Chapter Text
Fuck me, it’s hot, Shane thought to himself as he wiped an errant bead of sweat from his eye. It’s Spring 1. I swear to Yoba, it was fucking snowing yesterday. He shed his sweat soaked hoodie, tying its sleeves tight around his bloated waist. The white undershirt beneath it was stained at the pits, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit.
As he meandered up the beaten path that led toward an abandoned farm that lay north of the ranch, he regretted his New Year's resolution to get more exercise — which, in Shane’s head, simply meant he’d take the slightly longer way to work in the morning. He’d felt smug when he disclosed his resolution to Marnie, certain that he’d pulled a fast one on her. What was she gonna do, check his fucking pedometer app?
Shane scoffed to himself as he passed the jauntily hung sign just before the fence line, and almost immediately tripped over a rock, falling to the ground palms first. He didn’t really have the luxury of feeling smug, because the great big bitchy universe took every fucking swing at him that it could.
SunnyVale Farms, Artisanal & In Season, read the sign, which creaked ominously as it swayed in the arid breeze. Shane rolled his eyes at it as he picked himself up off the ground and uselessly dusted off the knees of his shorts.
The place had really fallen into disrepair since he’d seen it last, the ground grown over thick with weeds and the once immaculate fields overtaken by rocks and branches. It would take a real piece of work to whip this place back into shape, but this spring marked ten years of old man Rosenhaal’s death, and Shane couldn’t imagine that anyone was ever coming to finally put the old farm out of its misery after so long. Surely if the man had any family, they would have come to lay claim over the once abundant plot of land by now.
Just as he came up the hill and passed the boggy lake occupying the center of the farm, he noticed something — something fucking creepy. The front door of the little shack that sat at the northernmost edge of the property was hanging wide open.
The first thought that crossed his mind was that a golem had finally taken up residence, which he could only attribute to the scary stories about the farm that he’d overheard Sam telling Abigail in order to get in her pants, but realistically, it was probably only Sebastian. Shane figured that the little bastard was likely holed up in the pisspoor structure smoking weed, which was a lot easier to believe than the town’s rather colorful monster lore.
But then, he saw something even more suspect than a golem or a stoned Sebastian. It was a woman, and she was picking up a giant box off the porch that appeared to be falling apart as she heaved it into her arms. Was she… moving in?
For some stupid fucking reason, Shane plastered himself against the back of the nearest tree and slid down it until his ass hit the ground. What kind of fucking weirdo would he look like if he was caught wandering around the abandoned property? Obviously, he wouldn’t get in any sort of trouble — not in a town like this — but either way, he wasn’t in the mood to explain himself. Or his resolution.
He craned his neck to get a better view of her, and just then, he saw Robin’s truck pulling up the drive, kicking up a shitload of dust in its wake. The total MILF of a redhead threw the truck in park, and she climbed out — along with Mayor Lewis. They both walked around to the truck bed, where each of them picked up a box.
Holy shit. Someone really was moving in. Shane couldn’t get a very good look at the new resident, but from his coward’s seat, he could spot a head full of long, muted pink hair tied off in high pigtails, a red scarf, blue jean overalls, and pale skin — and he could see that she was grinning ear to ear at Robin and Lewis. Shane couldn’t work out why, but that last part hit him right in the gut.
Even though he couldn’t see her very well, he decided right there that she was probably a dead knockout. But like the coward he’d always been, he wasn’t keen on sticking around to find out. Maybe Morris would make him scrub the toilets for a month if he was late again, but right then, he didn’t give a fuck. He’d rather backtrack through the ranch and end up ten minutes late to work than have to unpack that whole situation.
It wasn’t even eight in the morning, and Shane had already gotten more than his fill of SunnyVale Farm for the day.
**********************
“Hey, man, Morris wants to see you,” Sam said as soon as Shane walked through the door at exactly 9:10AM.
The blonde ball of radioactivity handed Shane a Joja Co. hat, and Shane gripped it a little too hard, mashing the bill into a weird fold. “For what?” He grumbled.
Sam only shrugged, and Shane glanced over at Claire, who was half asleep at her register, as usual. He briefly wondered how well it would bode if he were to take a nap on the bananas. He huffed a deep breath and sulked off toward the office.
Morris stood behind the service desk in the drab little room, clicking a pen violently against the table top in wait. The moment the office door creaked open and Shane stepped into the mothball scented space, his boss honed in on him like a fucking hawk.
“Mr. Slater,” Morris seethed, eyes narrowing and pen clicking coming to a dramatic halt.
Shane flinched. Not at the condescending tone, or the fact that he was about to get scolded — but at his fathers last name. He hadn’t been Shane Slater in a long, long time. It was just Shane now, or Shae, if you asked Jas.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Late start this morning.” Shane hoped that his boss couldn’t see the bags under his eyes, or smell the whisky that seeped from his pores in place of sweat.
“It’s your third time this week,” he said, pushing his glasses up his beak of a nose.
“It’s a Monday. First of the year,” Shane said in a deadpan tone.
