She smiles. “Yeah, but there’s a better one. At least I think so. I like to keep it to myself, but I’ll share it with you. Only because I think it’s the best spot on the ranch.”
“I’m honored.” I cover my heart with my hand.
It’s a nice change of pace, having the freedom to drive around the ranch with her next to me and not having to worry about people’s assumptions.
After a while, Romy directs me to drive up a hill and park the UTV. We step out and?—
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “You’re telling me nobody else knows about this spot?”
She shrugs. “Not that I know of. I’m sure some of my family do. But no one’s ever said anything. I found it by accident one day when I needed some space.”
My head swims with questions about when she needed the space and time to think. Was it after I pushed her out of my life? No. It had to have been way before that.
Jensen packed a blanket with the basket. We spread it out, and I put the basket down to stop the slight breeze from turning up the corner, and we both sit down. She slips her shoes off and extends her legs, leaning back on her arms.
There might not be a creek here, but it’s a full view of the ranch with the sun shining across their land.
“I can’t believe you’re sharing this with me,” I admit, feeling unworthy.
She shrugs, which seems to be her thing when she doesn’t want to give me any more information.
I’m undeserving of sharing her sacred spot. The one she goes to in order to think. God, did she come here after DeSoto told her she wasn’t welcome backstage that night? I treated her as though she was disposable. And now she’s giving me the gift of this view and a piece of her to share with the world through my video.
“It’s amazing here. I can’t believe this is where you grew up.”
She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them, staring out at the view. “I know. I’m lucky. I had an amazing childhood.”
Romy glances at me. I catch a flicker of pity in her eyes. My spine straightens, and I feel my defenses snap into place, but I swallow it down. Maybe it’s okay if she feels bad for me. Maybe that’s just who she is. The truth is, I liked that she was always searching for more from me than what it was like to be Zander Shaw, country music star. How many women didn’t ever ask me anything, didn’t care about me? They just wanted to tell people they got on my tour bus and made it into my bed—even if they hadn’t.
She goes quiet, then murmurs, “I’m sorry you didn’t have this.”
I laugh. It’s a nervous and automatic response, not genuine laughter in the least. My past isn’t something I like talking about, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t haunt me daily. “You aren’t any of the people who didn’t want me.”
“I know, but I think everyone should have a place where they feel safe.”
“Everyone is dealt a different hand. Mine was shit, but I can’t complain. I bet on myself, and it paid off.” I doubt Romy agrees with me because I have a lot, but other than Beau and maybe DeSoto, I don’t really have the kinds of things in my life that she’s referring to.
We stay on the hill, the only sound the long grass below swishing in the breeze. Eventually I open the picnic basket to keep my mind from wondering what it would have been like to grow up somewhere like here, rather than the way I did.
Jensen did good. Chicken salad sandwiches, apples, even little pumpkin bars.
“He really is an amazing chef,” I say. “I’ve enjoyed everything he’s prepared.”
Romy smiles. “Yeah, sometimes I think it’s strange. He should be famous and long gone from here, but that’s not Jensen’s style.” She crosses her legs and turns to the basket, peering inside.
“Do you think it’s a family obligation for him? To stay here? Like maybe that’s why he hasn’t left?” I hand her a chicken salad sandwich.
Part of being raised the way I was made it easy to cut ties and live life on the road. I was out of the system as soon as I was eighteen and never looked back. I had Beau of course, and we just kept pushing to make my music career happen. Sometimes I feel like we should stop and look back at everything we’ve done, appreciate it a little more. Take the foot off the gas, but… those what-ifs are hard to push aside.
Romy thinks on my question for a while. “I’m not sure that’s it. I think we all just want to be here. I know some people would call us crazy because they want to get as far as they can from their family. And some of us have left. Bennett moved away for college, lived in California for a while, but he came back. Ben left to play football but returned after his retirement. I don’t know… I just can’t imagine not living here… having my kid grow up somewhere else…” Her voice fades.
Again, she looks away. There’s probably something personal she doesn’t want me to know. The realization that I can’t be the person who hears her hopes and dreams hits me square in the chest, like a knife between the ribs.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, pressing in the hopes that she’ll share.
“Nothing. It’s just—” She turns to face me, and I watch her chest rise and fall as if she’s gaining the courage to share something with me.
This is it. She’s going to tell me off. Tell me how badly I hurt her and how undeserving I am to talk to her about anything other than this video. How I don’t deserve to know the phenomenal woman who hides under the layer of hurt I painted her with.
