I nodded, sure he was right. Lor knew her mind, knew her worth, and she was her mother’s daughter: she didn’t let anyone give her shit without giving it back tenfold. I just wished like hell I could say the same for myself.
But the truth was, I couldn’t, and I was running out of time to figure out what to do.
* * *
Stretched out on my couch in my parents’ living room, I teased my fingernails through Billy’s sunny blond hair. He was snoring into my stomach, oblivious to Mama Rose on the TV railing away at her daughter over a bathtub photo shoot. My own mama walked past us on the way to her bedroom, pissy and huffy as she scowled at Billy sleeping on me, but I didn’t care.
I loved him as much as Mama Rose loved that cow act she’d been hauling around vaudeville all those years. I loved him with the moxy of Gypsy Rose Lee, confident and proud and finally on her own two feet. Even if her clothes were on the floor.
I shifted the throw pillow behind my head, checking on Billy again. Starting to drool on my shirt. I rolled my eyes, petting the back of his head. He’d flown in from Sepang two days before, and even though the digital display on my DVD player was reading four in the afternoon, his internal clock was ticking thirteen hours ahead and putting him right around five in the morning.
August and September had passed in a blur. Billy’s schedule lightened up, and we scored days upon days at home that added up to weeks together. Riding horses, riding bikes, working out, and sleeping in. Hanging out with my cousin April and her fiancé, Kenny, as they bickered through wedding details. Dancing the night away at honky-tonks with Lor and Mason. Going to rodeos on the weekends and laughing and winning, making love anywhere and everywhere whenever we could finally get away from his damn brother.
They were a good two months. The best.
October had been a different story.
Billy was gone from 5:00 a.m. on the morning of the first until the end of the first week in November: bouncing from Thailand to Japan, off to Australia, and back to Malaysia before he finally crossed the Pacific into the States. I, however, had finished the Superbike circuit just before Halloween, then gone home alone, and I still hadn’t given an answer to Werner.
He wasn’t mad—it was worse. In an effort to entice me, he upgraded his offer to include a personal security service, trainer, housekeeper, car, another bike for fun at home…the sky was pretty much the limit. All while chomping at the bit to present a brand-new version of me to the world—the right version. But I couldn’t tell Mike and Werner that I’d finally figured out what I wanted most when I needed to talk to Billy about it first.
Werner had actually given me the idea…or maybe it was all those late-night phone calls with Billy. Either way, I had started secretly looking at properties in the Memphis area. Houses, sometimes raw land, the few small ranches for sale. The pickings were slimmer than slim, but I’d found a couple that were…okay. One that would definitely work. It was barely enough space for one horse, let alone two, and it wasn’t our dream, but it was a place to start.
Except I couldn’t talk to Billy about something that big while he was gone for an entire month in Asia, then jet-lagged into oblivion the one week he was home to recover before he left again for Spain. Especially with all he had resting on that race, reputation and career-wise, with the calls to retire getting ever louder. But after that, after Valencia, he would be done for the year and we’d be able to sit down, and I could come clean about everything, and we could figure this out. Together.
We were so damn close.
I held him tighter against me, focused only on the rhythm of his breathing as Mama Rose belted out the chances she didn’t take, the life she could’ve had, and the regrets that would haunt her forever and no fur coat would ever make up for.
Maybe watching Gypsy was a mistake.
When the movie ended a minute later, I had two choices: stay there and watch the credits and maybe the movie again, or wake Billy and put on something else.
Thankfully, my father walked in the front door, home early from work. I smiled up at him, throwing him a little wave. He snorted as he took off his hat and hung it on the hook by the door.
“Hey, sugar,” he whispered, coming over to drop a kiss to my forehead. He headed straight to the TV afterward and the stack of movies I had on the console.
He turned and held up two cases, and I pointed to the left. He put it in and started it for me, walking around the couch and dropping another kiss to my hair on his way to the kitchen.
“Hey, Billy,” he said a little louder than normal.
