I scrunch up my face to stop myself laughing; this is comical. Billy hasn’t stopped crying all night.
Elliot opens the window in a rush. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he yells, the sound of his voice echoing around the valley. He slams the window shut so hard it nearly breaks.
He gets back into bed and rustles around.
“Bahahaha.”
I smile into my pillow.
“Dumb fucking goat,” Elliot whispers under his breath.
“Bahahaha,” the loud bleat echoes.
This really is bad.
How the hell are we supposed to sleep at all?
“Bahahaha.”
“That’s it,” Elliot explodes, and he jumps up and storms downstairs like the Hulk.
I hear the front door open in a rush and I run to the window and open it to watch what he does.
He marches out to the paddock. “What?” Elliot cries with his arms wide. “What the fuck do you want?”
Billy looks at him blankly.
“You have food, you have water. You have the whole fucking paddock to yourself. Is that not good enough for you, you spoilt fucking goat?”
“Bahahaha,” Billy bleats.
Elliot turns and kicks a bucket as hard as he can; it goes flying into the air and crashes spectacularly to the ground. “See that?” he yells at Billy. “There’s more of that coming your way if you don’t shut up.”
I laugh out loud.
Elliot marches back inside and I hear the front door slam. He stomps up the stairs and picks up his phone and sits on the window seat.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Googling how to kill a goat, what do you fucking think?”
I laugh.
“This isn’t funny, Kathryn,” he growls.
“It is.” I get up and walk over to him and sit on his lap. Oh my God, he really is googling how to kill a goat. I take his phone from him and throw it on the floor, kiss him softly. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him,” I whisper.
“There is—impending death.”
“No, I mean maybe he’s sick.”
He stares at me.
“Put some earplugs in, take a sleeping pill or something, and tomorrow we’ll call the vet. He will know what to do.”
Elliot lets out a shaky breath as he tries to calm down.
I smile up at my man and push the hair back from his forehead. “He’s just a little goat.”
“Who’s ruining my fucking life.”
I stare up at him in the darkness. I always knew he was a hothead, but I thought it was only me who annoyed him to boiling point. Every day a little more of the Elliot Miles puzzle falls into place. And every day, he becomes a little more endearing.
“Come on. Bed.” I pull him by the hand.
“How?” he snaps. “This is intolerable.”
“Oh . . . boohoo.” I roll my eyes as I climb into bed.
He cuddles my back and pumps me with his hips. “I’ll give you fucking boohoo.”
I wake alone, and exhausted.
The last time I looked at the clock it was 4:38 a.m.—we’ve hardly slept at all. I throw on some clothes, go to the bathroom, and make my way downstairs. “Elliot,” I call. No answer. I walk to the sliding glass door and look out to see a car as it comes up the driveway. Who is it now?