t used in years.”

Fucking life.

“How hard could it be to call me, goddammit?”

“They tried, that’s why they sent the letter!”

The f*****g letter that never made it to me.

I shake my head, place one hand on the hood of the car, and stay quiet for long, long, long seconds.

Until I finally manage to say, very softly: “So… it’s true?”

Even though I already know the answer, the impact of his words still hits with the same overwhelming force I felt when I heard them from my brother’s wife.

“Lucas is dead.”

I hang up.

A rusted, almost manic laugh escapes from my mouth, a laugh with no joy, no relief. It would scare me if I were a spectator of myself, but the rage that’s building inside me is so deep, so blinding, that I can’t see anything but red.

And that f*****g Loretta Carver.

I get back in the car and speed off. I don’t let myself focus on anything but my rage as I drive to her house, which isn’t anywhere else but on my own land. The most ironic part, and what fills me with even more fury, is that I’ve had that woman living on my property. I feel mocked by myself, because I’m the only one to blame for this whole damn situation.

I slam the truck to a stop and get out without even closing the door. I want to slam my fists into the wooden door hard, but I don’t. There’s only one reason Loretta is still living on the ranch, and it’s that same reason that keeps me from causing a scene.

Loretta’s eyes widen in surprise when she sees it’s me on the other side of the door.

God knows when was the last time I set foot in this house.

“Cassidy?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“She just left for your house. Rose called her over for dinner, she made the brisket she loves.”

I nod, clench my fists, and push my way into her house.

“Becket, what’s wrong?”

I go straight to her bedroom, feeling like a damn animal, and start emptying all her drawers.

“Becket…”

“Where is it?” I ask, searching her dresser.

“What?”

“Where the hell is it?!”

My shout makes her jump and I look her dead in the eyes when I say: “The letter.”

The sheer horror that fills her face tells me everything I need to know.

Son of a b***h.

I run a hand down my jaw and close my eyes, because—f**k, goddammit—I feel this urgent need to kick her out of my life once and for all.

“Becket…” her hands on my chest disgust me, and I take a step back, still unable to look at her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I just wanted…”

I face her with fury: “f**k you, Loretta!”

She starts crying, but I don’t believe a single one of her tears.

When the hell did I let this woman sink her claws into me? It’s been years, more than a decade, but it still makes me sick to remember we were ever together.

“I don’t want you to ever set foot in my house again…”

“But…”

“Find another f*****g job. I’m not kicking you off the property only because of Cassidy, only for her, but in my house, you will never set foot again in your pathetic life, not even to clean.”

And because I can’t stand another second in her presence, I leave her room, only to run into Hank. He looks from Loretta to me with distrust, a distrust that amuses me for a brief second.

A disbelieving laugh escapes me at what I imagine is going through his head.

And I shake my head in disgust.

“f**k, not even dead,” I say before walking on.

“What the hell am I supposed to think, finding you both in our room?” He follows behind me.

“Anything but that, I’m not you,” I growl. “And if you want to know what’s going on, ask her. Maybe she’ll finally tell you why she insists on ruining my f*****g life when we all know the only one wronged in this whole goddamn mess was me.”

“Becket…” she follows too, but I ignore her.

I grab the door to my truck, only to stumble when she grabs onto my arm with both hands.

Fucking Loretta.

“What are you doing, Loretta?” Hank asks her.

I look down while she keeps clinging to my skin with nails and all.

“I just wanted to spare you the pain. I did it thinking about your well-being. You have to believe me, Becket.”

Another dry laugh escapes me.

Does she think I’m that stupid?

Her actions only came from hatred and resentment, from the fury she holds inside because I was never the stupid Becket she made up in her head: a man in love who would forgive her anything, who would give everything for her.

“Don’t f*****g touch me,” and all I feel is revulsion.

These last few years I’ve felt nothing but cold indifference toward her, but after today—f**k, after today—I don’t think I’ll ever despise anyone more than I despise her.

Hank grabs her by the waist and pulls her back, away from me. His face is tense, trying to hide the pain I’m sure he feels.

How is it possible that he loves a woman like her?

I stop there, looking at them for a brief second in which I feel nothing but pity.

They are as unhappy as only the two of them could be.

“Stay the f**k out of my way,” I tell the damn woman one last time before walking out of there.

|…|

Seeing my brother’s wife’s car parked outside the house only makes this new reality more and more jarring.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I know her presence here means something, but the raw pain I feel for Lucas overshadows any threat she could represent to the ranch.

I get out of the car and head toward the house, ready to deal with her, but then I notice something.

How...?

I squint at the car; the faint night light doesn’t help much, but I’m sure my brother’s wife is still inside. The fragile, small shadow in the driver’s seat could only be her.

I close my eyes, trying to remember her name.

Lia.

Lia Callahan.

Her soft voice echoes in my head.

She’s my brother’s wife.

No, my brother’s widow.