Billy’s head snapped up. “Sir” popped from his lips before his eyes were fully open.
I smoothed my hands over his back, guiding his head down for him to go back to sleep. “It’s okay, honey. He’s just home.”
Billy yawned into my stomach, and it killed me seeing him this tired. He handled the jet lag better than most of us, but this was the worst I’d ever seen him. “Did Mama Rose take over vaudeville?”
“Nope. Louise became a stripper, though.”
“Dang, and I missed it?” He shifted and turned his head the other way, groaning when the new movie’s opening credits started and the first swell of the overture came on. “Is this the one with the girl named Dumbass?”
“Dorcas,” I corrected, combing my fingers through his hair the other way and messing it all up, just for fun. He needed a haircut, bad. “And yes.”
“I hate this movie. Who needs twenty-five pounds of chewing tobacco?”
“Adam Pontipee,” I answered lightly. “The Oregon backwoodsman with six scroungy brothers.”
Billy looked up at me, his chin digging into my ribs. “Thought it was seven brothers?”
“Adam is the first, the six others make seven, and you should clearly go back to sleep.”
“Ridiculous,” he muttered, looking to the TV. “Put Mama Rose and the stripper girl back on.”
I laughed, shifting my legs a little more comfortably around him. “You’re grumpy.”
“I am grumpy,” he agreed, dropping a kiss to my stomach before he laid his head down. “I’m tired, and I missed you. And Gidget. And I haven’t even got to see him yet.”
I did my best to keep my chuckle out of my voice, but I sucked at it. “I know, honey. We’ll go tonight, okay? Take him a whole big bag of apples.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, snuggling in for another nap. “Wake me up when it gets to the barn raising.”
I shook my head with a smile and soaked him up, Billy getting comfortable enough to go back to sleep, which didn’t take long. He was snoring before Adam and Milly were even married and long before she’d realized that she hadn’t simply married Adam but was inheriting a whole mess of annoying backwoods brothers, too.
She’d just flipped the dinner table on their ungrateful selves when Mason busted through my front door.
“Billy!” He blew in like the whole goddamn world was on fire, tripping over the entry rug and landing face-first on the Berber carpet with a massive crash.
“The hell!” my father snapped from the kitchen.
“Mason!” I growled.
Billy just groaned.
Mason sprang up like a gopher, fixing his hat with his face an explosive red. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he shouted to all of us, then hooked his hands onto the couch and started yelling down at his brother. “Billy! You’ll never guess who just called me!”
Billy groaned again, and I hugged my arms and legs tighter around him.
Mason reached down to shake Billy’s shoulder, but I smacked his hand away before he could lay a finger on his brother. “Damn it, Taryn!” he snarled.
Billy’s head popped up. “Hey!” he warned his brother, always ready to defend me.
“Blake just called! Guess who’s gonna be at the 30th Annual Cornucopia Exhibition? Just guess!”
Billy sniffed and looked at Mason’s face. He sat up. Then he vaulted over the back of the goddamn couch, the guys clasping onto each other’s arms and cheering like they do whenever one of them wins a moto race. Seriously? Billy pulled Mason in close, his forehead to his brother’s and having some kind of bro moment that doesn’t make sense to me as an only daughter. But Billy was also more overprotective of Mason than any big brother I’d ever seen, and the cute factor surrounding it had long worn off. Now, it was annoying as hell.
“Y’all wanna share the good news?” my father garbled from the kitchen table, his mouth full of something salty he probably wasn’t supposed to be eating. Not with his blood pressure the way it was.
I gestured his way. “Right?”
The guys turned toward me, both stumbling to talk over each other so much, I barely caught what they were trying to say. But I definitely made out the words Smashbox, North Carolina, and rodeo.
Goddamn it.
Mason knocked Billy’s chest. “You go. It’s your girlfriend.” He reached up to fix his hat, his face still red and breaths huffing from excitement.
