Read Unstable for Free Online

this.” I swallow down a sob. Tears fix nothing , I learned that a long time ago. “I shouldn’t be here. I…I need to leave, go back where I belong.” I’m talking to myself, but I’m doing it aloud, so Gatlin obviously hears and hushes me with a firm grip on my knee.
    “Henley, there’s nowhere else you belong more than here. And you can do this. You were born to do this. Very seldom does anyone get to write every chapter of their journey. Life, chance, fate…whatever you want to call it, does that for us. Even when you think you’re in charge, plotting along, destiny throws in twists and turns you never see coming and can’t undo. But , you can damn sure try to write the ending, and keep trying , until the very end. Take it back, Henley. Take back your life and fight like hell to write the best ending you can with what you’re given.” His serene smile holds endless depth, just like his speech, both underlined with a surety I’m tempted to find contagious.
    “We’ll see,” I mutter as I jerk my knee out from under his grip and turn the key, letting the motor snuff out the opportunity for any more conversation.
    He’s a pretty talker, makes it sound so easy …but I’ve never been much of a writer.
     

     
    IT WAS A GRUELING day. It’s a big farm, and covering all those acres on an ATV has me conceding defeat by nightfall. The downstairs bathroom only has a shower, and my body needs a good, long soak. Even more so, I need to relax as much as possible so my mind can try to contemplate the many big decisions I need to make.
    Which means, I’m going to have to brave going upstairs. To take a hot bath…in the bathroom we once shared.
    While I stand at the bottom, staring up at each looming step with an aching grip on the banister, I debate a few things. Like, if while I’m up there, should I go ahead and grab my mother’s burial outfit? And if maybe, I should quit being a chickenshit and open our bedroom door? Perhaps even get a comfortable night’s sleep in a bed, my old bed, rather than the archaic, lumpy couch?
    One stair, the hardest, initial ascent of bravery, is all I have hurdled when there’s a knock at the door.
    I can’t decide whether to praise divinity for the intervention or laugh at the irony—one step forward, one knock back. Such is my life.
    I open the door to Gatlin, brown hair still damp from the shower he obviously took, dressed in worn jeans, a faded tee, and his scuffed cowboy boots.
    “What are you doing here?” I ask, not meaning for it to sound as rude as I hear it come out.
    “Thought I’d check on you, know it was a lot for you today. How ya feeling?”
    “Eh,” I shrug, shifting back to give him room to enter. The breeze follows him inside and carries with it a hint of his natural, manly scent complimented perfectly by a subdued trace of fresh, clean cologne, the lethal combination making things a bit hazy. That fuzziness in my head is my only excuse for what I blurt out next.
    “You knew my mother. Any idea what outfit she’d want to be buried in?”
    That’s definitely one way of ignoring your attraction to a guy…ask him about your dead mother’s attire.
    The pity in his downturned lips slays me, and I immediately regret my spontaneous outburst. “Never mind, dumb question. Anyway, I’m fine, thanks for checking on me. You can go now.”
    “Henley, don’t assume to always know what I’m thinking and instantly jump on the defensive. Death is sad, simple as that. Doesn’t mean I think you’re weak or pitiful. And yes, I can help you pick out something for her to wear. Do you want to do that now?"
    I nod, turning to lead him that way. “Might as well get it over with. I’m not sure I’m the right person to—”
    A large, strong hand gently laid on my shoulder silences me, and this time, I don’t flinch. “Of course you are, but I understand, everything, and I’m happy to help. Let’s go, I’m right behind you.” He assures me in a calm