by KJ Bell
My entire body trembles. The turn of events have stolen my voice.
Battle turns his head to me and I see how hurt he is in his daunting blue eyes. “I tell you how I feel, and you’re out with your boyfriend?”
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Wyatt taunts.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Battle tells him. The warning in his voice makes Wyatt cower like the dog he is.
Battle returns his hurt gaze to me, his expression silently asking if it’s true. I still can’t speak. Shock tied my vocal cords in a knot. I hope he sees the truth in my eyes, because it’s all I can give to reassure him. His shoulders sag. He picks up his helmet, and climbs on the motorcycle. The bike roars to life, and he revs the engine several times, holding his helmet in his lap.
Wyatt places a hand on my shoulder, and says, “You’re better off without him.”
My skin crawls from his touch and his voice.
Knowing Battle’s going to leave, thinking I lied to him, snaps me back to reality. Before I can shout at him to wait, Battle lifts his head and meets me eye to eye. A smile crawls up the corner of his lips. “You comin’, sweetheart?”
I bite my lip on a smile and nod.
Wyatt grabs my arm. “You aren’t goin’ anywhere with him on that deathtrap.”
With a swift twist, I free my arm and step away. He reaches for me again, but the look I give him stops him from touching me.
“Go to hell,” I scream at him before I run to Battle and hop on the back of his sporty Harley. He turns at the waist and gives me the helmet. Wyatt continues shouting at me, how I’m making a huge mistake.
I ignore him, pulling the helmet over my head, and inch as close as possible to Battle. He smells delectable, like spice and something warmer, sweeter. It’s heaven. I secure my arms tightly around his waist.
Wyatt stands with his hands raking through his hair. He talks, but I can’t hear his words through the helmet and over the bike's engine. I can however hear Battle who looks directly at him and mocks Wyatt’s earlier words. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Battle lifts his hand and flips Wyatt the middle finger. I can’t help but laugh. Wyatt deserves it, as well as the fat lip he’s going to have in the morning.
Excitement zips through me as Battle hits the throttle. On the way past the entrance to the restaurant, I turn my head to see my parents with the Daughtrey’s staring right at me. I’ll have to explain eventually, but I’ve had enough drama for one evening. I do nothing to alert Battle that he should stop. We ride out of the parking lot, me on a new journey, and away from my old path.
Sitting on the bike feels much like a horse. The machine breathes beneath me. As Battle drives faster, my trepidation grows. With proper guidance, a horse can be trained to follow commands. A rider has control over an animal, but a motorcycle can’t be taught. I’m not sure if my trembling thighs are a result of the engine vibrating beneath the seat, or my fear, but the sensation overwhelms me.
I squeeze Battle tighter, becoming one with his body. As he rounds a turn, we lean into it, and I realize Battle has as much confidence riding a motorcycle as he does the bulls in the arena. I relax my grip and relish the experience. It’s quite a rush.
We pull up in front of his house. He gets off the bike first and then helps me off. Once my feet are firmly planted on the ground, he removes my helmet and sets it on the seat. He smiles and taps me on the nose.
“First time?”
I blush and nod.
We go through the front door into Battle’s house. Before he turns on the light, I’m greeted with a wet nose from Roy to my hand. I smile and scratch him with both hands behind the ears. Once Battle turns on a light, I follow him to the kitchen with Roy trailing close behind me. I spin to face the pooch. He pushes into my right side with his front shoulder, and then moves to my left side, pushing me backward.
“Roy, quit herding the guest,” Battle commands. “Lay down!” Roy immediately obeys and lies at my feet. Battle grins. “He likes you.”
“I can tell.”
He takes my hands and rests his forehead on mine. “I like you, too.”
“I can tell.”
“What now?”
“We hang out and get to know each other.”
His eyes slowly move over my features, studying me. They grow darker as he strokes a thumb over my right cheek bone. I wince.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says, his voice full of painful regret.
I grab his hand and kiss his scraped knuckles. “No, don’t be sorry. You were right on time.”
“What if I did what you asked?” His brow creases tight. “What if I waited for you to get home?”
“You didn’t.”
“Has he hurt you before?”
“No, never. Not physically. He was upset, and maybe had too much to drink. I broke up with him the night I met you. I was supposed to have dinner tonight with my parents. He was there with his parents. The night didn’t go the way he thought it would.”
“He wants you back.”
He may have made a statement, but his expression tells me he expects an answer.
“No he doesn’t,” I answer. “But his ego does.”
“That makes him dangerous.”
“He’s harmless,” I say, waving my hand. “He’ll sober up and regret what happened.”
“How’d you end up with a guy like him?”
“A lot of reasons. I’m a people pleaser. Our parents are friends. We’ve been together since I was in seventh grade—young, naïve, a victim of puppy love. Stupid.” I laugh when he smiles at me. “The plan has always been for us to get married. We broke up a few times recently at his request, and after our last break, I realized I didn’t want to marry him anymore.”
He blinks slowly. “What happened?”
“I met you,” I smile, feeling my cheeks flush. It feels strange to admit out loud what I’ve denied silently for weeks.
