Prologue
LOVE STORY
Billie (Age 10)
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Air.
I wake up gasping for it, lungs burning, heart pounding.
I had the nightmareagain.That’s the third freaking time this week.
Bolting upright, I put a hand on my chest and take a heaving inhale. The oxygen hits my lungs, making me lightheaded. The faint outline of the contents of my tiny bedroom tilts queasily to the left before righting itself. I suck in a breath, let it out.
The panic gripping my insides slowly dissipates.
My body prickles at the sudden influx of cool, crisp air. Mom finally agreed to set the thermostat lower than usual at night after I woke up sweating for the hundredth time last week.
Apparently she, too, had bad dreams as a kid. Mine started a few months ago, right after I turned ten. It’s always the same nightmare: I’m sitting on a chair in an empty room, trying veryhard to stay still. I can’t, though, because the urge to fidget, to wiggle my hips, radiates from my center outward.
It’s like my heart is a rising sun, glowing and moving and warming me from the inside out. It almost feels like being tickled. In the dream, I bite back laughter. Squirm against a rising tide of something that feels cozy and good, something that makes me want to move and be silly but that I know I should tamp down.
Sit still. Be sweet. Your dress looks so pretty, don’t wrinkle it.
The thing is, the more I struggle to sit still, the smaller the room gets. The walls creep in, bit by bit, until they’re pressed up against my shoulders and back and knees.
That’s when the air gets thin. Or disappears, really, because all of a sudden, I can’t breathe even though I try to inhale. It’s like being stuck underwater.
I want to bang on the walls, but I also don’t want to wrinkle my dress or startle anyone. That’s not what nice girls do.
I feel myself suffocating, the lack of air sending a burst of white-hot agony through me.
Just when I’m about to pass out or die, I wake up feeling like this: scared, sweaty, sure I’ve done something wrong.
A couple times I’ve even woken up with the wordsorrystuck in my brain.
Sorry for what, though?
Ididcuss at the mean mailman the other day when he kicked one of the dogs. Mom said I needed to watch my mouth and stop causing trouble, but I wasn’t about to let poor Petey get treated that way.
Throwing off the covers, I rub my eyes. It’s still really, really dark out, which means it’s probably close to midnight. Every time I sneak into the kitchen after having a nightmare, the clock on the microwave almost always says 12:07. Weird.
I’m too shaky to go back to bed. I also don’t want to wake up Mom or Dad. They get up so early and work so hard. None of my five brothers will be able to give me the comfort I need. They always make fun of me, calling me a baby for still having nightmares. Well, everyone except Tate because he’s too little.
So I go to the one place I can find comfort. Our house is all one story, so I’m able to put on my barn boots and slip out my window easily. I can hear Colt, my oldest brother, snoring through the window next to mine as I tiptoe through the grass.
I roll my eyes. He and his best friend, Ryder Rivers, were probably sneaking sips of Dad’s whiskey after he went to bed. Colt is a couple years older than Ryder—they got close because they love to hunt—and while my brother is definitely the ringleader, Ryder’s happy to be along for the ride.
Dumbasses.
It may be the middle of the night, but the air is hot and sticky. That’s summertime in Texas Hill Country for you. The stars make up for it, though. For a second, I stop and tilt back my head to admire them. We live in the middle of nowhere, so you can really see everything in the night sky: a billion stars, the bright half-moon, even other planets if you know what you’re looking for.
I love it here. I was born on my family’s ranch, and I hope to live here for the rest of my life. I just wish…
I don’t know. That I could do what I want, same as my brothers. As the only girl in the family, I feel like I have to follow all these stupid rules that no one else does.Girls don’t talk like that. Girls shouldn’t ride like that. Girls shouldn’t get so dirty.
The horse barn is down one hill and up another. Our foreman, who we call Grumpy Bud even though he’s actually pretty nice, always leaves a light on. Sometimes I wonder if he knows I sneak out here at night.
