Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

“He likes the horses to look their best on the day guests arrive,” she says, as if that’s what I was looking at.

“Makes sense.” I study the index card with the marinade recipe—as if it’s more interesting than a half-naked man—then collect all the ingredients: red wine vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, olive oil, a clove of garlic, salt and pepper, and a healthy splash of wine. I add the steak, turning it once so that all sides are coated, before placing it back in the fridge. But I can’t stop stealing glances outside. This job is torture, and I love it for all the wrong reasons. I mean, where else can I enjoy a view like this while working?

As for the work itself, I feel like I’m actually good at what I’m doing. Rather, I’m good at it here. My own house is overwhelming, even though it appears mostly clean since I stuffed everything in storage before Jordy moved in. Still, I haven’t been blind to the side eye she’s given each room, as if she’s already calculating how much longer she has to live there.

I mean, we’re at peace, sure. But I trust her as much as I trust a hornet’s nest, and I’m sure she doesn’t trust me, either. You don’t just erase years of nastiness in a matter of weeks, and as it is, we haven’t really talked about any of it.

In fact, we’ve barely talked at all. It’s like a switch went off as soon as Jordy moved in, where I have my corner of the house and she has hers, and we just share the common areas. We didn’t even have movie night that first day she moved in, even though we’d talked about it at lunch. She was tired, she’d said, and I wasn’t going to argue. When I came home after getting the job yesterday, she was locked in her room. This morning her door was open, but she was gone, and so were her tennis shoes by the door, which made me think she was at the gym or on a run.

I don’t really know what’s happening here, or how I feel about it. The whole reason I agreed to this was because I was so overwhelmed by being alone. But we’re on day three of being roommates, and I might as well still be alone.

After prepping dinner, my job is to freshen up each cabin by remaking the stripped beds, cleaning the bathrooms, and vacuuming and dusting. I finish each room with a fresh bouquet of flowers Ang had picked up at the farmers market, plus a plate of freshly baked cookies we made earlier this morning.

Brayden is waiting outside as I finish the last room, his arm resting against the porch post he’s leaning on. There’s this space between the post and his body that makes me want to slip my arm through and rest my head against his chest. He’s wearing another one of his flannel shirts, much to my relief and disappointment, and I can’t stop thinking about how good it would be to bury myself in him and just inhale forever.

“Hey.” I try to sound casual, but it comes out as a squeak, so I try again. “Ready for today?”

“I came to ask you the same thing,” he laughs. “My mom whipped up some sandwiches for us if you’re hungry. We have some time before guests arrive, if you want to take off until dinner.” He tilts his head. “Or you could ride along on our pre-dinner horse ride. You don’t have to; it’s not part of the job. But if you’d like, you’re welcome to.”

Yesterday’s beach ride has been a permanent fixture in my mind since I hopped off that horse and hightailed it out of there. For a moment, nothing else mattered but the wind, the feel of the horse running along the sand, and the way Brayden kept looking at me like this was so much more than a ride. It’s all the reasons I should say no, why I shouldn’t even be here at all. But the hope in his eyes now mirror exactly how I’m feeling inside.

“I’d love to,” I say.

With Hazel at school and Ang scurrying around the kitchen, I’m the only girl at a table of guys, and it’s quite something. I keep asking Ang if I can help, but she continually puts me off, insisting that I sit and enjoy. Brayden finally tells me it’s what she does, and even if I helped, she’d still be running around like this.

“The best thing you can do right now is relax and enjoy the pampering,” he says, his hand resting on my arm as he leans in. My heart races at the feel of his breath on my ear, and I try not to react even as I inhale the earthiness of his skin.

So I relax, laughing as the guys trade barbs across sandwiches. There are no dainty eaters at this table, and I realize I need to move quick if I want anything to eat. My stomach rumbles at the size of the sandwiches, and I’m pretty sure I can eat two.

But then my mother’s voice invades my head. Nina, no one invites the pig to the table.

I eye the sandwiches for a moment, knowing exactly how it will feel to eat one. How it will taste. How my eyes will close as I chew and then swallow, enjoying every second of that sandwich.

Instead, I grab a handful of carrots and a half turkey sandwich on whole wheat. I pick at the carrots, unable to even stay in the conversation because my mind is ping-ponging between the food in front of me and my mother’s insults, and it makes me want to eat everything on the table.

But I won’t. I can have will power, I can make a good first impression. These people don’t have to know me as fat Nina who can’t control herself around food.

“That’s not enough,” Brayden hisses at me, then adds a whole sandwich on a French roll to my plate, along with a chocolate chip cookie. “Your mom’s not here, and you’re not going to last on rabbit food.” His voice is low so that only I can hear him. But my cheeks flush just the same at the thought of my mom slamming my body, my eating and everything about me—all in front of him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just mean that we have a lot of work—”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, and I mean it. “You were the only one who spoke up for me.” I lower my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he says, and I look up at the bite in his tone. His eyes flash, but then soften. “The very least anyone could do in that moment was fight for you. I did the bare minimum. They just did less.”

I look across the table at the variety of food in front of me. The other guys are eating whatever they want, not even paying attention to what lands on my plate. Even Angie, the only other woman at this table, has a full plate and is laughing along with the guys.

I reach across the table and grab a second cookie. “For fuel,” I say, and Brayden laughs as he nabs another cookie for himself too.

The guests start rolling in shortly after lunch is put away. I jump in and help the guys with transporting luggage to the cabins. At first they try to keep me from helping out, but once they understand that I’m capable of a lot more than my 5’3” frame suggests, they stop arguing. Plus, I’m stubborn as hell.

Once everyone is settled, I watch from the Winters’ porch as Brayden and the guys show people around the ranch. It brings me back to the days I used to be a regular here. Everything is the same, but different because I didn’t know anyone but my trainer. I never even saw the Winters family at all, so focused on riding that ring while Natalie barked out commands. Back straight. Head up. Relax Nina, just move with the horse.

Would I have seen something in Brayden if I met him back then? I doubt it. I was in such a terrible space, and all men were the enemy. I didn’t trust anyone back then, especially not guys. Not after what happened.

I watch him now, marveling at how easy he talks with guests as he shows them around. At one point he looks directly at the porch, his eyes finding mine as if he knew I was there the whole time. He winks at me, that dimple deepening in his cheek as he shares a smile only meant for me, and it’s hard to remember we haven’t known each other all our lives. Maybe he actually could have broken through my fears back then.

Would I have been different if we’d met? Would he be with me instead of Jordy?