“You’re lookin’ for a rebound guy then?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That isn’t what I meant. After the night I had with you, I realized that I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I don’t want to be with a guy who makes my parents happy. I want to decide. When I get married, I want a man who respects me.”
I hate the way he frowns, and I turn my head. He pulls softly on my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I have to be honest. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you marriage.”
“I’m not asking you to make me promises,” I say and gently push his hand away. “I’m good hangin’ out in the middle.”
I swallow hard. How long I’m good hanging in limbo is the question that should be asked, although I don’t know the answer. The only thing I know for sure is that I want to spend as much time with Battle as I possibly can.
“The tour leaves for Oklahoma tomorrow. Come with me.”
He obviously wants to spend time with me, too, which thrills me. Joining him for the weekend sounds perfect. I’ll have to take time off work, but since I never take a day off, it shouldn’t be a problem.
“How long will you be there?” I ask, my voice full of excitement.
“A few days. I usually ride up with Coop and Austin. Coop has a motorhome I crash in, but we can get a hotel if you want.”
“Can I decide after I spend five hours in a motorhome with Cooper and Austin?”
He laughs, and I agree to go. I can easily get Friday and Monday off work.
We spend the next couple of hours curled up on his couch talking. Well, I do most of the talking. Battle listens, and I mean intently listens, as though he’s cataloging every detail of my life. His eyes rarely leave mine as I tell him about what a social failure I was in high school and into college. How, while my friends were living it up and partying, I chose to stay in and study.
He comments every so often about how my choices were extremely smart. Before long it’s getting late, and I still have to pick up my car from the restaurant, as well as pack fo
r an unexpected road trip.
I’m somewhat disappointed when he drives me back to my car in his truck rather than on the motorcycle. I nearly change my mind about going to Oklahoma with him when he informs me he’ll pick me at five in the morning. Even on a work day, I’m not up before seven, but the riders have to be in Oklahoma City by noon for check-in.
He gets out and opens my door. I step out of his truck, anticipation of a kiss running rampant through my thoughts, but it doesn’t come. The entire night, I waited patiently for him to make a move. He never did, and now I stand in front of him with expectations, but he clearly isn’t going to meet them.
He politely tells me good night and waits for me to get into my car before he drives away. My body may be disappointed, but my heart sings, knowing in Battle’s own way, not escalating anything physically mean he’s wholeheartedly making an effort to prove himself.
After changing into pajamas, I plop down on my bed and power on my cell phone. I turned it off at Battle’s house because I didn’t want to deal with the onslaught of questions I knew would be coming after Battle bloodied Wyatt’s lip, and I raced out the parking lot on the back of a Harley.
As expected, my parents blew up my cell with voice messages, and I have eight text messages from Wyatt. Without reading the texts, I delete them all, knowing his words are merely an effort to manipulate me or hurt me. I’m through allowing him to do either one.
I debate deleting the voicemails from my parents as well. I can guarantee my father will never accept Battle McCoy. The older I get, the more I realize what a judgmental, self-righteous jerk he can be, and my mother follows along with no real identity of her own.
The last person I want to end up like is my mother, living in the shadow of my husband without any of my own opinions or thoughts. I’d prefer to be like Grammy; an independent woman with a strong mind who wasn’t afraid to speak it, and wasn’t about to be lead astray by a man or anyone else.
The phone vibrates in my hand.
Mom
I exhale my frustration, and hit talk.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, thank God you’re okay,” she says, dramatic enough for a Broadway performance.
I play dumb. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We saw you on the motorcycle. Wyatt told us about who you were with, and what happened.” She pauses, waiting for me to elaborate. Since I don’t have any desire to have this conversation, I stay quiet. “What is goin’ on with you?”
Oh, no. She is not going to make this about me.
“Did Wyatt also tell you he hurt me?” Out of patience, I yell into the phone, “Did he tell you he held my arms down and tried to force himself on me? That he bruised my face?”
“What? That doesn’t sound like Wyatt.”
The affection in which she speaks his name after what I told her slices through my heart.
“Did you even hear me? I said Wyatt hurt me.”
“It’s hard to believe Wyatt would hurt you intentionally. I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”
I’ve had it. “Oh, he meant to, Mother! You and Daddy don’t know Wyatt like you think you do, and your defendin’ him is upsettin’ me.”
“I’m sorry, honey. Are you all right?”
Took her long enough.
“Yes,” I spit rudely into the phone.
After a few seconds of silence, she gets to what she actually wants to talk about.
“Daddy says that guy you left with is dangerous and that you shouldn’t be spendin’ time with him.”
“And how exactly did Daddy come to that conclusion, Mother?”
“He knows everything, dear. You know that.”
“In other words, he heard Battle was a bad guy, but he doesn’t know him personally.”
“No, but … He says the McCoys have a lot of family problems, and that Mr. McCoy is a … Well, I won’t repeat what Daddy said, because it isn’t lady like.”
“Battle isn’t his father. We’re datin’ now. Nothin’ Daddy or Wyatt or anyone else says will change that. I like him.” I drop the bombshell and want to pat myself on the back, but her long drawn out sigh steals my joy, replacing it with an inherent sense of obligation. “You need to talk to your father. He’s worried about you.”