Goddamn it, that’s a heavy word for someone so young.

When I found out Lucas was getting married, I wasn’t surprised. He was always charismatic, had a cheerful personality that made anyone feel at ease. From the moment he left, I knew a great life awaited him. A successful life, a beautiful wife, maybe a couple of kids. What I never expected was...

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before walking up to the car and gently tapping on the window.

A pair of green eyes, too big for her small, innocent face, look at me through the glass. I motion for her to lower the window so we can talk, but she just keeps staring at me.

“Can we talk?” I ask, my voice loud enough for her to hear.

She blinks, but still doesn’t answer.

Fuck.

“You can’t stay out here all night,” I try to make her understand.

Another blink.

Not a word from her mouth.

“Look, I know we didn’t start off well, I’m sorry if… I was too harsh, you caught me off guard… but I think now is the right time for us to talk.” She still doesn’t say anything, and I curse under my breath.

How the hell do I get her to talk?

I close my eyes for a few seconds and try one more time. I try with gentleness, a gentleness that feels strange in me, but I whisper, “Please, Lia.”

We stare at each other for long seconds, where I see her distrust and fear, but I also see a hint of understanding, empathy toward my situation and… click… the sound of the doors unlocking tells me she’s opened them.

I frown, trying to understand.

Does she want me to get in there with her?

“All right,” I nod sharply.

I move to the passenger seat. The car is small—out here we’re used to trucks and larger vehicles—so it takes me a few seconds to find a comfortable position.

I sigh, looking through the glass into the dark night of this land.

What could she possibly be doing here?

I glance at her from the corner of my eye to find she’s also staring straight ahead, her brow slightly furrowed. I’m not sure, but she seems like such a soft and fragile woman... so delicate. What would someone like her want in a place like this? There’s nothing here but dirt and hard work.

“You didn’t know.” I’m surprised to hear her be the one to start the conversation, and she repeats, “You didn’t know.”

“Mmm,” I murmur evasively.

“You didn’t know. About Lucas. You didn’t know.”

Since it’s not a question, I don’t give her an answer.

I look away when it’s now her eyes evaluating me. I let her. I let her have her moment of inspection in peace, just like I had mine with her.

What does she see when she looks at me?

Does she see how hard I’m fighting to keep myself together right now?

Because I loved my brother. We were distant, and I respected his decision to leave and forget this life—to forget me and everything I reminded him of. But I loved him… I loved him.

“Lucas never talked to me about you.”

I exhale through my mouth. Her words hurt more than a knife.

“I’m not surprised.”

Though I am, I am surprised.

Did he die hating me?

I shake my head, denying it.

No, Lucas didn’t hate me. He loved me too.

It’s just… life was too complicated for us.

“Why?” Her question is very soft, her voice a quiet whisper without expectations, just filled with genuine curiosity.

I shake my head, shaking off the answer too, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t push.

We remain silent for long minutes. Somehow, the atmosphere between us becomes comforting. The whirlwind of emotions calms a little until all I feel is the memory of Lucas between us. But not in a painful way—rather, in a peaceful one.

Still...

“Did he suffer when he died?” I ask, the question that’s been tormenting me since I got the news.

“No,” is her simple answer, without further explanation. And I don’t want it. I don’t want to know the full situation, don’t want to recreate the scene… not yet.

I look at her again, evaluating her more closely than before.

Her skin is very pale and delicate, like porcelain. And her long blonde hair gives her this ethereal look, making her seem flawless and unreal. She’s so young, so young. Not that at forty-three I’m the oldest man alive, but she looks like she’s from another planet, sitting next to me here on this ranch filled with dust, cow s**t, and deserted roads.

Looking at her, I understand even more why Lucas wanted so badly to leave this place. A woman like her, you couldn’t find in Silver Ridge, and if you could, she’d be a rare exception. The women around here live a life that toughens their skin from a young age. Even Cassidy, at twelve, already knows how to milk cows and wring chickens’ necks.

I doubt Lia Callahan has ever even ridden a horse, not when she looks like she’s never even been touched by the sun.

What is she doing here?

“Do you want to come inside?” I dare to ask.

She hesitates, but I don’t see what other option there is.

“If you came all the way out here, it’s for a reason,” I remind her. “Come in, eat something, and rest. Tomorrow we can talk about why you’re here. God knows I need a break too.”

She takes a moment, but finally nods. And we both get out of the car to go for her suitcase in the back seat. But both of us stop at the same second, looking at the suitcase that we both know holds Lucas’s urn. And slowly I begin to get an idea of why she’s here, which only confuses me more.

Why would my brother want to stay here, in the place he hated so much?

“I’ll carry it,” she tells me, making it clear she doesn’t want my help with her things.

I’m surprised, but I nod, letting her handle the heavy suitcase.

Why is her suitcase so big?

Could it be that she...?

I shake my head.

Impossible.

