“Why is that?” Matty asks softly.
Charli answers for me. “Because growing up, you were worse than Daddy.”
“Hey,” Matty protests.
“You were the fun police,” Charli says. “Rules. Curfews. Consequences.”
“Someone had to keep you all from going hog wild,” Matty snaps.
The words hang there, heavy.
I see it then—the sadness in Matty’s eyes. The old weight she’s never quite put down. Our mother gone too soon. Matty stepping into a role she never asked for.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say quietly. “You had to be strict.”
It just sucked that she didn’t get to be the big sister helping us sneak out of our bedroom window instead of the one nailing it shut so we couldn’t.
Matty looks away.
I sigh, reach for the bottle, and pour myself another generous glass. If I’m going to do this, I need courage.
“Fine,” I say. “You want to know? I’ll tell you. Some of it.”
Both of them focus their expectant gazes on me.
“You all know I had a stupid crush on Waylon Ludlow from about five years old,” I say.
Our mothers were friends. Every weekend, Mom took us to Ironhorse while she and Priscilla drank tea and gossiped.
The memory aches. “He was always bigger. Louder. Already sure of himself.”
Charli smiles faintly. “You followed him everywhere. Like a shadow.”
“I did,” I admit. “Middle school made it worse. He kept getting taller, handsomer, more athletic, and popular. I … didn’t.”
Matty shakes her head. “You were athletic.”
“That came later,” I say. “I started barrel racing because of him. He was roping. I thought if I rodeoed, too, he’d notice me.”
“But you loved it,” Matty says.
“I did,” I admit. “That part was real.”
I take a breath. “Once I stopped chasing his attention and focused on training, it came naturally.”
Charli rolls her eyes. “Did it work? Did he notice?”
“No,” I say. “Maybe a little. He flirted, but he did that with everyone. He didn’t have to try. Girls lined up for him. The town’s rich, handsome golden boy.”
“So, you hated him for that?” Charli asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
The memory tightens in my chest.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, spit it out,” Charli cries.
“It was his high-school graduation party,” I say. “Big. Lavish. Everyone was there. The entire graduating class. People from rival schools. All the underclassmen.”
