Ride Rough
Page 18
She squeezed his hands, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I want to, Trace," she said thickly. "Believe me."
The tiny flame of hope he'd been clinging to extinguished at her tone of voice. "But?" he filled in the word she'd left out. A giant tear spilled out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. So like the first day he'd met her, that his chest squeezed tight. So vulnerable and lost. They were so alike in that regard - two scared peas in a pod.
"I need time," she whispered.
A tiny seed of hope sprouted back to life. He could give her time. Time wasn't get lost or it's over for good. "I can do that. As much time as you need." It wasn't like he had anywhere to be.
She nodded with a sniff as another tear followed the same track as the other.
He released her hands and stood, rounding the table. Bending, he kissed the top of her head. "I love you Cecilia. I'm so sorry I hurt you, that was never my intention. You know where to find me when you're ready." She nodded, hands clutching her mug again. "One last thing. I'm bringing your vehicle back over. It's a gift with no strings attached. The title's in the glove box." He kissed the top of her head again and forced himself to walk away.
It was irrational, the stupid childish hope that she'd come running after him, but he couldn't help it. When the screen door snapped shut behind him with terrifying finality, the sound tore through him like a bullet tearing and shattering soft tissue, destroying everything on the inside before exiting his body. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sucked in a harsh breath. And another, blinking against the brilliant morning sunshine that irritated his eyes. At least that's what he tried to tell himself.
Chapter Thirty
The story broke on Tuesday. It had taken less than forty-eight hours for CiCi's voicemail to fill completely with interview and appearance requests. By Friday, some overly enthusiastic resident had spilled the beans about Trace. To Cecilia's utter relief, Trace had already left for Dodge City when the paparazzi began to arrive by mid-afternoon. By three o'clock Dottie chased them out of the diner. "It's an hour past close, people. There's no story here."
Dottie called after Cecilia as she was hanging up her apron. "Don't you dare run out of here like a scared rabbit. Emma Sinclaire's waitin' in the back office with the crisis bottle and a fresh pie - cherry."
Cecilia made her way to the office and took a seat next to Emma, who offered her a hug. "You doing okay?"
Cecilia made a face and shrugged. "It's a lot. All of it."
"Well I've been thinking about how I can help. You know a few years ago when Trace was in town for the Vets and Pros charity game, the paparazzi were horrible. They trespassed, they followed us home, someone even stole my bag, hacked my phone, and then posted... err... compromising photos of me on the web."
"You're kidding," Cecilia exclaimed. "How awful."
"It was a nightmare. Cost me my job with my PR firm in Kansas City."
"Oh, wow. Not that it's nice to hear about someone else getting sacked, but it does help me feel not so alone."
"And look how it turned out. I couldn't be happier."
So why did this silver lining feel more like the inside of a lead balloon?
Emma reached for the bottle of twelve-year Redbreast sitting on Dottie's desk, and poured two tumblers full. "Dottie thought you could use my firm's help managing all the calls you're getting."
"I'd planned on barging into your office as soon as my shift was finished, so you've saved me a trip."
Emma smiled and handed her a glass. "Good, then. Cheers." Emma raised her glass, eyeing her over the rim of the tumbler.
"But I'm guessing that's not what you want to discuss?"
"I want to apologize."
Cecilia's chest tightened. "Let me guess, you knew."
She winced, then nodded. "Not at first. Like you, I wasn't happy when I found out. But after my experience the last time he was here, I did understand why Trace's presence needed to be kept confidential and limited."
"Yeah, I know. I get, I do."
"But?" Emma prodded.
She shrugged. "I don't even know if there's a but, anymore." She'd been the recipient of a steady stream of visitors in the days since Trace had revealed his identity. First, her girlfriends, then the menfolk, including Emma's husband, Sterling Walker - Trace's "cousin." "It's more about dodging the press and then of course dealing with timing now that my story's out in the world."
