When Fall Breaks

by Julie Solano

  “ . . . cuz she’s not that kind of girl! You hear me?”

  “Please Brody, you promised,” I whisper.

  “Oh, so now the two buddies are keeping secret promises to each other?” Pistol pipes in.

  “What are you implying Dip Wad?”

  “Please Brody,” I beg as I feel him slowly move from under my leg and toward the door.

  He turns toward me. In a firm voice he says, “Kaitlyn, I promised I’d try. But enough is enough. I can’t stand aside and watch this cocky little cowboy bully my best friend. You didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “Just let me talk to him alone, Brody. Maybe I can explain. I know you’re just trying to help, but I can see he’s just getting angrier. I mean, think if you walked up on your girlfriend like that.”

  “Okay Kaitlyn, but I don’t like this one bit. I’m right here if you need me.”

  Brody slides over and helps me out of the jeep. As he releases my arm he looks Pistol in the eye and spits, “I’m watching you.”

  “Oh, I’m shakin’ in my boots, preppy boy. Why don’t you butt out and let me talk to my girlfriend. I drove all the way from the valley to see her.”

  “Make it fast. She’s almost late for practice and she doesn’t need anybody else yelling at her,” Brody throws his hand toward the pool, where I’m sure my coach is waiting impatiently for me to join them. I can see the stretch circle starting to form out on the pool deck.

  “Who made you her daddy? Kaitlyn’s a big girl. She can manage her own time.”

  I’ve got to stop this or we’re both going to be having late practices today. “Okay boys, Bro, you should get to practice now. I know you have a commitment tonight that you can’t be late for.” I pat Brody on the arm and let him know it’s okay to go. I walk toward Pistol and try to explain. I’ve got to soften him up so Brody knows it’s okay to leave.

  “Ya, sorry about that, Dimples.” I gently grab the bottom of his shirt, twisting it around my finger. “I know this doesn’t look good, but it’s really nothing. I kinda tripped over the garbage can at school and Brody took me home so I could take a shower.”

  “Oh, so he was with you, while you were showering?”

  “Nnnn. . . .no!” I stutter. “We’re neighbors Pistol. He ran home to get his gear. I just had to get the garbage off of me before I could get in the pool.”

  “Damn it Kaitlyn. You can be such a klutz.” He grabs at the back of his head, frustration evident in his voice. “You always get yourself into these predicaments. And every cotton pickin’ time, who comes to your rescue? Brody Tatum! It’s starting to make me question your, “Friendship,” he aggressively curls his fingers into his famous air quotes, then drops his hands back to his side resignedly. He shakes his head and looks at me with hurt in his eyes.

  I feel horrible that I’ve gotten him so riled up. I need to make him feel better. Draping my arms around his neck, I look into his eyes, and whisper, “Pistol, please don’t worry about Brody. He’s my brother’s best friend; my next door neighbor. You know he’s been in my life since we were little kids. He thinks of me as a sister.”

  “Oh, he thinks of you as more than a sister, Baby Cakes. With that tight ass and firm rack, you think he’s not looking at you as more than a friend? I can guarantee he wants you.” His face begins to soften as he looks me up and down. His speech slows, “I mean the first time I saw you on this side of the hill, I damn near lost it. I practically drove my truck off the embankment watching you jog down the road with Jenna. Bouncing, curly blonde hair, cute little smile, round blue eyes, tight, tan swimmer’s body . . . I honked and waved my rebel flag at you. You didn’t even know who I was yet. Remember that Babydoll?” He pulls his strong arms around my lower back, “Come here girl.” He slides his hands around my waist and wraps me in a strong bear hug. “Look at me Babydoll,” he gently tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear and I begin to disintegrate at his tender touch.

  Now this is the Pistol I fell for. The sweet, sexy bull rider who always made me laugh and told me I was beautiful. “I’m sorry I got so upset. You know I don’t like to share my Babydoll with anyone else.” His cute little dimples begin to appear, and that captivating sparkle returns to his eyes. Goodness gracious, this handsome boy is enchanting when he starts getting all snuggly and cute. “Baby, look at me. If you really want to convince me that you’re just buddies, you’re gonna stop hanging out with him.”

  I look up into his deep, chocolate eyes and softly reply, “I can’t do that Pistol. Our families hang out together. He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s at my house all the time. You’ve got to trust me. We’re just friends.”