“I will, but I’m tired. Tell him I’m fine and I love him.”
We go back and forth a few more times as she continues pressuring me to talk with my father before she finally hangs up. I don’t want to discuss my feelings for Battle with my father. I know exactly what he’ll say. I’m not interested in hearing how Battle doesn’t have all the qualities outlined on his future husband checklist. He’ll also want to hear my plan now that Wyatt and I have broken up.
But I don’t have a plan. For once in my life, I’m flying by the seat of my pants and enjoying every beautiful minute of the bumpy ride.
After thinking about Battle’s offer, I decide staying in the motorhome with the guys might be fun. It should be, at the very least, entertaining. I text him to let him know.
He replies instantly.
B: You sure about that? I can get us a hotel room.
F: I’m sure. It will be fun.
B: You asked for it. I’ll see you at five.
I see his smirking lips from here.
I’m greeted by a breathtaking smile as I open the door.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Battle drawls, stepping into my house. He oozes a sexy confidence this morning that makes my stomach drop.
“Good mornin’.” I smile.
“You ready to go?” he asks.
I nod. Battle takes my suitcase, and I trail behind him outside to a motorhome parked at the curb in front of my house. The enormous black vehicle with silver and cream design lines stretches the length of my house and covers my neighbor’s driveway. On the outside, it looks more like a coach bus than a motorhome.
“Cooper’s gonna drive this?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Coop lives in this.”
I don’t know why I find Cooper living in an RV odd. It makes sense, considering he travels frequently for the tour.
Battle opens a door in the middle of the motorhome and I follow him inside. After he sets my suitcase down, he glances at Austin who sits in a recliner off to the left. “Austin, you remember Faye.”
Austin lifts his chin in greeting. His eyes never leave the flat-screen television mounted to the wall in front of him.
The kitchen directly in front of me with granite countertops, stainless steel, and ornate tiles, not only puts mine to shame, but it’s considerably larger.
Cooper appears from a door on the right, wearing sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He smiles a boyish grin and waves. “Hey, Faye, nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you again, too.” I smile.
He glances at Battle. “We gotta stop in Wellington and pick up Tuck.”
Battle shrugs. Something in his expression tells me he doesn’t care for Tuck.
“Tucker Ripley?” I ask. Cooper nods. “I thought he was finished ridin’?”
Tucker broke his back at The Saint Louis Fairgrounds over a year ago. Marty and I saw it happen live. About a month after the accident, I read that he wouldn’t be returning to bull riding.
“He changed his mind,” Cooper says before he and Battle exchange a glance.
“His funeral,” Battle says, shaking his head.
Tucker was less than a point behind Battle in the standings. He made a public promise to beat Battle that season. I wonder if Tucker returning is about settling the score. Whatever the reason, Battle is definitely not happy about Tucker riding with us.
“You’re right, B, it is,” Cooper says. “But I don’t want any shit goin’ down in here. You got an issue, take it outside.”
“I’m good,” Battle answers, his hands fisted and white knuckled on the table.
Cooper throws an arm around my neck. “Make yourself at home, darlin’. I’ll be drivin’, so don’t let these two slobs mess up my house.”
He points at Austin. “Especially that one.”
Austin flips him off without ever turning his head. His demeanor this morning conflicts heavily with the loud, good-time seeking cowboy from Dakota’s. He’s been so quiet, I forgot he was here.
“I’ll do my best,” I say. Cooper thanks me and leaves.
Battle picks up my suitcase. “Come with me. I’ll show you where we’ll be stayin’.”
We go through a door on the far left side into a bedroom, again, larger than my own bedroom.
Deep wood cabinetry lines the walls with drawers on the bottom half. A queen-size bed sits center in the room with a padded headboard and sage-colored bedding. Battle drops my suitcase on the bed. “You can use any of the drawers and cabinets to put your things away, and there are hangers in the closet if you need to hang anything.”
I almost laugh, willing to bet the closet is also bigger than mine at home. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes traveling to an open door with a bathroom. Our stay here should be equally as nice as a room at The Plaza.
Battle lounges on the bed while I spend a few minutes putting my things away. I like that his eyes follow me around the room, watching me. After I finish unpacking, I toss my suitcase into the closet and hop up on the bed next to him. I roll to my side and look right at him.
He strokes my cheek, and says, “You’re incredibly beautiful.”
My head lowers and I blush. Due to the early morning start, I didn’t apply any makeup. My hair is pulled back in a pony, and I’m wearing yoga pants and a Thor t-shirt. Wyatt would say I look like a slob, but Battle thinks I’m beautiful. I can hardly contain how happy that makes me feel.
“What should we do for five hours?”
His eyebrow lifts, and I’m pretty sure I know what his dirty mind is thinking. “Are you hungry?”
With his deadpan expression, it’s hard to tell if his question is an innuendo or asked sincerely, wondering if I would like to put food in my stomach. “What do you have in mind?” I ask playfully.
“Breakfast,” he laughs. “Why? What do you have in mind?”
“Oh, no. Not tellin’. You want breakfast,” I tease and stand up. “So, breakfast it is. Up you go.”