Morris’s face twisted. “And what a way to kick off this new year, Mr. Slater,” the little troll of a man teased, rounding the desk until he stood right in front of Shane. Morris snatched the Joja cap off Shane’s head. “Getting fired.”
Shane only stared at him, assessing his options carefully. He could punch Morris’s teeth straight down his throat, and as his sweaty fists tightened at his sides, it seemed like a pretty solid idea. Or, he could leave this fucking place and never come back, which seemed reasonable, because he hated it anyway, and preferred the products at Pierre’s by far. They might have been a little more expensive, but at least they didn’t taste like plastic.
Shane chuckled flatly, glaring at Morris in a way that made the little man recoil. “Thank you,” Shane said through his teeth. It was a weird thing to come out of his mouth, but it felt right. He could never have quit, because of Jas — because of Marnie — but now, he was free.
Morris’s brows bunched in confusion, and Shane snatched the damn hat from his hand, only to throw it on the ground and stomp on it, just once as a healthy fuck you.
He wasn’t looking forward to job hunting, but it beat out this bullshit by far. Maybe he’d even look for something over in Ridgeside — maybe he’d find something worth a shit, and he and Jas could get a nice little place there to call home, rather than being Marnie’s constant burden.
He blew out a long breath as he shoved open the front door and stepped back out into the unseasonably hot Spring. He knew better than to delude himself with wishful thinking, because as much as he craved the independence that any grown man deserves, he knew that, without his aunt’s help, he’d fucking fall apart — and what’s worse, he’d take Jas with him.
*************
He’d been sulking for three days — maybe four. It was easy to lose track of himself since he’d moved to the valley — since he’d began drowning his shortcomings in whatever liquor he could get his hands on in a fucking place like this one.
Marnie had been the only one actually taking care of Jas lately, and Shane fucking hated himself for it, though Marnie never once complained. It tore him apart every time the little girl would look at him with her wide, dark eyes, and plead to go to the lake with him, or the beach, or to work — hell, she’d even wanted to tag along to the bar with him — that one really broke his heart. But regardless of how hard she wrung her little fingers, or how long she drew out the syllables of the word please, he had to deny her. And then came the tears.
For the past five years, he’d been spiraling, ever since he got off that late bus from Zuzu in the dead of winter, packing a scared toddler in his arms. He’d become a black hole, and most of the time, the only thing he worried for was Jas, and how being exposed to him would someday suck the life out of her, once she was old enough to understand it all.
In the early hours of that third or fourth day he’d spent wrapped in dirty sheets and buried in his cheap mattress, Marnie threw open the squeaky door and flew right in, flinging the dusty old curtains open.
Shane groaned as the watery morning light poured in. “Why?” He whined, tugging the sheets up over his head as his hangover began to creep in.
Marnie smoothed her wiry red hair and placed her hands firmly on her hips, her already rosy cheeks staining darker as he glared at her. “Jas is worried about you,” she said curtly. “And the chickens miss their dad.”
It wasn’t like Marnie to be curt. Shane knew all too well that it wasn’t in her nature, and that she’d developed this mask specifically for him — for dealing with him.
“I’m doing my best,” he lied, feeling like a royal piece of shit as his head pounded in emphasis.
Marnie tsked, shaking her head slowly as her eyes cast downward. “This isn’t your best. It’s not even close, actually, Shane.” She blew out a long, long breath. “Which is why you need to get out of bed and take a shower. I’ve just ironed a nice shirt for you, too.”
Shane cracked open an eye, glaring suspiciously at his aunt. “What do I need a nice shirt for?”
She crossed her arms, as if to brace herself. “I got you an interview. At Odd Jobs, with Ian and Sean. Ian was here yesterday picking up your slack, and as it turns out, they’re expecting a busy season, what with the new farmer that just moved in up at old SunnyVale —”
His aunt was a fucking busybody, to put it as politely as possible. “New farmer?” He interrupted, awarding her the glare of both eyes now.
She tilted her head to the side. “The Rosenhaal girl, of course. She moved in earlier this week, and that old farm is a disaster. She’s already contracted those nice boys to pull some weeds and chop some trees.” Marnie shuddered. “And thank Yoba for them! I can’t stand the thought of that poor girl tackling that whole mess all by her little self.”
Shane grunted, raking his hand through his dirty hair in frustration. Marnie was really laying in on thick this morning. “What are you getting at, Marnie?”
She averted her eyes, finding some speck of dust on the ceiling particularly interesting. “Nothing, nothing,” she fussed. “It’s just that I already set up the interview, so if they do happen to need your help up at SunnyVale, you’ll be so close to home! Wouldn’t that be a treat?”
“A real fucking treat,” he bit out, dying inside over the thought of pulling weeds in this goddamned heat. That Ian kid had to have worked no less than fourteen hours a day, too. Shane couldn’t fucking imagine.
“So you’ll go to the interview?” She nudged.
“I’ll go to the interview,” he agreed reluctantly, hauling his stiff body up off the mattress.
Marnie beamed at him, seeing herself out with an irritating grin plastered across her face.
When Shane had hoped to find work in the ridge, this wasn’t really what he had in mind.