"Well, I can help you with the latter. The former, though. You're going to have to decide what you want, and whether you're willing to make a life with Trace, regardless of the circumstances. No one's perfect, CiCi. We're all broken in some way. Think of a relationship as... kintsugi pottery. And it's not that our partners can put us back together. Only we can do that, but even then - the pieces won't fit back together properly. What makes love beautiful and magical is the liquid gold that gets poured into our cracks so that we come out better. More... complete, but still ourselves." She flashed a smile. "Ourselves with gold. Am I making any sense?"
Cecilia grabbed a plate of pie and started munching, eyes briefly rolling into her head as the perfect blend of sour, sweet, star anise and clove hit her tongue. "Someday I'll be a baker like Dottie," she groaned, taking another heaping forkful. "And yes, you're making perfect sense."
"I don't know if this helps, but Sterling makes me more me. And I like to think I make him more him. Scars and all."
Cecilia tipped back the tumbler and drained the whiskey in two long gulps, choking as the burn hit her throat. "Thanks, I needed that. And I'd love to catch up, but I think I need to talk to my sister."
"I understand. Why don't I stop by tonight with a bottle of wine? We can catch up and start taking a bite out of the media frenzy."
"Sounds great," Cecilia tossed over her shoulder as she hurried out of the diner, phone in hand. She cycled home in record time and propped the bike next to the porch, like she did most days. "Oh thank god you answered," she sighed, as relief washed over her when her sister picked up.
"Thank god you didn't call me at the ass-crack," Mariah answered wryly. "I'm having a quick cup of tea before I head to the gym for a light workout."
"Where are you now?"
"Osaka."
"Race today?"
"Umm-hmm."
"Well, good luck, and now can we get to the reason I called?"
"Have you cooled down?"
Cecilia waved a hand. "Mostly. The guy has some serious champions here in Prairie, that's all I can say."
"Glad to hear it. So what's your burning question?"
"How did you know you were without a doubt, in it to win it, forever in love with Harrison?"
Cecilia could hear the smile in her sister's laugh. "You know, I'm not exactly sure. I loved teasing him so much, and he let me give him just heap-tons of shit. And then he'd say these absurdly sweet things on the phone, and I... just kind of melted, I guess."
"Was it scary?"
"As fuck. C'mon. You know our history. Add to that, that I chose to pursue athletics instead of a 'career'." Cecilia could hear the finger quotes in her voice. "And then he kept trying to take care of me."
"I know the feeling."
"It probably would have all gone to shit, because Harrison makes way too much money for my comfort level, but he... helped me reframe my perspective."
"How so?"
"He assured me he was taking care of me because he loved me and wanted our relationship to be a partnership, not - and this was key for me - because he thought I was helpless-"
"Or needed rescuing," Cecilia supplied.
"Exactly. And man, was I pissed when he bought me a new car."
Cecilia let out a full throated laugh. "Ohmygod me, too!"
"It takes a brave man to purchase a car for a Sanchez sister."
"No foolin'."
"So here's another thing I'm stuck on," Cecilia started, picking at a piece of paint peeling off the porch.
"Wait," Mariah interrupted. "I can tell from your voic
e you're going down a rabbit hole. Before we play Alice through the Looking Glass... tell me honestly, knee-jerk reaction. Can you see yourself still laughing with him when you're eighty?"
"Yes." Her voice caught. The answer had been instant and sure. "He challenges me."
Mariah chuckled. "Good man. Brave man."
"But I'm not sure about the rest. You know me - I'm a homebody. I want... a quiet life."
"Then tell him that. I swear, sis. I thought there was no way Harrison and I would work, but we do."
"And someday you're finally going to marry him."
"I am. And maybe we can have that double wedding we always planned?"
"Let's just start with me getting comfortable driving my new car."
"Sounds good. Okay, gotta run. Kisses." Mariah blew kisses through the phone.
"Love you and good luck this morning!" She disconnected with a smile on her face. Nothing made her happier than the days she got to catch up with Mariah. The holidays would be here before they knew it, and she couldn't wait. But first...
Cecilia rolled her shoulders and marched over to the SUV parked just off the circle drive and slipped into the driver's seat. Immediately, the scent of new car filled her nostrils. She took a quick photo of the interior and before she lost her nerve texted it to Trace, typing a quick follow-up.