  Again, he stiffens, releasing me from his embrace. I drop my arms to my side, clenching my fists in preparation for his response. “Damn it Kaitlyn; that’s so convenient, isn’t it?” he bellows. I see his mood intensify and I begin to back away. He grabs my arm. “I tried to play nice guy, but you listen to me right now . . . You are mine. If you want this to work out between us, you’re going to stay away from Brody Tatum. It’s disrespectful to me, and I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  I tug at my arm, trying to discreetly release it from his hold. He doesn’t let go. I feel a bruise forming as he digs his fingers tighter around my forearm. “Owww, Pistol . . . that hurts,” I try to wiggle my arm free of his grip.

  “Tell me you understand Kaitlyn! You keep your distance from that guy. I’m not messin’ here,” he groans, gripping my arm even tighter.

  As I’m standing there trying to process Pistol’s intense rage, and the emotional roller coaster he just took me on, I hear my brother’s truck engine roaring up behind me.

  His brakes screech as he pulls up on the curb nearly taking off Pistol’s backside. He drops my arm instantly. The door flies open as Caden jumps out and barrels toward us. “What the hell are you doing holding onto my sister that way?” he screams in rage, shoving Pistol in the chest and cocking his fist back.

  I step in between the two tensed boys. “Caden, it’s okay. We were just talking.” I put my hand to Caden’s chest, signaling to stop. In a blink, Brody joins us.

  “Awww man. I’m sorry. I only took my eyes off of them long enough to get my football gear together. I heard you pull up like a bat out of hell. What’s going on? What did I miss?”

  “I was stopped at the crosswalk when I saw this asshole shaking my sister by her arm.”

  “Guys, I’m fine, really.” I turn toward my boys. “It was a misunderstanding. Brody, it’s just like the Jeep. It looks worse than it is. We’re just talking. Really.”

  “Kaitlyn, get in here, you’re late.” I hear my coach shouting beyond the cyclone fence, not far from where we’re standing. “And boys, Coach Woodley is gonna have your hides if you don’t get over to that field right now. I don’t want to see us lose to the Lions cuz our best offense is sitting the bench to second string!”

  I look at all of the boys, and try to give them all gentle goodbyes. Shaking my head apologetically I whimper, “I gotta go! Text you later Pistol. Sorry about everything. Brody, thanks for helping me out today; Caden, I’ll see you right after practice.”

  “Ya, I was about to leave anyway. I just came to tell you that I have to break our date tonight. CJ’s in town, and we need to practice.”

  “CJ?” I question.

  “My new team roping partner from the valley. Kaitlyn . . . I don’t have time to explain all this. Your coach looks pissed.” Sarcastically, he whips his head toward the football field and adds, “And you panties better get to practice. Don’t worry boys. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your precious sister . . .” he pauses, glares at Brody, and snarls “or best friend.”

  Caden turns to Brody, “I’ll take care of Coach Dad. No worries, we’ll get out of practice on time.” Brody nods back to Caden in agreement.

  “We stay til she goes,” Brody and Caden stand firmly in place, arms crossed.

  I lean in to give Pistol a hug goodbye. He turns away an
d heads to his truck. Walking away from me, he growls, “We’ll talk later Kaitlyn.” His rejection stings. Pistol’s hard headedness about Brody’s and my friendship has my mind drowning in a raging sea of helplessness. I can’t give up my friendship with him just because it makes Pistol jealous. He’s stood by my side for over a decade. He’s seen me through the ups and downs of my entire adolescence. I wish Pistol could see that we’re nothing more than friends . . . I drag my hand across my forehead, and I’m reminded of my crazy afternoon with Brody, teasing, giggling, spanking, chocolate kisses . . . yes, we’re just friends . . . the thought of Brody sends that warm fizzing sensation through my body . . . aren’t we? My body goes cold, and I feel the color drain from my face.

  I GRAB MY SWIM BAG, fling it over my shoulder, sprint up the sidewalk, and into the locker room. No one is in there, so I know I’m on Coach’s “Hamburger List.” That would be the list of people he plans on eating for dinner tonight. Darn it, I was hoping to get out of practice by 5:30, but I know I’m going to be pulling lane lines and working tarps for this one. I run into the dressing room and grab my cap and goggles from my cubby, snap up my towel, kick my shoes into the corner, and take off for the deck. “Here coach!” I choke out, winded from the mad dash into the pool. I start spreading my towel on the deck, hoping I can blend in with the rest of my teammates.