Billy blew out a long string of air, his hands on his belt and his eyes already begging me for mercy. And I wasn’t quite sure what he was gonna say, but I knew where it was gonna lead, and damn if I didn’t already know what my answer was gonna be. And I hated it.
“Smashbox is Mason’s unicorn,” he said, and yep, that was the end of our week together. “Hardest bull he’s ever tried to ride and the one that’s bucked him the best. He isn’t in rodeos much now because he’s getting older, but that also means he’s getting meaner, and…well, Mason wasn’t gonna go to this one because our dad wasn’t gonna be able to make it, but he hasn’t withdrawn yet, and they just…” Billy took a breath and shifted his weight, his voice laced with guilt. “He’s gonna draw him, honey. We know the guy who’s making the matchups, and he knows this is Mason’s bull. He’s gonna draw Smashbox. And this is absolutely not a bull I can let him ride alone.”
Motherfucker. Why couldn’t Billy have been an only child?
“Come with us,” Mason pleaded. “Please, Taryn? We always have more fun when you rodeo with us, and it’ll be really cool for you to be there when I finally get eight seconds on that sombitch.”
“Watch your mouth,” my father rumbled.
Mason tipped his hat at him over his shoulder. “Sorry, sir.”
“I can’t,” I told them, Billy’s face falling further because he was probably just remembering… “My cousin’s wedding is this weekend, and I have to go. It’s Sylvie’s daughter, Billy, and I have to be there for April.”
His hand came up to pinch at his eyes. “No, I know you do,” he said, his voice gritted. He shook his head again and then sighed and looked at his brother. “Mason, man, I…”
“What?” Mason screeched. “It’s Smashbox! That’s my bull!”
“I know he is. I know.” Billy laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But this is a really important wedding in her family, man. And I promised weeks ago that I would go. What if…what if Cannonball goes with you?”
“Oh, so since Daddy can’t take off work, you want me to ask if his boss will?”
“Look, I’m trying to solve this the best I can, all right? What about Frank? Or Adam?”
“Frank’s in Nashville, and you know Adam doesn’t like going to rodeos anymore. Says he always ends up working on his day off.”
I let out a deep sigh. There wasn’t anything else I could do. Didn’t mean I had to be happy about it, though.
I waved my hand. “Go get your damn unicorn.”
“Yes!” Mason launched in the air and slung himself over the couch, pecked my cheek, then bolted for the door. “Thank you, Taryn!”
Billy didn’t move. He just watched me, remorse plain across his features. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s April’s wedding, honey. We RSVP’d and everything. Weeks ago.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Billy seemed unconvinced. “You know I really wanted to go to this, right? My suit’s at the cleaner’s getting pressed right now. And I like Kenny. A lot. He can’t rope for crap, but he’s a good guy, and April’s really—”
“Billy,” I said, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay, honey. Just go.”
He shook his head, drawling, “Okay.” Then he leaned over the couch and grabbed his hat from the coffee table, setting it on his head before he cradled my cheeks in his wonderfully calloused hands. “I will be back as soon as I possibly can, and we will watch a dozen brides with a million brothers as many times as you want.”
I snorted, already missing him. “Your math sucks.”
“Billy! Let’s go. We gotta go,” Mason called from the door.
“Hold on!”
Billy’s kiss across my lips was half-missed and thin, and then he was gone, grabbing his battered old boots with a snatch of his hand, running out of my house, and never once looking back. I flinched when the door slammed behind them, something cold trickling through my veins.
“You’re a good woman, sugar,” my father said from the kitchen.
I sighed and turned toward the TV, just in time for the start of the barn-raising scene.
Two days. He’d be back in two days, three at the most, and I couldn’t take it anymore: not the secrets or the distance or the waiting. When he got back, I was going to tell him about Werner, the nightmare offer to move to Germany, and my decision to turn it down—assuming Billy would agree to be around to make it worth it. Sleeping next to me in the teeny starter ranch I was also going to offer to cobuy as a proposal. Or at least a pre-proposal.