1. I'm sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt.
2. I love this car, thank you <3
3. Good luck tomorrow xoxo
* * *
Butterflies flapped underneath her sternum, so many her hands trembled. Hopefully he'd accept her tiny peace offering. She watched the phone, ridiculously delighted when she saw dots indicating he was texting back. A few moments later his response came.
1. As long as you believe me from here on, we're good.
2. I'm glad! :)
3. Thanks. I wish you were here.
* * *
She fired back a response.
I do too. Prairie's been overrun by reporters :(
* * *
Her phone rang, and she answered too breathlessly. "Yes?"
"Are you safe?" the whiskey rough voice she loved hearing demanded.
"Yes, why?"
"Did anyone approach you?"
"No, why?"
"Promise me you'll lock your doors tonight. Or go spend the night at Izzie's."
"Trace, WHY?" Did the man have to be so cryptic?
"These guys are assholes, sweetheart, and the second they catch even a whiff that you're with me, they'll be all over you."
A thread of fear rippled down her spine. "Ah... that's one of the things we need to talk about when you get home." She waited for a response, but none came. "Trace?"
His throat cleared. "Ah, yeah... did you mean that?" His voice came out funny. Strangled and rather high.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Was this just a case of pre-ride jitters?
"Home. You said when I get home. Did you mean it?"
It had just slipped out, but... she swallowed down the last remnants of fear. "Yeah," she answered firmly. "I did. When you get home."
Chapter Thirty-One
"Who's ready to plan Izzie's thirtieth birthday party?" Jeanine asked, dropping a grocery sack on the coffee table and pulling out magazines, ice cream, and wine.
Izzie tucked her feet under her on the couch and dropped her face into her hands. "Guys. I don't know if this is a good idea."
"Of course it's a good idea," objected Cecilia. "I spent my thirtieth birthday all by myself drinking wine alone on my colleague's couch while she went out on a date." She gave a shudder. "Two weeks later I was sacked."
"And two months later, your boyfriend is Trace McFuckingBride," Izzie squealed. "I'm so happy you two have figured things out. You're perfect for each other."
"We have a lot to work through, still, but yeah, me too," Cecilia agreed with a smile that grew from her heart. Although, she was certain that Trace would be very unhappy to learn she'd decided to stay in her house. The paparazzi could go fuck themselves. She wasn't going to run from her home. Although, she'd accept moral support from her girlfriends, anytime.
A knock sounded at the door. Jeanine and Izzie exchanged looks of concern until Emma Sinclaire popped her head in. "I heard there was a girls' night? I brought wine." She dangled a bottle of bubbles.
"We're planning my birthday," said Izzie, waving her in. "Celebrating my pending spinsterhood."
Emma shut the door and joined them on the couch. "Glad I brought the bubbles, then."
"Don't knock spinsterhood," Jeanine teased. "I mean, we can't all be as lucky as Emma and CiCi."
"No one's put a ring on my finger," pointed out Cecilia.
"Yeah, but it's only a matter of time," Izzie argued. "I'd always thought I'd be married with two-and-a-half kids by now."
"Well it's kind of hard to find a husband when you're pining for the local math teacher," Jeanine said with a hard eye-roll.
"So maybe your birthday is when we launch Operation Win Jaxon Boyd," Emma offered with a grin as she popped the cork on the bubbles.
Izzie turned pink. "Guys, no," she said with a vehement shake of her head. "I can't do that."
"Why?" Jeanine waggled her champagne flute. "Because you might find out he's secretly in love with you too, and you'll go on to make adorable babies with curly hair and big, gorgeous brown eyes?"
Beside her, Emma gasped, staring at her phone. "OhmygoshyouGUYS, pull out your phones, quick."
They all spoke at once, grabbing for their phones.
"What?"
"What is it?"
"What's going on?"
"Check out what's happening on Twitter right now," Emma spoke excitedly. "Quick, hurry."
The three women spoke at once again.
"Twitter?"
"I don't tweet."
"Emma, just tell us," exclaimed Cecilia, grabbing Emma's phone, eyes going wide. "It's Trace?"
Emma nodded excitedly. "Sterling asked me to set my notifications to Trace, so I get pinged anytime he's mentioned on social."
