Chapter 10: Dee Mae's Ultimatum
The porch swing creaked, a lonely, rhythmic sound that matched the pulse behind Noah’s eyes.He hadn’t slept. The world felt over-bright, sharp-edged, like the morning after a bender without any of the numbness. He’d fled the din of the group breakfast at the ranch house, the forced laughter and clatter of plates scraping against his raw nerves.
The screened door slapped shut behind him with a finality that made him flinch.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in. ‘Cept the cat looks happier.”
Dee Mae leaned against the porch rail, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her red curls were a wild corona in the low sun.She hadn’t just found him; she’d been waiting.
“Not now, Dee,” he muttered, his voice gravel. He went to step past her, aiming for the steps down to the pasture.She shifted, a slight movement that blocked his path entirely. “Now’s exactly the time.” Her green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were flat and hard. “You bailed on breakfast.You been bailing on everything. You bailed on Kelsey last night at the bar so fast I thought your boots were on fire.”
Noah’s jaw worked. He could still feel Kelsey’s manicured hand on his arm, her high, tinkling laugh, the way she’d looked up at him expecting his usual aw-shucks charm. He’d given her nothing but a clenched smile and a quick exit.“She was clingy. Wanted to talk about the damn fall formal.”
“Bullshit.” Dee Mae took a sip from her mug, never breaking his gaze. “You looked at her like she was speakin’ a foreign language. Like you were about to puke in the peanut bowl.”
A hot spike of shame drove through his gut.He stared past her, out at the lone cow in the misty field. “I wasn’t feelin’ good.”
“Yeah, I bet.” She set the mug down on the rail with a soft click. The breeze carried the sweet-rot smell of clover and the damp earth underneath.She stepped closer, invading his space. Her voice dropped, low and serious, all the usual Dee Mae bravado stripped away.“I know you, Noah Callahan. Better than your daddy, better than any of those buckle bunnies you parade around. I know the look you get when you’re runnin’. You’ve had it since you were twelve and Billy Jacobs tried to hold your hand behind the bleachers.”
The air left his lungs. Billy Jacobs. A memory so buried he’d pretended it was a dream: the dry heat of the gymnasium shadow, the shock of another boy’s fingers brushing his, the blind panic that sent him running across the football field until his side ached.He said nothing.Couldn’t.
“You can lie to them,” Dee Mae said, her words precise as scalpels. “You can lie to your daddy when he calls and asks if you’re seein’ anyone special. You can lie to Kelsey when you take her home and kiss her on the forehead like she’s your damn sister. But don’t you ever,” she hissed, poking a firm finger into his chest, “lie to me.”
Her touch was a brand. All the tension, the sleepless horror, the phantom sensations from the night—it all curdled inside him, rising hot and fast. His vision blurred at the edges. The careful wall he’d built, brick by painful brick over a decade, didn’t crumble.It shattered.A broken sound escaped him. He twisted away from her finger, his broad shoulders slumping as if the bones had been removed. He half-fell, half-sank onto the old porch swing.The chains groaned in protest. He dropped his head into his hands, his calloused fingers digging into his scalp, pressing against the closed lids of his eyes.
The world narrowed to the smell of weathered wood and distant whiskey, the feel of the damp morning air on his neck, the awful, liberating truth of her knowing.
He didn’t speak for a long time.Dee Mae didn’t move. She just waited, a solid, silent presence against the rail.
When his voice finally came, it was a ragged whisper, scraped raw from the depths of him.He didn’t look up.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”
It wasn’t an admission.It was a surrender. A white flag raised over the ruins of his old life. The words hung in the quiet, mixing with the smell of dew and decay.Dee Mae let out a long, slow breath. She pushed off the rail and walked over. The swing shifted as she sat down beside him, not touching, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her. She picked up a half-empty bottle of bourbon that had been left under the swing from some prior night, rolling it thoughtfully between her palms.
“Start,” she said, her voice quiet but clear, “by not doing something stupid. Like proposin’ to Kelsey just to prove a point to yourself.” She glanced at him. “Or getting so drunk you fall off a bull and bust your pretty head open.”
Noah gave a wet, choked laugh that was almost a sob.He lifted his head, staring at his own dirt-caked boots. The confession had opened a valve, and now a deeper, darker fear spilled out. “What if it’s just… in my head? What if I’m just… confused?”
Dee Mae was silent for a beat. Then she said, “You remember when you taught me to ride Fury?That devil horse no one else could touch?”
He nodded, wary.
“You said, ‘Don’t think about not fallin’ off. Think about where you want him to go.Your body knows the rest. It’s gotta be instinct, or you’re already in the dirt.’” She nudged his knee with her own.“Your body knows, Noah. Your instincts know.You’re just spendin’ all your goddamn energy fighting ‘em. No wonder you’re tired.”
The truth of it resonated in his hollowed-out core. His body knew.It had known on the mechanical bull, pressed against Taichi. It had known in the dark of his dorm room. It knew in the quickening of his pulse when he caught a glimpse of a certain dark-haired figure across campus.“It ain’t that simple,” he managed.
“Never said it was simple,” Dee Mae countered.“I said it was instinct. Instinct’s messy.It’s scary as hell.” She paused. “He asked about you, you know.This morning. Wondered if you were okay.”
Noah’s head snapped toward her. “Taichi?”
“No, the Pope.” She rolled her eyes, but the effect was softened by the concern in them.“Yes, Taichi.He’s quiet, not blind. He sees you avoidin’ him.”
The thought of Taichi noticing his absence, caring about it, sent a strange, painful thrill through him.It was immediately followed by a sickening drop. “I can’t,” he whispered.
“Can’t what?” Dee Mae pressed, unrelenting.“I can’t… be that.I can’t look at my dad. I can’t go home.” The images flashed: his father’s disappointed face, the whispered rumors in his small town, the silent judgment at the church picnic, the crushing weight of a future erased.
Dee Mae watched the cow in the distance amble slowly toward a patch of sunlight. “So don’t,” she said, simply.“For right now. Just… stop fighting yourself in here.” She tapped her own temple. “The rest… we’ll figure out the rest.”
We.The word was a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea. He wasn’t alone in this.She was in the boat with him.
He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time that morning. Her freckles, the stubborn set of her jaw, the absolute loyalty etched into every line of her face. A wave of gratitude, so profound it hurt, washed over him.He didn’t thank her.He didn’t need to. Instead, he reached for the bottle in her hands.She handed it over. He unscrewed the cap, took a swift, burning swallow, and handed it back.
They sat there in silence, the old swing moving gently, the sun climbing higher, burning the mist off the grass. The world hadn’t changed.His problems were still there, massive and immovable as mountains. But for the first time in years, he wasn’t carrying the weight of them completely alone.The realization wasn’t a solution. It was just a first, fragile breath after being underwater for a very long time.