Page 38 of The Other Side

I eventually stroll toward him, my fingers whisking a loose strand of my high ponytail away. “Weight training. After college, I realized it was more enjoyable than cardio.”

Brant picks his axe up, only to prop his boot on the chopping block. He stands the axe upside down, resting his forearms atop the butt of it. “That’s commendable,” he replies. “I can’t tell you how many women believe that weight training will make them look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

A guilty smirk draws on my face. “I can’t say I wasn’t those women.”

He sprouts a perfect smile, our eyes stitching under the daylight when he says, “It’s nice to see you like this.” A jolt of heat bounces from my stomach to my throat. “In the morning.”

I inhale tentatively, my palms landing on my lower back when I dip my gaze. “Is wood cutting a hobby?”

“It’s a release,” he replies. “But also gives me a reason to use our firepit.”

My eyes pop to him. “A release?”

I drag my focus over the thin layer of sweat tracing his clipped hairline. His Adam’s apple bobs under his sculpted jaw, and my eyes drop to the damp skin of his forearms. There’s tension lathering him—familiar stress that drops a tiny bomb in my belly.

It’s ready to detonate any minute.

“Yeah,” he confirms, planting his boot on the grass. When he bends to grab a slender log, he stands it upright on the chopping block. “This is my last one, just move to the side for me.”

My arms tangle across my chest when I veer to the right. I keep my eyes on him, and he swings the axe down to split the log in two clean pieces.

I jerk from the sharp crack, my teeth grazing my lower lip as he bends down. He effortlessly flicks the two chunks into the pile of mangled wood, only to prop his boot on the chopping block to wrench the axe out. Once the blade is plucked free, he tosses the axe on the grass before walking straight to the shed.

My legs carry me over to him when he opens the paneled door. “I make you mad? Is that what this is?”

“Please, I didn’t even know you were coming,” he spits back, clearly humored by me.

I point to the pile of chopped wood. “But that’s what this is all about, huh?”

I invade his space, forcing him to peer down at me. “Believe it or not, this is the one thing that has nothing to do with you,” he retorts, plucking a bandana from a mounted hook. “Not directly, at least.”

My head follows him when he strolls past me. He’s wiping his hands with the red handkerchief, only to stuff it in his back pocket.

The bomb explodes.

Its eruption floods every pore of my body. Stirring my nerves into overdrive when he delivers the subtext.

Daddy.

This is about Daddy.

A few logs are nestled in the crook of Brant’s arm as he closes the distance between us. My lips part, hanging in suspense as his gloomy eyes search me for a scrap of understanding. “You know, I think about how much easier it would be to just be angry with him,” he admits, his voice steady.

Tears prod the pockets of my eyes. They’re a breath away from spilling down my cheeks.

“But I was backed into a corner, only for those circumstances to backfire on you. On me,” he adds. “After everything I learned to control, there’s this anger that just sits inside of me sometimes. Guilt out of nowhere.” He offers a mild jerk of his shoulder, almost like a truce. “Can’t win them all, I suppose.”

I battle a large gulp, gradually shaking my head. “I never blamed you. I don’t blame you,” I whisper.

“I know you don’t,” he assures, his eyes skating around my face until they rest on mine. “You always fixed everything for me, Callie. You could always bring me peace. But this?” I suck in a short breath, dreaded expectancy dancing along my lips. “It doesn’t matter what side I’m on. This anger consumes me wherever I go.”

A tear springs free, but not for the reason I prepared for.

I anticipated sharing heartbreak over Daddy, but my anguish stems from somewhere else. There’s this gaping hole that resides in my soul. The only way to plug it is to find that magic again.

Brant and I could heal each other’s wounds with one look. In hindsight, knowing the sacrifice I made, maybe I would’ve fought a little less to break free from Willowhart.

“I had every intention of swinging by after the gym,” I abruptly confess. “It wasn’t a whim.”