“Well, look at you, Mooney,” Cheyenne chuckled, sounding so much like herself it gave me pause. Her smile pulled wide on her cheeks, that familiar glow that had been all but absent a few moments ago shining brightly once more.
Cash grinned, pulling his glasses down to glance between us. “Y’all are late. Had to get a quickie in, didn’t ya?”
I clenched my jaw, but Cheyenne laughed, smacking Cash lightly on the chest before pushing past him. “You’re an idiot.”
I made to follow her, but Cash stopped me with a hand to the shoulder. Sunglasses still lowered he regarded me for a long moment, the usual mirth gone but replaced by a seriousness he almost never showed. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. From the way Chey had reacted earlier to me mentioning her talking to Charlie, I knew she didn’t want anyone elseknowing. “I’m fine. Just mentally preparin’ myself for takin’ care of your sorry ass tonight.”
Cash’s crow of laughter was a welcome sound. It seemed to break whatever seriousness he’d possessed a moment ago. Clapping me on the back, he urged me inside. I followed him through the house—a true bachelor pad with a pool table, bar, indoor gym, and a walk-in pantry filled with enough alcohol to start up a liquor store. It was spotless—not because of him, but because Aunt Violet came over twice a week to clean it for him. The entire place was bedecked in American flag decorations. Balloons, streamers, signs.
Charlie and Cheyenne had really outdone themselves.
People milled about in the fenced off backyard as we walked outside. A group played cornhole on the grassy area to the left of the large above-ground pool Cash, Ryder and I had spent most of Wednesday and Thursday setting up and filling with water. More people swam or lounged around the bar we’d built off the side of one end. Friends from back in school, church, others whom we’d met rodeoing. Cason ran around with a couple of his friends from school in tow.
I spied Charlie and Ryder on the opposite side of the swim up bar, making drinks. They both waved hello before making their way over.
“Who’s ready for a shot?” Cash asked, wrapping an arm around Cheyenne.
Her gaze met mine—panic shining in the turquoise depths for a moment. “I’m uh…not drinkin’ tonight,” she replied. I doubted Cash noticed the quaver in her voice—he’d had a few drinks in him—but I didn’t miss it.
“What?” He turned to her, disbelief shining in his eyes as he pulled his sunglasses down to regard her. “You promised last night you’d be my drinkin’ buddy. Don’t tell me you’re chickenin’ out!”
Cheyenne offered him a guilty shrug.
Cash scoffed. “Come on… What are you, pregnant or somethin’?”
The color drained from Cheyenne’s face, her body going stiff. Even from a few steps away, I noticed the tears brewing in her gaze.
I opened my mouth, to make an excuse, to change the subject, but how? I didn’t drink so she couldn’t use the excuse that she was going to take care of me. And it’s not like we lived far enough away to say she was going to be the designated driver. If we said she was sick, Cash would just call bullshit.
Charlie’s warm, buttery voice drew my attention. “Cash you’re an idiot. I asked her not to drink so I had more than just Maverick and I here to make sure none of you dumbasses get drunk and drown in the pool.”
That seemed to appease him, for now. Fuck, it was gonna be a long day.
“You ready?” I askedthe next morning, meeting Cheyenne’s gaze.
I shouldn’t even have asked. From the way she hovered by the door, a look of resignation in her eyes, I already knew the answer.
I hated this. Hated that she felt this way, and despite my best efforts, nothing I seemed to do helped. I’d tried talking to her last night after we’d gotten home from Cash’s, but she’d shut it down quickly enough. She’d not gone to sleep with me, but instead chose to sleep in the guest room—if she even slept at all. The dark bags under her eyes led me to believe she hadn’t.
It’s like she’d withdrawn into herself, and nothing I did got through to her. Was this how I’d been last week when I wouldn’t talk? Guilt materialized in my chest, constricting and tightening around my heart.
Cheyenne didn’t respond to my question. At least not verbally. The only answer was her opening the door and walking out to my old Chevy.
Say something.That little voice in my head begged, pleaded to do something,anythingto fix this. I’d done nothing wrong, but I was losing her regardless, and I didn’t know what the hell to do to stopit. This decision…it was killing her. I could see it. But who was I to tell her what to do? I had no say in this. No leg to stand on. All I could do was be there to support her and pick up the broken pieces. Which I’d do. I just wished I could do more than that.
We drove in silence, each mile more and more painful.
Say something... Say something.
I glanced over at her. She leaned against the door, her legs tucked up against her chest. She wore one of my oversized t-shirts and a pair of ripped denim shorts, a trucker hat and bun hiding her wild curls. Her gaze was fixed on the terrain outside—nothing but golden rolling hills and cows. Lots of cows.
There wasn’t a single drop of sunlight left in her. No warmth. No hope. She looked lifeless. Cold.
It broke my damn heart.
“Chey.”