I watch her struggle with her things, clumsily lifting them up the short porch steps, but I don’t step in. She looks at me, blushing, as if her awkward effort embarrasses her. She also seems surprised that I’m not insisting on helping her, but she’s got hands, doesn’t she? If she said she could do it on her own, it’s because she can.

I open the door just in time to find an angry Rose.

"You finally came in, girl," my housekeeper says to Lia, her hands on her hips in an angry stance.

"You already know each other?" I ask.

"I tried to get her inside the house, but she just locked the car and stayed there without giving any explanation."

"Oh," I whisper, not knowing what else to say.

"Who is she, Uncle Beck?" Cassidy comes out of the kitchen, eating one of those biscuits she loves so much.

"She is…"

Shit. No one here knew Lucas. Rose’s maternal presence came into my life after Lucas left. Even Cassidy didn’t get to meet him.

Now she never will.

"She’s my brother’s wife."

"The one who left and never came back?" Cass asks bluntly.

I frown at her words.

"Yes, him… Lucas."

"Oh," both women nod in surprise.

Lia looks so uncomfortable, as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin, and I realize she hasn’t said a single word since we entered the house.

I furrow my brows when I see Lia take a small step closer to me. Her approach is almost imperceptible; not everyone would notice, but I do.

It’s like she’s seeking my presence, for protection? Comfort? Help? I don’t know. She herself doesn’t seem to realize what she’s doing. I only know she looks like a little bird trying to wrap herself with her broken wings to protect herself from the rain, but unable to do so, she seeks shelter under the biggest tree.

Jesus, Lucas, what fragile creature did you marry?

I run a hand over my face; this day is going to be engraved in my memory forever.

I just want to close my eyes and pretend this isn’t real. I want to live with the illusion that my brother is alive, building that life he wanted so much, the one he left here for without looking back.

"Rose, set up—" I stop when Lia’s eyes meet mine, scared, so I correct myself — "I’ll take her to one of the spare rooms, and prepare something for her…"

"I’m not hungry," her soft voice is finally heard.

"Did you eat anything in the car?"

Her shrug isn’t an answer, but I don’t insist. I think we both want the same thing: to end this day.

Fine, so be it.

"Cass, call your dad to pick you up. Don’t go home alone."

"Yes, Becket," the girl answers with a drawn-out, whiny tone I know very well.

I ignore Rose’s inquisitive and curious looks. I just want this damn day to end, damn it. And Lia seems to want the same. So this time, ignoring her protests because I don’t want to waste time watching her struggle with the suitcase, I take her things and head upstairs to the east wing, where the guest rooms are.

I’m tempted to take her to Lucas’s room, but I don’t think now is the time for her to familiarize herself with such a private place of my brother’s.

"This house is so big," she whispers, but I feel a chill at her words.

Maybe, is there something more behind this visit?

Personal interests?

Financial interests?

Why the hell would she wait two years to show up here?

I rack my brain, trying to remember what Douglas told me.

Could it be possible that these lands are hers now too?

Damn, maybe. But right now I don’t give a s**t if she’s some little gold digger or not. I just want this damn day to end so I can mourn my brother in peace.

I open the door to the first available room and put her things inside. When I’m about to leave, I stop and grab the door frame, then turn to look at her.

She’s in the middle of the room, looking around unsure.

So young, damn it.

So small.

So fragile.

What the hell am I going to do with her here?

"Lia," I call her.

"Yes?"

"Why didn’t you look for me sooner?"

My question makes her flinch, and maybe it’s my pain talking, maybe it’s because I need to find more people to blame, but...

Two years?

Why couldn’t she come before with the news?

Why, if I never answered the phone, didn’t she find another way to tell me? Besides that damn uncertain letter, a letter I never read, damn hell.

She stays silent, denying me her words, and I suspect that’s her way of fighting.

By shutting up.

Shit.

"I don’t read minds," I say, irritated.

More silence.

Damn it.

We stare at each other in a battle of gazes filled with pain, anger, rage. A battle where I don’t back down, but neither does she.

Fine.

That’s how it will be.

"You’ll talk tomorrow." I don’t want it to sound like a threat, but it sounds a little like one.

I turn to leave her there, then she says, "And why did you never look for him?"

I close my eyes, feeling the sting of her words right in my stomach, like an open wound that starts to get infected again and again until it becomes almost impossible to live with.

But who is she to judge me?

"It doesn’t seem like you were very important to my brother," I say coldly, "not when he never trusted you with anything about me, about his past."

I know I’ve hit the hardest blow, I can tell by her audible, trembling breath.

If she thinks her soft and delicate appearance will make me show consideration, she’s very wrong. I know very well what can hide behind a gentle smile. I won’t let her angelic look fool me.

Over my shoulder, I glare at her and leave her there, alone, feeling the consequences of my words, but I also feel the consequences of hers… both of us with the same damn wound, bleeding the same f*****g way.