It’s not natural that the whole of Willow Ridge always seems to be watching my every move, and treating me like I’m made of brittle glass.
This time, no matter how hard I blink, the tears don’t vanish. Instead, they spill out, along with a quiet sob from my lips. I’m not normally someone who cries easily, but according to my hormones, today I am.
Duke’s brows draw together, forehead creasing as his eyes trail over my face. His fingers flex at his sides, then he sighs. ‘I … I didn’t realise you felt like this.’
His eyes dart around the floor, as if he’s hoping to find the solution to my unhappiness there. Unfortunately, I think it’s actually folded up in a notebook in my bag.
I shrug, brushing away any remaining tears with the back of my hand. ‘I guess I’ve been good at hiding it … I just get so frustrated sometimes that I – and everyone else – has to worry. That I can’t just say yes to everything without a care in the world. I’ve missed out on so much and I’m sick of it.’
‘Hence the bucket list?’ Duke perks a brow, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Being in this room with him, down on the floor all vulnerable, really can’t go on for much longer. Plus, the smell of vomit is really starting to linger.
‘Hence the bucket list.’ My own smile blooms and I swear his eyes brighten in response, lingering on my lips. ‘I just think it will make me feel better about myself. Feel like I’m experiencing the world. If I actually get around to doing any of it, anyway.’
I just need Montana to find some time for me between Austin and flitting between homes now her parents have divorced.
Duke purses his lips as he muses on a thought, running a hand over his closely shaven head. He’s obviously been to the barbers since I last saw him because there’s a new subtle pattern shaved into the sides of his head. His bottom lip drops, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just holds out his hands, waiting. ‘Well, I’m sure it can wait another few days, because you need to rest at home. So, let’s go get your stuff and I’ll drive you home.’
‘I can walk—’
‘Cherry, I’m driving you.’ Duke pins me with a commanding glare. ‘It’s only a Wednesday evening; the bar will survive. Jeb can cover me for twenty minutes.’
‘Fine,’ I groan and reluctantly slip my hands into his, watching how they dwarf mine and tense. I let him lift me to my feet, his leather jacket still slung around my shoulders. He even pulls it around me tighter, the corner of his mouth hooking up faintly.
It doesn’t take long for me to grab my bag from the staffroom and then he’s ushering me into his old red Silverado, driving me the short way home. Once we pull up outside my house, I reach for the truck door handle, and Duke’s fingers graze my forearm briefly.
‘Cherry,’ he whispers. He watches where he touches me for a beat, where goosebumps have broken out, then flicks his gaze back up to catch mine. ‘You’ve never been weak to me, you know that, right?’
5
Duke
The golden evening sunshine filters through the chattering crowd as I shuffle my way along the row of seats with Wyatt and Wolfman – two of my best friends since school. Our arms are piled with drinks and snacks while Big & Rich’s ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’ blasts through the speakers, rallying up the surrounding audience. The rodeo stalls are filled with a sea of faded denim, shining buckles, and shuffling boots, all eager for the next competition to commence.
It’s our first time at the Fox Falls rodeo, but it’s only a few towns over from Willow Ridge. Sawyer – my other best friend from high school – has always tried to attend small town rodeos even after his bull-riding career kicked off and he became the Professional Bull Riders world champion last year. Something about owing his life to the small town, travelling rodeos that took him in fresh out of high school.
And since Sawyer’s never had much in the way of asupportive family, we always do what we can to come out and cheer him on at as many rodeos we can. That’s what friends are for – like family on a soul level. The realisation of such hits you harder when you don’t have a lot of family left.
Memories of Wyatt inviting me along to rodeos with his family when we were growing up so I could still partake in family traditions even after mine had a hole torn in it, have mirth bubbling in my chest and prove that you don’t have to be blood-related to show up for each other. It was summer days spent at rodeos with the Hensleys, or evening barbecues at theirs, or even just afternoons spent playing football with Wyatt, his brother Hunter, and their dad, Beau, that gave me the space to forget about losing my mom for a moment. The opportunity just to be a normal kid that wasn’t carrying the heavy burden of loss every day. Sometimes I don’t know where I’d be without them.
So, I carry those reminders with me every day, doing what I can to be there for my friends, just like they were for me.
Once we reach our seats, Cherry, Rory, and Fliss – one of the new employees at Sunset Ranch – are huddled together singing along and giggling, which we could hear from the other side of the arena. I look back to Wyatt, who just shakes his head at the girls, trying to fight off the grin that always appears whenever he’s around Rory. The one that tells me he’s a goner – because Wyatt Hensley smiling used to be a rare sight, until a British wellness influencer waltzed onto the ranch he ran just over a year ago.
Plus, seeing his girlfriend and little sister get along so well no doubt makes him happy. Cherry’s always been a good sport, putting up with and hanging around us guys since she’s been young, but there’s a glow to her when she’s with Rory and Fliss, like she’s found people who she’s finally comfortable enough with to let her true self shine.
Exactly like right now – she seems relaxed, at ease, so at odds to the puddle of frustration and tears I found her in the other day in my office. I cursed myself after dropping her home for not saying more, for not fighting her on her self-depreciation.
But as always, words failed me. Beyond the confines of a therapist’s office, anyway. Because no one teaches you about grief or how to manage your feelings at ten years old. After my mom passed, I always struggled to find the words to describe how I was feeling – it was so new, so alien to me – and I found myself better suited to being there for my grandparents, who’d also lost her. Just listening. It was the same with my mom when she’d tell me bedtime stories about my dad who barely made it to my first birthday before a mistake during a routine surgery took him from us. Seeing the light in her eyes as she recounted her memories made me feel useful, just like it does when Gram talks about my grandfather.
Being the listener, I wasn’t a burden or a weight, and people would still need me. I found purpose in a time when my world had been turned upside down and I desperately needed something to cling on to.
Plus, when I have let myself dip into that pool of grief, it’s hard not to get pulled under. I don’t trust myself not to get lost in my emotions, regardless of what they are,especially when it comes to Cherry. So, I’m glad Cherry’s got the rest of the group to lift her up when I can’t. To make her happy – which is how she looks right now, with the girls. Her long, slender body fits into a pair of tight, flared Wranglers and a cropped black T-shirt, contrasting with the white cowboy hat she always loves to wear to the rodeos. And that raven black hair flows like a waterfall down her back to—
Oh fuck. To where a black G-string thong peeks out above her jeans as she’s leaning over into Rory’s arms. It’s so thin it could pass as dental floss. My heart stammers at the sight. Jesus, the world is being relentless recently when it comes to Cherry – first the lap dance, now I know what underwear she favours.
I struggle to rip my eyes away, but when I do, I glance up to the row behind us where two guys are staring and whispering, making it pretty damn obvious that they’re enjoying the view. The cans in my hands crackle as my fists close tighter around them. I settle my glare on them, raising my eyebrows when they both look at me. Then, I cross my arms, purposefully tensing my muscles like an overly jealous asshole. Being six-foot-three and covered in tattoos does have perks.
I’m just being protective of Cherry, like Wyatt’s always asked us to do. That’s all.
