She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She hadn’t really done this yet—explained her fallout with the Katies to anyone other than her parents and Adele. Hadn’t needed to. She hadn’t had a hookup since the band’s breakup, and she certainly didn’t make a habit of offering the information freely. Still, she didn’t want to mess this up. Gemma was sweet and sexy and was giving her a second chance here.
“I just…needed a break,” Brighton said. There. Perfectly reasonable. “It’s difficult, trying to keep up with the pace in Nashville.”
Gemma nodded. “I can’t imagine. Was it hard to book shows?”
Brighton exhaled, her breath puffing in front of her in the cold. Cupcake huffed too, shaking her mane a little as they headed deeper into the forest.
“It was,” Brighton said, and left it at that. “So what kind of board—”
“I love a live concert,” Gemma said. “I was just at the Katies’ show in Anaheim last month. They were amazing. You’ve heard of them, right? I mean, of course you have—every queer person has heard of them.”
Cupcake reared up for a second, her front legs leaving theground altogether before stomping back down onto the snowy forest floor.
“Whoa,” Brighton said, gripping the reins. “Whoa, girl.”
“She okay?” Gemma asked.
Brighton didn’t answer, her fingers going numb on the reins. Her heart had doubled its pace. She remembered hearing something about how horses could sense fear—or was that dogs? Either way, Cupcake was antsy, and Brighton tried her best to stay calm. The scenery was beautiful, after all—towering pines, a clear blue winter sky, a white blanket of snow as far as the eye could see. But no matter how gorgeous and serene her surroundings, she couldn’t seem to settle down. That name—the Katies—was like a starter pistol. She couldn’t hear it, couldn’t even think it, without her thoughts leaping into a race of self-loathing and bitterness.
And, apparently, Cupcake was a mind reader, because the beast grew more agitated by the second. She started to stomp a little as she walked, whinnying softly and shaking her mane. Then she jerked to one side and straightened out, only to jerk to the other.
“Um,” Brighton said, desperately pulsing her thighs in the saddle and pulling on the reins as gently as she could. “Good girl.”
Cupcake, it seemed, was having none of it. She whinnied some more, then sped up before slowing down again.
“Brighton, you all right?” Manish asked from behind her.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Brighton said, more to herself than to Manish. Shewasfine. She was not about to die atop this horse.
“Maybe we should stop for a second,” Gemma said.
“No, I’m good,” Brighton said, trying to keep her voice steady,but she could hear it—the wobble in her throat, accompanied by a stinging behind her eyes she couldn’t blame on the cold air.
And Cupcake felt it all.
She neighed—or whatever the hell one calls it when a horse essentially lets out a battle cry—and took off galloping.
“Whoa, girl!” Brighton yelled, but Cupcake had made up her mind, and she bolted down the snowy path, passing all the other couples in a blur of colors and shouts of alarm.
Brighton doubled over, the saddle horn jabbing into her chest as she hunched down to try to stay as low as possible. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she had no idea if she’d actually started crying or if the winter air was simply yanking all the moisture from her eyes. Her ass slammed onto the saddle over and over again, and she was positive her tailbone—along with all of her other bones, to be honest—was in the process of shattering.
She squeezed her eyes closed, awaiting her grisly end. Just when she’d nearly made peace with the fact that she was probably going to die here in Winter River while her poor mother was drinking Château Lafite in France, another rider pulled up beside her.
“Whoa, girl, it’s all right,” a serene voice said, and bit by bit, Cupcake slowed to a trot, whinnying a little until she stopped altogether.
Brighton stayed hunched, eyes clenched shut, knuckles gnarled into Cupcake’s mane.
“Jesus, are you both okay?” another voice called from behind her. Brighton thought it was Jenny Hazelthorne.
“We’re fine,” the first voice said.
Familiar.
So fucking familiar.
“That was some fast thinking,” Jenny said.
Lola didn’t answer—because itwasLola, that voice, calm and confident.
