by Shey Stahl
I have seventy-five seconds.
To impress.
To execute.
As my tires hit the ramp, everything feels exactly right. I ride up the ramp, launch the bike and initiate a 360 flare. In those seventy-five seconds, I do a backflip seat grab, flair 540, and end with the kiss of death backflip and land it with no hands.
You’re holding your breath, aren’t you? Is your heart beating a million miles an hour like mine?
I land it. Like I had any doubt, but still, it’s landed perfectly with no hands. Rolling to a stop, I let go of the bike and raise my hands up in the air and rip off my jersey.
The next ten minutes are crazy with cameras in my face and I can barely catch my breath. I had no idea I could pull that off, let alone land a cumulative score of 99.9. Fuck you, .1 percent but whatever. I’ll fucking take it.
Amberly and River find me in the rider’s paddock after my scores announced.
“I fucking love you,” I breathe against Amberly’s cheek, kissing her.
Things have most certainly changed between Amberly and me. Good things. Not only is there a lot of sex happening, daily, ever since I told her I loved her, we’ve had this connection I can’t describe. Made me want to kick myself for not telling her sooner. I should have told her when I was five, or maybe I did and she didn’t listen. Actually, I think I did and she kicked me in the balls.
You’re probably wondering why I waited so long to tell her. If you are, hello, do you not remember everything I told you about my childhood and well, my own idiocy? In truth, I’m not sure I understood the meaning of the word.
Only now I do. In more ways than one.
Do you see that guy covered in sweat, holding a first-place trophy in his hand? Okay, look at his feet. Do you see the little girl with his eyes staring up at him?
That’s love. And I never knew I had a place in my heart for it, until she came along and filled the void.
I love her enough. Enough to appreciate there’s more. Enough to fight for her even when she’s imperfect. It’s not just a feeling, or something I should do. It’s a decision, a judgment, and promise. One I will give, unconditionally, and finally know the meaning behind it.
Reaching down, I pick her up. She smiles. The kind of smile where you know it’s not forced. She means it. “I love you, Daddy.”
She could have said anything to me, but she said what I needed to hear.
I kiss her cheek. “I love you too, Raptor.”
She giggles that I remembered her nickname she gave herself.
You didn’t think the story would end there in Vegas, did you?
Maybe you did and you’ve stopped reading. But then you’d miss out on the best part. Ready for the happy yet unconventional ending? Here it is.
I hadn’t given much thought to how I’d spend Thanksgiving. I knew I needed to do something special for River to honor her parents, or maybe remember them for her. I didn’t want her forgetting them. She may have chosen Tiller and me as her earth mommy and daddy, as she so sweetly put it, but it didn’t change the fact that Cullen and Ava were her parents.
The day we got back from Vegas, Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my mother called to ask what time I’d be over for dinner. I knew I didn’t want to go. River didn’t want to go. And I couldn’t bring myself to make her go someplace she didn’t want to. She wanted to be at the Sawyer mansion where she felt comfortable.
“About that,” I say to my mother, skirting around the topic and then eventually saying, “We’re having dinner with Tiller and his family.”
And believe it or not, it ended there. My parents didn’t throw a fit when I pointed out that River needs to make new happy memories on the holidays and it’s important to let her have a say in it. Sure, I might be letting her walk all over me and dictate her days, but I like to think I’m doing it within reason.
It’s the morning of Thanksgiving when Scarlet, Roan, Willa, and I are in the kitchen getting the turkey ready.
“How many people are coming?” Scarlet asks, staring at the turkey and then her phone in her other hand. She’s not much of a cook.
“Ten?” Willa guesses, filling up Berlin’s sippy cup of milk and then handing it to her. She’s the only other one up. River, Tiller, Shade, they’re sound asleep upstairs. Ricky’s on the couch snoring. Not sure how, or why he ended up there last night, but he did.
Scarlet sets her phone on the counter. “Roan. . .” She pauses and his blue eyes, not nearly as intimidating as Tiller’s, drift to hers. “Is Ophelia coming by chance?”
Do you notice the way his eyes narrow on hers? What about the way his jaw tenses? We all do.
