So that was what we did for the next hour.
Tried little bites of cake.
It was okay… I could do a way better job if I had the time… it just wasn’t satisfying enough to get the job done.
Which meant, an hour later when we were leaving, I had a hankering for an honest to God piece of cake.
Not a small piece of one.
“So…”
I looked at my brother, waving goodbye to Belinda who stayed inside the house at the table.
When we finally got outside, he stopped me with a worried look on his face.
“Rockett has started running track,” Danny said, looking at me like I might blow at the news.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, trying to sound calm but coming off as anything but. “What’s she running?”
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like where this was going.
“Is she any good?” Six added to my question. “Because, according to her comment about her ‘mental health’ last time she came around, she needs some sort of stress relief to get rid of all of her assholeness.”
Danny looked at me then, ignoring Six.
“She’s running the eight hundred, and she’s… decent.” He looked at me with a sparkle in his eyes. “You could beat her right now without even training.”
I probably could.
Though I had curves, I was also an experienced runner who ran for fun. Every Tuesday, I ran at the track. Every Monday-Wednesday-Friday I had a semi-decent run of about five miles and cross-trained. Thursdays were my heavy lift days. And I usually took Fridays and Sundays off to recover. On Saturdays, I had a long run that usually consisted of ten to thirteen miles.
I also ran every single half-marathon that I could get my hands on, as well as a few full marathons that took a little more time for me to train for.
But those were getting fewer and further between now that I had to work so much at the store.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I pushed, knowing it was going to be bad.
“Dad hired her one of the best coaches in the country to get her to the Olympics,” Danny said, frowning fiercely.
My mouth… fell open.
There was no other word for it.
I was flabbergasted.
Stunned.
Enraged.
I’d begged. Begged.
I’d begged my father so much to get him to hire me a running coach when I was younger that I was still blue in the face at twenty-six.
To have him hire my sister one, when she was likely shit compared to me—I wasn’t conceited, I was just good at what I did—was a blow to my soul.
“I see,” I said carefully. “I guess I’ll be seeing her at the track.”
Danny’s grin widened.
He knew that he’d lit a fire under me.
He also knew that I wasn’t going to take the blow lying down.
Not anymore, anyway.
Not when my father had already slipped so far down into disgrace that he likely would never pull himself out again.
“I just wanted you to know so that it wasn’t a surprise to you when you heard it through the grapevine,” he admitted.
And I would be hearing about it.
I wasn’t an unknown in this small community.
I was at the track or running more than I was home.
When people saw me outside of work, I was running.
When I wasn’t running, I was sleeping.
That was my life.
Rinse and repeat.
So someone would tell me that my sister was also getting trained for the Olympics.
If not because they liked me, because they knew it would piss me off.
There were two sides of Souls Chapel, Texas.
One that sided with me and hated my dad for what he did to me on a daily basis.
Then the other side that stood with my father, boycotted my store, and genuinely tried to stay the hell away from me because I’d ‘done my dad wrong’ when it came to the oil thing.
Which was funny because I hadn’t had any choice in that.
I’d been a damn young kid.
How was I supposed to say ‘no, that’s not fair’ when my parents, the people that were supposed to love me no matter what, treated me like dog shit?
“Thanks for telling me, Danny,” I said softly. “I’ll see you for the rehearsal dinner next weekend?”
Danny nodded. “Get back out there, kid.”
Danny was a firm believer that I could still make the Olympics.
I could, too.
At least, that was what everyone told me, even my old coaches from high school.
The average age for a marathon runner right now in the United States was twenty-eight.
That meant that I would easily be able to fit right in.
But… my mind said one thing and common sense said another.
One day, I might be able to find the courage.
But today wasn’t that day.
When Six and I finally made our way to my car, she waited until Danny was closed behind the door of his house to say, “Why doesn’t he hate your dad for what he’s done to you? I mean, he pretty much knows that his father is a douche to you. Knows that he treats you like a redheaded stepchild. Which is even weirder because you’re the middle kid. Nor is it because you’re a girl. I mean, he loves Rockett and Nora.”
I’d been asking myself that same question for years, and I still didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t say that I blame him. If my father was being mean to Danny and not me, I would still want my father to be in my life.”
“No” —Six gave me a disgusted look— “you wouldn’t.”
She was likely right.
I probably wouldn’t.
“Then, I don’t know,” I told her. “I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER 5
Think twice before you speak. You may be able to come up with something more insulting.
-Text from Crockett to Zach
CROCKETT
The phone rang twice before it was picked up, and I knew in the moment that it took whoever it was on the other end of the line fifteen seconds to say ‘hello’ that it was my stepmother.
“Hello?” She sounded pissed off that she’d actually had to answer her own phone.
