“Most of the time, yes. All the shit on the internet is shit I can’t change, no matter how much time passes, but it doesn’t depict who I am as a person, especially not now. The pictures and videos have been handpicked and manipulated to feed a narrative. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve done some stupid shit—shit that I regret—but no one talks about what it feels like to have all of your dreams come true overnight, especially at the ripe age of twenty-five.”
I didn’t know exactly how old he was, but I knew he’d been in the spotlight for at least six or seven years, which put him in his early thirties.
“I sure as hell can’t imagine what that felt like because I can promise you at twenty-five, I was absolutely doing shit I shouldn’t have been doing and had someone been filming me, I probably would’ve been cancelled from the world for the rest of my life.” I smiled, thinking back to some of those crazy years right after college when everything was easy and nothing seemed forever.
He raised his eyebrows. “Now that’s some footage I’d pay big money to see.” His laugh faded into the distance. “Everything I did, and I meaneverything, was under a microscope. All of asudden everyone knew who I was, and being a kid from a small Tennessee town, that was a complete brain fuck. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to worry about bills or how I was getting to and from my job at the local burger joint. I could buy myself whatever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, and sleep with damn near anyone I wanted.” He smirked.
“Uh-huh.” I hummed. “Had to add that one in there, didn’t you?”
He didn’t say anything, he just shot a side-eye in my direction.
“But honestly, listening to that kind of lifestyle sounds exhausting, and not like the way I would’ve wanted to spend the latter half of my twenties. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’ve had some great experiences, ones that I’ll probably never get to have, but I’m not sure that outweighs all the bad shit,” I said.
“That’s the thing. I didn’t even really get to experience any of it because I couldn’t see past the blinders. I was too damn busy planning my next party, taking the next shot, or finding the next girl that I forgot to actually experience any of it.”
“Hey, you still have time, right?”
My mind raced as the words left my mouth. Maybe he didn’t have time? Maybe that was why he came here, because he was sick or something? Oh my god, now I felt like an ass.
He casually turned, strolling back to Cheyenne, lifting his hand up to her face. “Yeah, thankfully, I do. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones too.”
A sigh of relief barreled from my chest as I followed right behind him, returning to Valhalla’s side.
“Is this yours?” he asked, holding up the tattered leather that protected some of the deepest parts of me.
I practically ran to his side, snatching the journal from him.
“Woah. Now I’m curious to know what’s in there.”
“It’s nothing, just some words that needed to get out of my head and onto the paper. Nothing important,” I insisted, shoving the journal into my jacket pocket.
“I don’t believe that for a second…” His interest was obvious, so I knew I needed to change the subject.
“So, that’s the whole reason you came here. To slow down. Experience life?” I said, the weight of my written words tucked safely in my pocket now helping me to slow my breath.
“For the most part, yeah.” He nodded, placing his left foot in the stirrup and naturally swinging his right one over to the other side.
“Looks like you might be a lost cowboy after all.” I secretly grinned, pulling myself into my saddle.
Chapter Eight
The weekend had already been more eventful than any in the last seven months because I’d already left my house—twice.
And it wasn’t even over yet.
Maggie and I had grabbed dinner and drinks on Friday night at our favorite little dive bar, The Coop, down on Main Street. I’d forgotten how good their chicken wings were; it had been way too long.
Despite Maggie staying at my apartment on Friday night, I hadn’t told her about my last encounter with Stetson. I didn’t know why, but part of me felt like there was no reason to. We’d run into each other at George’s farm, and that would be it. But then there was a part of me that wanted to share every single detail because I was fascinated by the man.
Fortunately, Maggie didn’t bring him up.
She’d probably assumed I hadn’t seen him, which was fair, plus she’d been spending a healthy amount of time with Booker. She’d had a lot to share on that front, and I’d happily provided my opinions until almost two in the morning.
Saturday morning, unbeknownst to me, Maggie had signed us up for a Pilates class, where I was aggressively reminded how long it’d been since I worked out. But as everyone should, we treated ourselves to coffee and a pistachio croissant from Haddie Jo’s after.
“This weekend has felt good,” I said, as I laid out another option on my bed for my first day tomorrow. “It’s felt nice to just be out and about. To be Mags and Scar again and enjoy a low-key weekend at all our favorite spots, ya know?”
“I do,” Maggie said, smiling as she sat against my dark green velvet headboard. “You’re going to be okay, Scar. You always are. I know somewhere in that brain of yours you don’t think you deserve to be, because of something seventeen-year-old Scarlett did, but I’ll always be right here to shut down that damn voice that never seems to go away,” she insisted. “But most importantly, remember it just takes time and a really good friend who will force you out of the house when things start to get questionable.”
