Brokeback Cabin IV: Jealous Men Tell No Lies
Some secrets don’t stay in the woods.
Catch up:
I knew I was in trouble before I even got home.
It wasn’t the smell of pine still clinging to my shirt, or the faint ache in my thighs every time I shifted behind the wheel. It wasn’t even the way Red had gone quiet after we left the cabin, both hands locked on the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road like looking at me might make him say something he couldn’t take back.
It was my finger.
Bare.
I kept rubbing my thumb over the empty spot where my wedding ring should’ve been, feeling that pale groove of skin like a confession. I’d worn that ring for twelve years. Through fights. Through bad sex. Through worse silence. Through Julie’s late nights and my own lies. It had been there so long I stopped noticing it.
Until it was gone.
“Quit touching it,” Red muttered.
I looked over at him. “I ain’t touching nothing.”
“You been rubbing that finger since we pulled out the driveway.”
I dropped my hand into my lap. “Maybe because my ring’s gone.”
Red let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s what got you bothered.”
I stared at the side of his face, at that thick beard, that hard mouth, that damn country-boy stubbornness that made me want to punch him and climb him in the same breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you ain’t worried about the ring. You’re worried about Julie seeing it missing.”
“That’s what a missing wedding ring usually implies, Red.”
He glanced at me then, quick and sharp. “You didn’t seem too worried about that ring when your hand was wrapped around my neck last night.”
My body betrayed me. Just like that, fire shot through my stomach.
Last night.
The cabin.
The neighbor.
The sounds we made when we thought the woods were thick enough to swallow them.
I turned toward the window, watching the trees peel by in long green blurs. “Don’t start.”
“I ain’t starting nothing.”
“You are.”
“No, Cole. I’m driving your ass home after spending a whole damn weekend watching you act like you didn’t want everything that happened.”
I laughed under my breath, bitter and tired. “Is that what this is? You mad because I didn’t write you a love note after?”
Red’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like a smart-ass when you’re scared.”
That shut me up.
For a good ten miles, neither of us said a word. The truck smelled like sweat, leather, and the cheap gas station coffee Red had bought and barely touched. My bag sat between my boots, half-zipped, dirty clothes stuffed inside like evidence. I kept thinking about that cabin bedroom. The nightstand. My hand gripping the edge of it. Red behind me, breathing hard against my neck. The neighbor watching from the doorway like he’d stumbled into church and found sin preaching the sermon.
I had taken my ring off.
I remembered now.
Not because Red asked me to. Not because I needed to. I’d done it without thinking, twisting it loose and setting it down beside the lamp. Maybe I didn’t want the metal biting into my finger while I held onto the sheets. Maybe I didn’t want Julie in that room with us, not even in symbol.
Maybe I wanted to feel unmarried for one damn night.
Red pulled into my driveway just after dusk.
Julie’s car was there.
Of course it was.
The porch light glowed soft and yellow. The curtains in the living room were pulled open just enough for somebody to watch the street without looking obvious. My stomach dropped.
Red killed the engine.
“You want me to come in?” he asked.
I turned to him. “Why the hell would you come in?”
His eyes stayed on the house. “Because you look like you’re about to walk into a slaughterhouse.”
“I’m fine.”
“You ain’t.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Red leaned back in his seat, jaw working. “There you go again.”
“What?”
“Puffing up like some banty rooster every time somebody tries to give a damn about you.”
I reached for my bag. “I don’t need you giving a damn about me.”
He grabbed my wrist.
Not hard. Not rough. Just enough to stop me.
The second his skin touched mine, the whole truck seemed to shrink around us. I looked down at his hand, then up at him. His face had changed. The anger was still there, but something softer sat underneath it. Something dangerous. Something that would ruin me if I let it.
“You sure about that?” he asked.
I pulled my wrist free. “Go home, Red.”
He stared at me for a second, then nodded like I’d said exactly what he expected. “Yeah. Alright.”
I opened the door and stepped out.
“Cole.”
I stopped.
Red looked at me through the open passenger door. “Find the ring. Or don’t. But don’t lie to yourself about why you took it off.”
I slammed the door harder than I needed to.
The truck stayed there until I reached the porch. Only then did Red pull away, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red as he disappeared down the road.
I stood there with my bag in one hand and my shame in the other.
Then the front door opened.
Julie leaned against the frame in one of my old T-shirts, hair pulled up, face bare, wineglass in hand. She looked me over once. Slow. From my boots to my messy hair to the empty spot on my finger.
“Well,” she said, taking a sip. “You look like the woods had their way with you.”
I forced a smile. “Long weekend.”
“I bet.”
I stepped inside, and the house felt too clean. Too still. Like it had been waiting on me.
Julie closed the door behind me. “Red get you home safe?”
“Yeah.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He was heading this way.”
“No he wasn’t.”
I turned. “What?”
She smiled into her wineglass. “Nothing.”
I set my bag down by the stairs. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Before or after you tell me where your ring is?”
There it was.
No warm-up. No mercy.
I looked at my hand like I had just noticed. Bad acting. Terrible acting. Julie’s eyebrow lifted.
“Must’ve left it at the cabin,” I said.
“Must’ve.”
“I’ll call Hank tomorrow.”
“You do that.”
Her voice was too calm.
That was the thing about Julie. When she was angry, she didn’t holler. She got sweet. Real sweet. Sugar over a razor blade. I had seen her chew out a bank teller with a smile so pretty the poor woman thanked her afterward.
I started toward the stairs.
“Cole.”
I stopped.
“Did you have fun?”
My back tightened. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
I turned around. Julie was still by the door, glass in hand, watching me like she was waiting for me to finally become interesting.
“It was fine,” I said.
“That’s a shame.”
“What is?”
She shrugged. “Coming home looking like that after only having a fine time.”
I should’ve asked her what she meant. I should’ve said something smart, something mean, something husband-like. Instead, I went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom.
The shower burned hot against my skin. I scrubbed hard, trying to wash off pine, sweat, Red, the neighbor, the whole damn weekend. But the body remembers what the mind tries to bury. Every place Red had touched me lit up under the water. My neck. My hips. My thighs. My mouth.
I braced both hands against the tile and dropped my head.
“Don’t lie to yourself about why you took it off.”
Red’s voice had no business following me into the shower.
By the time I got out, Julie was already in bed.
Or pretending to be.
I slid under the covers, careful not to touch her. The silence between us was familiar. We had built a whole marriage out of it. Brick by brick. Lie by lie.
I closed my eyes.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Julie shifted beside me. “You gonna get that?”
“It’s probably spam.”
“At this hour?”
I reached for the phone, heart already climbing into my throat.
Unknown number.
The message had no words at first.
Just a photo.
My wedding ring.
Sitting on the cabin nightstand.
The lamp beside it. The wood wall behind it. The ugly plaid curtain in the corner.
Then a second message came through.
You left something.