  As I work to straighten my towel, I see a shadow circling my feet. “Nice of you to join us today, Ms. Woodley,” Coach says with a hint of sarcasm. A shiver runs down my spine and a bit of adrenaline finds its way through my chest. I’m not used to getting in trouble; when it comes to school and sports, I’m one of those rule followers. Besides, I’ve seen Coach Hendryx eat a couple of my teammates for slacking, and after what I’ve already been through today, I’d rather not endure the pain of his sharp teeth. I give him a pleading look, hoping he won’t call me out about the scene in front of the pool. The last thing I need is for everyone to start asking about Pistol again.

  “Sorry Coach Hendryx, it won’t happen again,” I stammer, looking down at my feet hoping that we can just move on with practice. While my eyes are focused on the ground, I spot Jenna’s feet. I hesitantly lift my head, waiting to make eye contact. “Ahem,” I fake cough, but she won’t look over. “Jenna,” I whisper. Still no eye contact. A little louder, I whisper again, “Umm, Jenna, I need to talk to you.” She turns her back to me and starts talking to McKenna. Oh my gosh, I knew I was in trouble if I didn’t text back. I can’t believe I didn’t get ahold of her before practice. This is such a mess. She won’t even look at me. Could this day get any worse?

  “Excuse me,” I’m pulled from my troubled thoughts by Coach Hendryx’s harsh tone. “Everyone else is getting in the water Woodley, where the heck are you? We’re short on lanes today. The senior citizens are having a water aerobics class in lanes one through three. I told you to grab a partner, a kick-board, and do ten one-hundreds . . . moderate pace. Now go you Hamburger!”

  “Looks like it’s you and me,” the French exchange student, Daemon, walks up beside me and snaps my suit strap. The sting of the snap against my already frayed nerves makes me jump and I ball my hands into fists. I throw my head back, and let out an audible sigh. Do I really have to share a lane with Dipwad Daemon, whose sole purpose in life is to pester people? This day just got so much worse. I shake my head in disbelief at my run of bad luck, grab my gear, and head over to the last lane, rushing over as quickly as I can to create some distance between Daemon and me. I think I’m farther than I am when I feel the back of my heel being trapped between two large pincher toes. “Darn it, Daemon! Not today, please!” I screech, begging the relentless French dip not to mess with me during practice. I whip my head around and send him my “Go die in a rat-infested gutter” glare, when I catch a warped smirk spread across his face. All I can think to myself is, “This jerk is gonna eat my bubbles today.”

  I jump in and take off instantly, kicking furiously through the first 500 meters. Daemon doesn’t have a prayer of catching me. I goggle stalk him for a few laps and no longer see him anywhere near my feet. To my surprise, as I cruise into the wall ending my first set, I feel a pinch to my inner thigh. Shocked, I gasp in enough toilet water to drown an army of ants. I spit, cough, and gag; my eyes bulging in my tight goggles.

  “What the hell, Daemon?” I hiss, splashing a tsunami of water into his eyes. He opens his gigantic mouth to take in as much water as he possibly can and spits it right back in my face. “You’re disgusting,” I snarl, wiping his spit water from my nose and mouth. Before he has a chance to respond, I turn away from him and use his groin to push off for my next set. I kick him hard enough to knock his nuggets up his throat and hear a high screech permeate the water and find its way to my satisfied ears. When I hit the end of the first 25 meters, I feel a hand stop my head. Adrenaline rushes through me when I feel myself being tugged up by the suit straps. Crap. It’s coach Hendryx, and he does not look happy.

  “Woodley, you Hamburger!!! What the hell did you do to your teammate back there? He can’t even pull himself out of the pool.”

  Seething inside, I try to hide the snarkiness in my voice. With a little grin I simply say, “Not sure the French teach their athletes to SWIM during practice. He can’t seem to stay off the wall. Sorry Coach; he got tangled up in my feet. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re right Ms. Woodley; it won’t happen again. You’re going to have a 1000 Fly to think about how we don’t treat our “less skilled” teammates. I want you to see how it feels to need the wall, Kid. Just think of it as a “French Fly; you Hamburger!”

