HAYDEN
Thump . . .
“For fuck’s sake,” Dad moans.
I glance up to see Christopher hit the ground hard as he faints.
I get the giggles as I try to turn the calf. “Go help him.”
“No, Hayden,” he replies dryly.
“Dad, I’m kind of busy here.”
“I don’t have time for his pretty boy bullshit,” he mutters as he walks toward Christopher, who is still out cold.
“Whoa, girl,” I whisper as I get the calf in position. “This will help you.”
I watch as Dad bends to Christopher, and I smile as I watch him gently slap his face.
I’m going to hang back and see what happens.
Christopher comes to and sits up. “You okay, babe?” I call.
He nods, embarrassed.
“He’s fine,” Dad calls. He grabs Christopher’s head and looks in his hair and says something that I can’t hear.
Christopher shrugs him off. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he scoffs.
I roll my lips to hide my smile.
“This damn fool needs stitches in his head,” Dad calls.
“Oh no.” I stand.
“You stay there,” Dad calls as he helps Christopher to his feet. “I’ll take him into town.”
I stare at them for a moment as I do an internal risk assessment. Okay . . . I need to let them do this. If they fight it out, they fight it out. I have faith that they will come to appreciate each other.
“Is that all right?” I call. “I can’t leave her.”
Christopher nods, and I jog over to him. He has a trickle of blood dripping down onto his shirt from the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride.” He shrugs.
My dad throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I try not to laugh, I really do, but I fail miserably.
“I’m glad you two think this is so funny,” Christopher snaps. “I have internal bleeding. Perhaps an aneurysm is coming on.”
“Dad will look after you.” I smile.
“Will he, though?” Christopher widens his eyes.
“Come back in the house, boy. I’ll stitch you up,” Dad teases. “Got a needle and thread in the first aid box.”
I bite my lip to stop myself laughing out loud.
“There is no way in hell you are touching my fucking head, you maniac. I need a specialist plastic surgeon. And don’t call me boy!” Christopher yells.
Dad laughs harder as he holds Christopher up by the arm. He’s still woozy and maybe a little concussed. “You’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.”
I go back to the cow and kneel down beside her. Everything should progress with her as planned now that the calf has been turned.
I could take Christopher to the hospital myself . . . but I won’t.
They need this.
It’s 11:00 a. m., and I am freshly showered. I’ve done a load of washing and am waiting for Christopher to get back from the hospital. Dad called me while he was getting his stitches put in. He’s fine, and they should be home soon.
I have one week to make Dad see in Christopher what I do. I’m just not sure exactly how to do that. It took me living with Christopher for three months to finally see his true colors.
And what beautiful colors they are.
Knock, knock sounds on the door.
Why is he knocking? “It’s open,” I call. I pull the clothes out of the dryer and into the basket and walk out into the living area and stop in my tracks.
Regi is standing there.
The air leaves my lungs. This is the first time I’ve seen him since he broke my heart three years ago.
He’s older, broader . . .
“Hello, Haze.” He smiles hopefully.
I frown, too shocked to speak.
He steps toward me. “You look . . .” He swallows a lump in his throat. “Beautiful.”
“What are you doing here?” I frown.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
“I think about you all the time.”
I hear my angry heartbeat in my ears. “Don’t.”
“Do you ever think of me?”
“No,” I spit.
I mean, I did . . . every damn day, until I met Christopher.
Not anymore.
“I miss you . . . ,” he whispers.
“What?” I screw up my face.
“I was young, Haze.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know what I had.”
The door bangs, and Christopher walks in. My heart does stop this time.
Fuck.
He looks between Regi and me. “Hello.”
“Hi, babe.” I smile. “This is Regi. Regi, this is Christopher, my fiancé.”
A frown flashes across Christopher’s face before he catches it. “Who are you?” he asks Regi.
Regi tilts his chin, angered by my introduction. “I’m Hayden’s childhood sweetheart. Her first love.”
Oh no.
Christopher raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got a fucking hide, coming here.”
“What does that mean?” Regi frowns.
“I think you owe Hayden an apology.”
“For what?”
Christopher glares at him and steps forward. “You want me to kick your ass to remind you, you gutless prick?”
Regi steps back.
My heart swells with love for Christopher, my knight in shining armor.
“I’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Regi spits.
“One,” Christopher says calmly.
My eyes widen . . . what the hell? He’s counting him down?
“Two . . .”
“Christopher,” I stammer, “just leave it.”
“He owes you an apology, Hayden,” he snaps. “I want to fucking hear it.”
“I’m not apologizing for being young,” Regi snaps. “It’s none of your business.”
“Hayden is my only business.” Christopher grabs him by the shirt and hurls him out the door. He throws him down the five steps. “You had your fucking chance, and you blew it,” he yells. “Don’t try and ruin mine. You stay the fuck away from her, or you’ll have me to deal with.”
Regi looks up at the house in shock. His chest is rising and falling as he struggles for air.
“Do you fucking hear me?” Christopher warns him.
Regi nods, and with one last look, he marches off toward his car as he acts tough.
I walk out the front, shocked, and I turn to see my father standing beside the door. He’s heard the entire thing.
My eyes are wide. I’m shocked to my core. “Dad . . .”
A trace of a smile crosses Dad’s face, and he winks. Without a word he turns and walks off toward the house. “Dinner is at six,” he calls.
I look to my man, all pumped up and angry, and I smile down at him. “You are going to get so lucky tonight.”
“About time,” he huffs as he marches past me into the house. “I fucking hate that guy.”
The screen door bangs hard, and I smile proudly.
That’s my man.
A week later
We sit in the boarding lounge of the airport. We had the best week, and although my parents aren’t happy with me moving, I think they understand what I see in Christopher.
His smart-ass mouth had my dad smirking a lot more than he would like to admit.
And my mom . . . well, she’s practically half in love with him too.
Christopher’s reading a book, and we’re catching a commercial plane; his family planes are already in use.
“I’m going to buy a magazine,” I say.
“Okay, babe.”
I go to the newsstand and look through the choices, and I stop still as I see a headline on a paper.
Christopher Miles Finally out of Hiding
What the hell?
Is that my Christopher? I pick up the paper. “I’ll take this one, please.” I pay the cashier and sit down and flick through the paper until I get to the story.
My eyes widen. There’s a half-page photo of me and him. It’s the morning after we arrived in New York, when I’d been crying all night.
We’re holding hands as we cross the street on Madison Avenue. I’m wearing scruffy clothes, and the way the light shines on me, my leg looks like it’s all cellulite right to my ankle.
My face is puffy from crying. I look utterly hideous.
I read the story.
Christopher Miles has returned from a sabbatical with Miss Average.