"We can talk about how creepy that is later," said Jeanine. "But what's going on?"
"Well for starters, he's shaved," said Cecilia, flipping Emma's phone around. "Holy smokes." The man's jaw was cut, and while he was a little pale from where his beard had been, he looked damn fine.
"You could cut bread with that jaw," Izzie exclaimed. "Girl, you're gonna have fun with that." She nudged Cecilia.
"What's he saying? Shhh, everyone." Jeanine grabbed the phone from Cecilia, flipped it sideways and turned up the volume.
"Tell us why you're in Dodge City playing cowboy?" a reporter asked.
"Is this preparation for a new film?" another asked.
Trace flashed his million-watt smile, and rocked on his heels, looking perfectly bashful. "Started off that way," he said. "Although no contracts were signed," he was quick to add. "But then I realized I've been making back to back movies for nearly twenty years. I'm exhausted. And this time away from Hollywood has given me time to reflect on what I want for the rest of my life."
"Is that because you were blacklisted?" another reporter asked.
Trace's eyes narrowed. "The director and I parted ways over artistic differences, and I decided to take a break."
"Ooh, excellent sidestep," Emma crowed, clapping her hands.
Trace looked directly at the camera. "The last four months have been some of the best of my life. That's why I decided to retire."
Cecilia's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
"Did he just say that?" squeaked Izzie, voice hitting chipmunk levels. "Did he freaking really just say that?" She bounced on the couch. "That's better than a marriage proposal, Ceece. Holy shitballs, the entire female race just collectively burst into tears."
"Shh," Jeanine hissed. "He's still talking."
"Wait, what'd he just say?" Emma asked.
Jeanine shook her head. "Something about Bonita Carradine."
"I've met Bonita a few times, but to be honest, I don't remember much." Trace held up a finger. "Look, I have confidence in our legal system. But leaving Hollywood showed me I was on a track that wasn't healthy, or making me happy. That's why I left, and that's why I'm not returning."
"Are you an addict?" someone asked.
Trace shrugged, jamming his hands in his back pocket. "No. But I was overindulging, and if I continued, I might have become one. Look guys, I loved my time making movies, but Hollywood is toxic."
"There's tomorrow's headline," Emma interjected. "Trace McBride retires, calling Hollywood toxic."
"I don't know that too many people would disagree," pointed out Jeanine.
Izzie nodded her head. "Right?"
"What's next?" another voice asked.
Trace grinned. "I ride off into the sunset, and you guys go hunt for your next story. There are no more stories where I'm going."
"Are you going to retire to your ranch in Colorado?"
Cecilia clutched Izzie's arm. "Wait. He as a ranch?"
"In Colorado?" Now Jeanine's voice rocketed into the stratosphere.
Trace shrugged. "We'll see. Wherever I end up, I promise you, my life is going to be boring from here on out."
Cecilia snorted. "Boring, huh? We'll see about that."
"It's okay, CiCi." Emma waved a reassuring hand. "He's laying out a narrative for why he'll never make the paparazzi another dime, thereby ensuring they leave him alone for the rest of forever. We talked about this, actually."
Cecilia's eyes whipped toward her friend. "Wait. You knew about this?"
Emma nodded, eyes big and round. "Of course. This is what Em+Power does. I run PR and marketing for a very private list of high profile clients. The stuff you see me doing in Prairie is just for fun. And it allows me to help most everyone for free, or very little. I'm even consulting on a political campaign right now."
"But she'll have to kill you if she tells you who it is," teased Jeanine.
Cecilia sat back, jaw open. The weight of Trace's actions finally hit her like a truckload of fenceposts. "Guys, gimme my phone. Where's my phone? I gotta text Trace. No wait. Wait right here." She jumped up from the couch, grabbed her phone from Izzie and ran out the door. There was too much energy in her body to sit still, too much trembling in her hands to text. She called. Of course, it went straight to voice mail - he was still answering questions from the press, letting them take their fill of final photos. "Trace Walker, no, strike that, Trace McBride, you did not just do that." She was talking a mile a minute, but she couldn't help it.