  As I begin my Fly set, I work extra hard, concentrating on my technique. I want to forget about this terrible day, and swim my way out of my depressed mood. I push all distractions out of my overly agitated brain . . . chest press, hip pop, chest press, hip pop . . . I repeat in my mind over and over again. Think about the swim Kaitlyn, think about your breathing pattern, let everything else go . . . chest press, hip pop, press that T . . . The rhythm becomes so automatic, that despite my best efforts, my mind begins to drift. I’m taken back to late spring.

  Brody, Caden, and I were looking for some country fun, when we decided to hit the “Jefferson Round Up,” a great little rodeo out in the valley. Bro took us back behind the corral to visit his cousin Mason, who was getting ready to take on Saddle Bronc. Laughter and competitive banter filled the air surrounding the stalls. Harrowing tales of scars and other battle wounds were being tossed back and forth. The boys were definitely rowdy, getting pumped up for the event. Stetson hats, Justin boots, and Wrangler butts lined the fence, and even more were packed tightly in our small circle. I was enjoying every second of this little country girl’s cowboy fantasy when I looked up to see the hottest dimple-laden smile I had ever set eyes on. Holy hotness, my breath hitched as I took in the full view. Pearly white smile . . . check, chocolaty eyes . . . check, clean cut shave . . . check . . . Mason coughed, “Ahem . . . Earth to Kaitlyn, I was trying to introduce you to my friend, Pistol, here.”

  I glanced over at Mason and realized he was talking about Dimples. I graciously extended my hand, practically whispering my name. A huge smile spread across my face as I felt the flush of red hot adrenaline race up my cheeks and jump out every pore in my scalp. This was the best looking cowboy I’d ever seen, and Mason was introducing us?

  “Honored, princess,” Pistol chuckled, “But I don’t do handshakes with pretty little ladies such as yourself. Come on in here for a good luck hug.”

  “If you insist,” I laughed out.

  He scooped me up and swung me around. His captivating woody cologne wafted around us and left my head spinning. “Just for being a good sport, I’m dedicating tonight’s ride to you Babydoll.” He tipped his hat and gave me a wink. As I melted in a swirl of hormones, he grabbed his riding gear and walked toward the chutes.

  I remember gaping at Mason in disbelief, “Holy hell Mason, you didn’t tell me you had the most adorable cowboy fri
end in Jefferson County . . .”

  “He’s actually been trying to get me to introduce you two ever since he saw you at his sister’s last swim meet. Said you looked like the live version of Ariel from The Little Mermaid. Glad I could finally make it happen. I can give him your number if it’s okay with you.”

  “First let me see if he can go the full eight seconds,” I joked. “Just kidding, friend. Go ahead, but I’m sure after seeing me up close, he’ll change his mind. Besides, I’m no Ariel . . . not to mention, I have blonde hair; he probably mistook me for someone else.”

  “Goodness Kaitlyn,” Brody piped in. “The guy probably just soiled himself being in your presence, and you think he’s not gonna want to text you? I wish you could see yourself through anyone else’s eyes but your own. You’re a walking, talking, Athlete Barbie. I mean, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d go for you,” he chuckled, shook his head, and suddenly turned to Mason. He raised his eyebrows, and said sternly, “You better not be setting her up with a jerk Cuz. I know how these rodeo cowboys are, and from what I’ve seen, they don’t make very good boyfriends.”

  Mason looked at Brody and shook his head, “Okay, Bro. I’ll keep an eye on it.” The seriousness in Brody’s voice melted away and he wished his cousin luck before we headed up into the stands to watch the event.

  I was riddled with nerves and anticipation, not only for the fact that I might hook up with the hottest cotton pickin’ cowboy I’d ever seen, but for the impending ride in my honor. When the horn blew, I saw Pistol fly out of the chute, one hand on the rope, the other in the air, perfect mark-out, and the bucking began. The horse shot across the arena. Up down, up down, Pistol’s legs bounced in perfect rhythm with the bucking. This boy could ride. As the eight second horn blew, he dismounted beautifully and took a few running steps toward the fence. He jumped up on the crossbeam and paused scanning the crowd. He stopped looking around and fixed his eyes right on me. When our eyes met, I saw his gleaming teeth flash through an enormous smile. He extended his arm, pointing right at me and mouthed, “That was for you.”