Page 17 of The Wreckage of Us

If you want to be stubborn, then be stubborn.

But don’t sleep on that damn floor without a bed.

—Ian

PS: Stop being a fool and take the fucking spare bedroom.

Never in a million years had I thought it would be Ian Parker who saved me during some of the hardest days of my life.

I had a bit of free time before I had to head into the stables that morning. I sat cross-legged on the inflatable bed eating a bowl of cold cereal while I wrote in my journal. I’d been writing every day of my life since I was eight years old. I used to write spells and other stupid kid stuff in the books with Riley, but over time it had just become a collection of things on my mind. Poetry and prose. My hopes, wishes, and dreams were all in one place.

One of my biggest dreams was getting into college. It was my dream to achieve a life the complete opposite of the one I was raised in, and college seemed like the first step to that future. I was going to do everything in my power to make that dream come true too.

I can’t become my mother. I can’t become my mother.

I didn’t want to turn into the person my mother had become. I wanted more. I wanted to get away so bad that my bones ached from the idea of staying in Eres forever. If I stayed, there was a chance I’d end up as sad and depressed as my mother was, in a relationship with a man who had no respect or love for me, losing every shot at living that was brought my way.

As I wrote in my journal, I thought about Ian. The grumpy boy who’d given me a bed. I couldn’t help but wonder what his angle was or why he was helping me. Truthfully, I was a bit surprised he hadn’t kicked me out of the shed and fired me on the spot when he’d found me squatting. I knew he’d been looking for a reason to let me go, and trespassing seemed like a stellar reason to send me packing.

During the day at work, Ian didn’t sass me like he usually did. He didn’t push me harder than he pushed the others and didn’t scold me for mediocre work. What was his deal? Why was he not treating me the way he had been for the past few weeks? Ian Parker went out of his way to make me feel terrible, but now, if I didn’t know any better, it seemed as if he was being ... nice. No, not nice. That would be ridiculous. But he was being much tamer than usual. It made me both pleased and uncomfortable. It was a warning sign when someone went from cold to hot so quickly.

I tried my best to not overthink his shift, even though it was so blatantly obvious that a change had occurred.

That night, on the blow-up mattress, I fell asleep after spending hours looking up at the stars, and my back didn’t hate me come morning.

The next day, I woke to the sound of hammering outside the shed.

I hurried outside and found Ian standing at the top of a ladder, placing planks of wood on the roof to cover up the giant hole.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused by his fixing the rooftop and a bit dazed by the fact that he was shirtless. His body was sculpted by the gods, and seeing him shirtless made chills race throughout my body, even though I didn’t find him attractive in the least.

Nope, not at all.

So ugly, Ian Parker.

The lies we told ourselves to keep from being turned on by men we were supposed to hate.

“What does it look like? I’m fixing the roof.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Who said I’m doing it for you? I’m in charge of this ranch, and it’s my job to do tasks,” he said with sweat dripping down his chest, and oh my gosh, how was watching a man sweat an instant turn-on?

I’d been single for most of my life, minus my mundane, passion-free relationship with Garrett, and obviously I’d passed the deadline where you got turned on by extremely awkward things, like sweaty men. What was next? Was Ian going to lick an ice cream cone, and I’d moan while watching him?

Chill out, hormones. We’ll watch a Chris Hemsworth movie soon enough and get all these feelings out.

Ian kept doing things like that. Fixing up the shed. Moving things around. Leaving food and supplies outside the door. I couldn’t keep up with him helping me, and every time I called him out on it, he’d make it clear as day with his Grumpy McGrump butt that he wasn’t doing it to help me at all. Whenever I felt like sayingthank youto him, he’d say something catty and rude, which would turn mythank youinto afuck you.

Being around Ian was a weird thing. I’d never met an individual who was both hot and cold, all within two minutes. He was confusing for my brain, and I felt as if I were going into overdrive trying to keep up with his mood swings.

When payday came, I knew exactly where the first part of my check was going to go.

“What is this?” Ian asked as I handed him one hundred dollars.

“Money.”

He grumbled and rolled his eyes. “I know it’s money, but why are you giving it to me?”