Which was laughable because it was her cell phone, not her landline. If she wanted someone to answer it for her, she’d have to actually give it to them to answer.
Which she wasn’t willing to do.
“Hey, Melody. Is Dad there?” I asked, hoping for a good day when she wouldn’t give me a hard time for wanting to speak to my father.
Apparently, this wasn’t the day.
I watched as smoke billowed from my car, and I knew for a fact that there would be no patching up the beast this time.
“He’s at your sister’s track meet,” my stepmother replied.
I blinked slowly in surprise. “He’s what?”
“He’s at her track meet,” she repeated. “Why?”
Like I needed a reason to call my father.
Speaking of… why the hell didn’t he have his phone on?
I had a huge lump in my throat, and I was not very happy.
Why was I not happy?
Because I’d run track in high school.
Do you want to know how many track meets my father came to of mine?
Zero.
Because he couldn’t be bothered leaving work long enough to make it to one.
Granted, they were a little far away, but they hadn’t been for the first year of high school.
And still, he hadn’t come.
I’d been a near Olympic medalist in high school.
In fact, I’d gone as far as to try out for the Olympic team.
I’d made it, too.
Except, when I realized even that hadn’t impressed my father, I’d quit.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have quit.
I should�
�ve stayed exactly where I was, kicked ass at running in the Olympics, and then had something to tell my kids about.
But instead, I’d let my dad’s attitude affect me and had quit because I’d been hurt.
Very hurt.
“So that brings me around…” My stepmother had been talking throughout my entire contemplation of how shitty of a father my father was to me. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
No, I wasn’t bringing a date to the damn wedding, and she damn well knew it. I’d told her on countless occasions that I didn’t have one to bring, yet each time she asked, she acted like my answer of ‘no’ was a surprising answer.
Which pissed me off because she even played acting surprised poorly. She wasn’t surprised in the least. Even worse, she wasn’t ‘surprised’ because she honestly thought I wasn’t able to get a date to the wedding… or ever.
She thought I was incapable of attracting a man. Something that I’d heard her say before to my dad when I’d been over for dinner once.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m having car trouble, Melody,” I said. “I can barely hear you due to all the cars passing by. I’m on the side of a busy highway and I seriously don’t have time to talk about the date that I’m bringing to the wedding.”
“So you are bringing a date.” She heard what she wanted to hear. “Make sure that he’s presentable. Don’t be bringing a man to a black-tie affair that’s never even worn a tie before, let alone a three-piece suit. And, for God’s sake, don’t rent an escort because you’re lying to me about actually having a date.”
At this point, just to shut her the fuck up, I’d even be willing to deal with Bruno if that was what it took.
I would be bringing a man to the wedding with me, and honestly, Bruno might be the perfect fit.
He’d be brash, wouldn’t give a fuck who he offended, and I could count on him not to talk to me all night and piss me off.
It sounded like a win-win situation.
“So, he said he got your call, but he was recording your sister doing the high jump and ignored it,” Melody said once she came back on the line. “He said he won’t be able to leave to come help you.”
Not he can’t. He won’t.
“But, he said he’d call you. So, bye.”
My stepmother hung up just as my father’s face filled the screen.
I wanted to punch him in the throat.
“I can’t be there for another hour at least,” my father started without preamble. “There’s about forty minutes or so until your sister’s next race. Then I have to run and take your stepmother some food. And then I can be there to pick you up.”
In turn, knowing I was on the side of a major highway, broken down and likely in danger, he would choose to stay at the meet where he could come pick me up and get back before her heat. Then he’d choose to take my stepmother fucking food before coming to get me.
Yes, it was painfully obvious sometimes where I ranked in my father’s eyes.
“Don’t fucking worry about it,” I croaked. “I’ll call a tow truck.”
“Well, don’t tow it to my shop. I won’t be there until Monday afternoon,” my father said as he ignored my language. “I don’t want anyone trying to break into my shop because your car is sitting out front.”
I looked at my car.
Yeah, I wouldn’t be towing it to his shop.
I’d be towing it to the dump.
Then I’d go buy a new one.
Because this was the last fucking time I was calling him.
The very, very last.
But I couldn’t stop the curiosity at wanting to know why my father, who was anal to the extreme about when he got to the shop, wasn’t going to be there on time.
“Uhh, why?” I asked. “You’re there every Monday at the crack of dawn. Is something going on?”
Then he ripped my heart out for a second time that day.
“I’m buying your sister a horse. We can’t get her anytime but Monday during the day.”
My father’s words from a few years back hit me like a sledgehammer.
No, you can’t have a horse. You’re not worth that much money.
Pulling my phone away from my ear, I hit the end call button and then went a step further.
I completely deleted my father from my phone.
I was done.
