Heels click across the foyer, filling the silence. But they're all wrong, and then the door opens.
"Deliveries go around back," a maid says, mistaking me for someone I'm not.
"Oh, I'm not here to deliver anything. I'm here to see Asha."
Her brows tug together before she says, "Miss Asha is staying in Louisville with her father. Do you want me to give her a message for you?"
"No, that's alright. I'll give it to her myself. Thank you."
The door closes with a soft click that sounds like finality.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the brass knocker again. Four weeks. Four weeks of waiting for her to appear, only to find out she's not even here. Of course she's not. Nothing about coming home has gone the way I thought it would. I have a brother I never knew existed. A mother who's worse than I imagined. A father who won't speak about what happened. And now this.
I turn and walk down the porch steps, my boots heavy against the stone. She's in Louisville with her father. Part of me wants to get in my truck and drive there right now, but I know that's desperation talking. I've already waited one month. I canwait a little longer. As I reach my truck, I glance back at the house one more time. The maid has probably already forgotten about me, the nobody who came to the front door asking for Asha.
I'll give it to her myself, I'd said like a promise.
I climb into the truck and slam the door harder than I need to. The engine roars to life, and I pull away from the circular driveway and watch as the house shrinks in my rearview mirror.
Four weeks down and who knows how many more to go. But I'll wait. I've gotten good at waiting.
SIX MONTHS LATER
TRIGGER
"Why don't you just call her? You said you guys were pen pals in high school. Send her a text and tell her you want to talk. It's been six months, and we both know you're not shy," my brother says as we ride back to the barn.
I've been showing him the ropes since he arrived, teaching him the basics of breaking and training a horse. Though, I haven't had to teach much. He may not have grown up on the land like me, but you can tell horses are in our blood.
"We had school-issued phones. I never had her personal number."
"What about her cousin? Ask him," he says as though it's the obvious solution, which it fucking is.
I've been so damn caught up in everything going on here and hyper-focused on just running into her again, I didn't even think to use our shared connection.
"I'm a fucking idiot," I say as I pull out my phone. I hold it up, and it feels like my lucky day because we're still miles from the house and I have a signal.
Trigger: Can you give me Asha's number?
Hollis and I have texted a few times since school ended. His family lives in Ontario, not too far from New York, so visiting isn't ideal, but we talked about planning an annual ski trip with some of the guys on the team. Perhaps I should have led with that. Asha has been a sore subject between us since school ended, not because he doesn't like the idea of me hooking up with his cousin—I'm pretty sure he saw right through our constant bickering in high school. He knew I liked her, but that's not why he's upset. I left him in the dark too many times when it came to her.
Hollis: I thought you were neighbors. Go knock on her door and ask her yourself.
Yep, still bitter. I can't say I blame him. I should have been up front with him from the start, but I didn't expect him to become my best friend. It's not easy to say, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, when I got wind that my father wanted to ship me off to boarding school because I wouldn't stop bull riding, I intentionally kept going out of my way to do it and get caught in hopes he'd send me to the same school your cousin was shipped off to.’
Trigger: We are. She hasn't been home in over a year.
I watch as bubbles appear and then disappear.
"Well, did he give it to you?" Dallas asks, trotting along beside me on his horse, Titan.
"No." I blow out a frustrated breath.
"Why not?"
"It's a long story."
"Want to talk about it?"