He was worth every penny, every stern look and disappointed whisper I’d have to face in the future from my parents and Mike and others. But nothing was going to change my mind about this.
Three days.
Chapter 15
Billy King—Present Day
Like always, just as soon as Taryn and I were getting somewhere good, I had to go and leave for work.
I look to the coming turn on the racetrack and downshift twice, leaning deep until my knee sliders are grazing the pavement, the world bent and a blur of frozen grass and brown dirt and white gravel curving past me. It’s a sight so rare and pretty, I imagine it’s close to watching a sunrise on Everest. Not just anyone gets to see this, and a lot will die trying.
Adrenaline is coursing thick through my veins as I come out of the turn and punch it, my pulse climbing higher with every tick of my speedometer. I duck low and eye the apex for the next turn. My ankle’s been holding together so far, and the relief is almost too much to keep locked in my chest. I still have a chance of making it back, again.
I’m actually starting to look forward to Qatar—the way the lights sparkle on the track for the night race, and all of us battling our heads off, hopped up on the fans from the first showdown of the season. Almost as much as I can’t wait to get home to Taryn.
My Christmas Eve date clothes were still wrinkled on my bedroom floor when Frank announced that Mason and Lorelai and I had screwed around long enough and we were starting practice. Unofficially, of course, which meant we had to load our bikes onto a horse trailer and sneak off to Frank’s family’s ranch just outside Nashville, where they have a quarter-mile racetrack on their land. A damn fun one, too. But all my excitement and eagerness—the kind that comes with the promise of tire-melting speed—was quickly spoiled by the announcement of a tagalong.
My father took the week off work to come with us and “supervise.” He’s been eyeing me a lot closer since Christmas Eve, and I’m not limping much at this point, but his gaze could catch a hummingbird hiccup, and I’m just barely flying under his radar. I did make sure to ask Mama to call Taryn and tell her, since I’m still operating under the phone embargo. Got a text from Taryn about an hour after we hit the road, wishing me safety and speed and saying she was looking f
orward to a second date when I got back.
Can’t fucking wait. With how badly I bombed Christmas Eve, I’m praying it can only get better from there. But it’s not my prayers that are getting answered lately.
Lorelai creeps up beside me, bent low over her bike and her brown braid whipping out behind her. She’s been kicking mine and Mason’s asses even harder since Dabria Corse called. Not only did they offer to move up Mason from his Blue Gator stock model to a full-on MotoPro prototype, but they offered the same for Lorelai, advancing her from the manufacturer-restricted MotoA.
She’s finally gonna get to race with the big boys on the big toys, and they have no idea what’s coming for them.
I, however, do know. And it isn’t exactly boosting my confidence when I’m already struggling to get back in the saddle with the way my ankle has been aching. At least I can shift gears again, and I think—I hope—it’s all gonna be okay come Qatar. But Frank’s still riding my ass over why I’m slow every second he’s not congratulating Mason. And I’m finally starting to keep up with Lorelai, but damn, that girl is fast.
As we head into the turn, I downshift once, then twice, my eyes noting the braking marker. But she’s overshooting the apex from the inside, and it’s a fucking dangerous thing to do. I hate playing chicken with her.
Don’t flinch.
Don’t fucking flinch.
I lean for the turn, trying to block the sight of her too damn close beside me and creeping closer as the track curves and momentum slings me toward her. Too close, way too goddamn close—
“Fuck!” I tap the brakes as her engine barks and she darts ahead, taking the apex and cutting me off, and I can’t believe I just fell for that shit. If anyone from the circuit had seen that, the laughter would nearly drown out the people calling for Yaalon to replace me with someone younger, faster, and healthier.
When I come out of the turn and hit the straightaway, I check the side of the track. Frank is cheering on Lorelai from the dirt, but my father is screaming at me. Right before he starts waving his arm slow toward his head like he’s out of energy and patience.
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