I was done trying to be something I wasn’t.
I was done trying to get the attention of that man when he didn’t want to give me anything, not even a fucking hello.
So. Damn. Done.
Needless to say, when the roar of a bike went from a throaty throb to a dull roar as it slowed down behind me somewhere, I couldn’t even muster enough gumption to lift my damn head.
That was because I was crying.
I couldn’t stop, either.
After so many years of trying to get my father’s love and attention, he’d finally put the last nail in the coffin.
I didn’t even look up when I heard the thud of bootsteps on the asphalt road I was currently standing on.
I did look up, however, when I heard my name rumble out of what I knew to be a sexy mouth.
“Crockett?” Zach asked quietly.
I looked up, startled to hear my name.
I’d assumed it was just some random person stopping to check out my car.
Not him.
My head snapped up and I stared at Zach with dawning horror.
Not only was I dressed like utter shit, but I was also crying, which made my face blotchy and puffy.
Not to mention I likely had raccoon eyes.
“Uh, hey.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”
He pointed to the car of mine that had finally stopped smoking.
“Checking on you,” he said. “It’d be rude of me to leave one of the upstanding citizens of Souls Chapel, Texas on the side of the road.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t.
Instead, I allowed him to keep talking. “You need a ride? Did you call a tow truck yet?”
“A ride, yes,” I confirmed. “A tow truck, no.” I paused. “I don’t know where to send it.”
His head shifted slightly. “I have a friend that owns a garage. Works there in his spare time.”
A friend that owned a garage but only worked there in his spare time?
Was it me, or was that weird?
“Umm.” I paused. “I don’t think I want it fixed.”
That was truthful. At this point, I decided that it was worth the hassle of getting a new car that I knew wouldn’t break down on me in the middle of nowhere.
He tilted his head. “It’s a decent car. You could fix it for cheap and then trade it in, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Actually, that wasn’t what I was getting at. I didn’t know what I was getting at.
“Anyway,” he gestured toward the bike. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
I bit my lip, unsure of what to do.
Getting on that bike would mean wrapping my body around Zach, who I’d been watching so intently over the last six months that it was almost comical.
He entered my every waking and sleeping thought with his piercing eyes and his sexy mouth.
Did I really want to add being wrapped around him to my dreams, too?
That question was slapped down fast when an eighteen-wheeler passed by us so closely that I felt the wind coming off of his truck knock me off balance.
“Shit, he could’ve moved the fuck over,” he grumbled as he gestured toward his bike with a jerk of his chin. “Let’s go.”
That last comment wasn’t polite in the least. It was short.
Was he mad that I hadn’t immediately jumped at his offer earlier?
“Umm,” I said as I passed behind him. “Sure.”
I found myself shuffling over to the bike and waiting patiently while he mounted.
When I mounted the bike behind him, I ended up burning the piss out of my leg when I touched
the tailpipe as I got on behind him.
Luckily, I was wearing jeans.
Unluckily, I could tell that despite the jeans, it was still going to leave a mark.
“You okay?” he asked at my inhaled hiss.
I sat on the seat behind him, then lifted my legs, trying to find purchase somewhere.
He reached down and caught one of my calves, gesturing where to put my feet before letting me go.
“You ever been on a bike before?” he asked.
I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “No.”
“Then you might want to hold on.”
With that parting comment, I was left reaching for him as he started the bike.
It was so loud that it startled me, and I wondered what in the hell would make someone want to listen to this for hours on end.
But as soon as he started off of the side of the road, and the sound of the motor died down to a dull roar as the wind carried the sound away, I realized what it was that was so enticing.
It felt freeing, as if I was on a roller coaster.
That free feeling didn’t get to stay for very long.
He pulled into the driveway of the convenience store closest to where my car broke down and got off the bike. “Need fuel or I’m not gonna make it. I was pushing it trying to make it here.”
My brows rose. “You’re one of those people then?”
“Those people?” he asked with his brows furrowed in confusion.
I watched as he shrugged off my question and went to the pump to insert his card. When it was ready—who the hell put the highest grade in their vehicle?—he looked back at me expectantly.
“Those people that let their vehicle almost run out of gas before they get more,” I said, then pointed at myself. “I’m one of those that starts looking for a gas station when my gas gauge starts reading half.”
His lips twitched. “Yeah, then I guess you can say I’m one of ‘those’ people. Let’s just say the meter on my truck that says, ‘you have thirty miles left until empty’ is very fucking accurate.”
He filled his tank up and replaced the nozzle, which then had me looking at his muscular forearms.
I’d never been attracted to forearms before, but Zach’s were very nice.
Almost too nice.
He had a nice, strong wrist. A watch that sat just over his wrist that was black with a black face and black writing.
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