Promise Not To Fall

by Shey Stahl

“The deed?” I ask, raising an eyebrow when Kade’s lost interest, distracted by the arrival of a blonde wearing barely any clothes.

  He watches her walk by then looks at me, smiling. “Right.”

  I pay little attention to those around me, including the ones who stare, pointing as if they know me. They do. It’s hard not to when my face is literally plastered everywhere in this small town as the local hero having won the Professional Bull Riding Championship last year. My brothers and me, it wasn’t always the hero mentality for us here. There was a time when the Easton brothers were hated in this town. So we left.

  And I never planned on coming back until Pops died. He passed away a couple weeks back and the land and house he owned here sold. Needing to clear my head going into the second half of the tour, I offered to come back and take care of it before I had to be in Mississippi in a couple weeks.

  That leaves me here, needing the deed from my cousin.

  “Congrats on the championship.”

  Jesus Christ. Remember what I said about questions? I hate small talk even more. I want to scream in his face, “Give me the fucking title.”

  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I screamed at Kade. I once held him against a wall by his throat for asking me where I was. I admit, I’m a bit over-reactive at times and keep in mind I was sixteen at the time, had just wrecked my dad’s truck and feared having my ass skinned by Stanton Easton, quite possibly the scariest man alive when you’re sixteen and don’t have a driver’s license. It’s all a matter of opinion if you ask me, because I like to think I’m pretty calm. Sometimes.

  To make matters worse, I’m bumped from behind by a group of guys, drinking and shoving one another. My jaw tightens and I right my stance, my shoulders and body stiff. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I want out of here. I hate crowds. And confined spaces. I know what you’re thinking, or hell, maybe you’re not because it’s not like you know that much about me yet. You can gather I’m a professional bull rider, right? That’s all you need to know. The only time I’m ever at ease is when I’m straddling a two-thousand-pound bull.

  “How’s Wyatt?” He has an envelope in his hand now.

  Now he’s asking about Wyatt? My God. He’s trying to piss me off, isn’t he? “He’s fine, man.” I blow out a quick breath trying to rein in my temper, but it’s hanging on by a thread. “I really need to go.”

  He hands me the paper, giving me that “what the fuck is wrong with you” look. It’s not like I’m new to the look.

  I grab it. “Thanks.”

  I’m just about to walk out when he hands me a beer. “Stay and have a beer.”

  A beer? Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Maybe it’ll calm me down a bit.

  “Are you from around here?” a voice beside me asks. I’m outside now, in a field where the party is even louder than in the house.

  I don’t have to look her way to know who it is. Though I don’t know her, this dark-haired, out-spoken one has been doing everything short of flashing her tits in my face. And I gotta say, judging by the six beers she’s thrown back in the last hour, I’m guessing that part’s coming real soon.

  To the west, the sky rumbles, a storm approaching in the distance. “No,” I tell her, leaning into the side of my truck. I lift the bottle in my hand to my lips once more, my eyes focused on the cascades to the west where the sky’s rumbling. It’s a lie. I am from around here, but I’m not going to tell this chick that. I’d like to forget everything that’s happened in this town.

  Trying to step over a boulder, the girl stumbles toward me, trips, and I catch her. It’s by reflex. Not because I’m interested.

  “No.” She glances up at me, smiling. “I’ve definitely seen you before. You’re from here. I’d remember a guy who looks like you. What did you say your name was?”

  Scowling, I bring her to a standing position and drop my hands. “I didn’t.”

  Her glossy eyes widen, and attempt to focus. “Didn’t what?”

  My lips slide into a half grin. “Say what my name was.”

  “So, what is it?”

  This is almost too easy. “Does it matter? You’re drunk enough I doubt you’d remember if I told you.”

  She points a wavering finger in my face, trying to stand still but she sways. “I do know you.”

  “Uh-huh.” I don’t really care if she does. Doesn’t make a goddamn bit of difference because she and I aren’t happening regardless if she knows my name.

  Tossing the empty beer aside, I turn away from crazy chick and reach inside my truck for the bottle of whiskey I stashed under the seat.

  Crackling sparks of a bonfire catch my stare and I lift the bottle in my hand to my lips. Welcoming the burn, it slides down my throat with ease and comfort.

  I shouldn’t be back here, let alone in this field. Fuck this place. Fuck this town and its fucking hypocritical ways. There’s not a goddamn thing I miss about this place, including every memory I have here.

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  Thank you so much to everyone who helped me get this amazing story back out there. Janet, Lauren, Marisa, Nancy, Jill, Ashley, Robin, and Ashley… without your push to do it, I wouldn’t have put this story back out there and made it what it is now. Thank you for always being on my side and pushing me to be the best I can be.

  My family, your support means the world to me. Now let’s go to the Bahamas someday!

  I adored Kendall and Jake. Kendall… in some ways, I’m a little bit of all my characters, but I find myself being a bit of a perfectionist like Kendall. If I can’t do it 100 percent, I’m not going to do it. Hell, I even have a hard time letting my little girl make her own sandwiches because she leaves crumbs! I know, so bad, but it’s a quirk and it helped shaped Kendall and her character.

  Jake… I adore him. I loved how secretive he was and how loyal he became so quickly. I know some of you probably wanted to smack poor Kendall for how she treated him, I know I did, but that’s what makes these characters real. Yes, I know it’s fiction but if I’m going to write, I want the story as real as possible. And then I thought to myself, if a man had acted the way she had in the story, he’d be forgiven immediately and passed off as a bad ass, or an asshole, so I let Kendall be the asshole for once.

  Sommer, thank you for the beautiful cover and giving me exactly what I was looking for.

  Virginia, thanks for sneaking me in for a quick edit! You’re amazing!

  Shey is a USA Today best-selling author, a wife, mother, and daughter. Writing is her passion, giving words meaning, and readers experiences they’ll never forget. She’s a lover of sunsets, dirt track racing, and the south, where her soul wants to be. Currently she’s living in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and daughter and can usually be found near a dirt track with an iced (extra ice) coffee in hand.

  Visit her website for additional information and keep up to date on new releases:

  www.sheystahl.com