I’ve shoved the last of my things into the worn old leather bag I carry with me everywhere so I’m all packed up when a soft knock sounds on my door, followed by a louder, more urgent one.
I grind my teeth, half dreading and half hoping it will be her. Hope disappears completely when I wrench the thing inwards and see Bailey standing on the other side, her features pinched.
‘Can we talk?’ She twists her fingers in front of herself, a gesture that’s so achingly vulnerable despite the ball-busting tone to her voice. For the briefest second, she reminds me of Mackenzie, back on the ranch. Mackenzie who arrived one morning as one of my dad’s ‘strays’, a homeless teenager he picked up off the side of the road when she was hitching for a lift. She was thin as a rail and as wary as anything—she still sometimes puts thosewalls up, even now. Most of all with Nash—they’ve always butted heads—but even with me sometimes.
I step back, gesturing for Bailey to come into my room. As with Fort Worth, it’s about twice the size of hers, with a set of sofas in one corner, a small dining table and a huge-ass bed we made excellent use of two nights ago. I tamp down on those memories; they’re not helpful right now. Not when I need my brain to stay focused and sharp.
‘What’s up?’
Her eyes drop to my bag. ‘You’re leaving?’
I don’t answer. What can I say? She told me to go. But it was always my plan to hit the road today. Finally we’re headed to Arizona and I’m itching to get home for a couple of days before the event to see the family. It’s the one downside to this life, being on the road. I miss them. Not that I’d ever admit as much.
I miss the whole damn place. The ranch, the cows, the forest that wraps around it, the creek, the town. I miss the people, the sunsets, the sound of birds in the evening, the call of coyotes.
‘Look—’ She turns around again, her eyes holding mine for a long, drawn-out beat before moving away, first to the bed, then across the room, as if she can’t bear to think about the other night either, and how damn good it felt. How damn goodwefelt.
‘I didn’t mean to say that. About needing space.’ She twists her fingers and moves across to the sofa, perching herself on one of the arms. ‘It’s not you.’
It sounds like a break-up line from a bad movie, so I hold my ground, feet planted, braced for what’s coming.
‘I hated seeing you ride last night.’
It’s the last thing I expect her to say, even when they’re words I’ve heard a billion times from just about everyone in my life. Her eyes stay fixed to the wall on my right, her expression impossible to read. I make my frame relax, taking a few steps toward her.
‘I mean, you looked amazing, but all I could think about, all I could see was that video I watched of your accident. The way your body flew through the air, the sound you made when you landed on the ground. The way you lay there, still as a rock. Everything slowed down, and I spent eight seconds imagining it happening all over again, hating the thought of it.’ Her eyes track sideways, meeting mine, her lips flickering downwards, like lightning sparking in the sky. Quick and fast to appear and then to disappear, her features impassive all over again.
‘Okay.’ I nod like it makes sense, when it doesn’t.
‘No.’ The word is drawn painstakingly from her. ‘It’s not okay. I’m not supposed to care about you, one way or another. You’re meant to be … the subject of a piece I’m writing, and this, this is supposed to be just sex.’ Her brow furrows at the description, and I get it. That agreement we made seems like a thousand miles away, even when it still holds true. It has to. ‘I felt physically ill, watching you out there.’
‘I was fine.’
‘You were fine,’ she agrees, but her tone is laced with disbelief, with heated cynicism. ‘But you could just as easily have not been fine.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t get how you’re just … okay with it.’
I shrug slowly, drag a hand over my stubbled jaw. ‘Because I have to be.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve tried not riding, and I hated it. Because this is just what I do.’ I take another step toward her. ‘Because it’s who I am. Like you, with ballet.’
‘But that’s not who I am anymore,’ she says. ‘I gave it up; I walked away.’
‘You had to.’
She opens her mouth to say something, then clamps it shut. Silence draws like a blade through the room. ‘You’re missing the point.’
I wait for her to keep going, sure she will. I can practically see her gears grinding, as she thinks about what to say next.
‘I don’t want to care what happens to you. I should be able to just watch you get on a damn bull and ride your ass off, and not feel like it’s going to affect me either way.’
I make a noise at that, a harsh, sharp sound of rebuttal. Her eyes zip to mine, hurt.
I move quickly to close the rest of the distance between us. ‘You ever seen someone get thrown, Bailey James?’