“College,” he answers, shrugging, as if it’s no big deal.
All of us, well, me and Scarlet stare at one another. Willa’s busy with the baby now. “That sounds bitter, doesn’t it?” Scarlet asks, smiling like she’s delving into Roan’s deepest secrets. “What’s going on with you two?”
“I didn’t touch her!” Tiller says, coming up behind me in only a pair of shorts. He wraps his arms around my waist and brings me flush against his chest. Then he turns me around and pins me against the refrigerator next to Scarlet and Roan. “By the fucking way, woman.” Oh man, that glare. . . what did I do? Wilting under the intensity of his stare, I swallow, trying to wrack my brain for anything I might have done to piss him off last night.
“What?”
Keeping me pinned against the fridge with one hand on my throat, not hard, don’t worry, he’s not beating me, but it’s strangely incredibly sexy and I find myself turned on by it. Until he gives me that psychotic stare I know so well and reaches for Roan. He grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him against his side. “When did you kiss this motherfucker?”
I stare wide-eyed from Tiller to Roan, and then Scarlet, who’s now smiling like this is the best day of her life. She’s not looking at us. She’s watching Shade, who’s holding Berlin and rubbing her back after she nailed her head on the coffee table. Ignore them. Swing back to Roan. He’s smiling too, but not because he kissed me, but because Tiller’s pissed off at him. These two will forever be fighting about something.
I swallow, my throat constricting around Tiller’s grasp. He loosens it, eyes intent on mine. Nothing but silence and his eyes tracing my neck to my lips, then looking straight into my eyes searching for the truth. I’ve lost the power to breathe. Almost literally. He looks scary, doesn’t he? It’s not that he’s insane, at least I don’t think it is, but he barely sleeps and that in turn makes him look mean. But then his jaw flexes, the muscles in his arm tightening. My pulse beats steady against his fingertips. “When?”
“The night you fucked her,” Roan taunts, lying, pushing back against him.
I kick at Roan. “Knock it off. Don’t provoke him even more.”
Tiller lets go of me and in a quick movement, he grabs a knife from the counter and shoves it against Roan’s throat. “You better be fuckin’ lying or I’ll slit your throat.”
He’s lying. At least we hope the hell he is, but judging by Roan’s laughter, I’d say he’s only 30 percent serious. It’s when Roan gets pissed off that Tiller’s holding a knife to his throat that it really gets interesting.
Willa grabs the turkey from the counter and moves it. “Not this year, dudes. We’re eating this meat this year.”
“I bet I could get your girl to eat my meat,” Roan provokes, struggling against Tiller’s grip on him.
Scared they’re going to hurt one another, I grab Tiller’s shoulders. “Don’t kill him. We need to make good memories for River, not ones of bloodshed.”
That is the only reason he lets go of him. Roan shoves him when the knife’s dropped. “It was two years ago, asshole.”
I have to physically stand between them when Tiller points in his face and warns, “You kiss her again, I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”
“Whatever, man.” Roan rolls his eyes and walks away.
Scarlet catches him. “Wait, so no
Ophelia tonight?”
He shakes his head and keeps walking upstairs.
I look at Tiller, who’s now pouring himself a cup of coffee and smiling. He’s so deranged, but I love him for it. “Was that necessary?”
He nods, winking. “Incredibly so.”
Willa wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get this turkey in the oven.”
HOURS LATER, THE smells of turkey filling the vast corners of the Sawyer mansion, football on the television and kids playing at our feet, I sit peacefully at the kitchen island preparing an assorted tray of sliced meats and cheeses. Do you think that’s the truth?
Well, it sort of is. I am in fact at the kitchen island assorting meat and cheeses. But it’s certainly not peaceful. It can’t be at this house because while the girls are slaving over dinner, and by girls, I mean Willa and me, Scarlet is drooling over Shade and Berlin again, the peaceful part is the lie.
Scarlet sighs. “Do you think if I had a baby with Shade, it’d come out wearing sunglasses?”
So that’s what she’s daydreaming about.
Shade hears her and quirks an eyebrow at her. He’s sitting on the floor with Berlin and River while they use him as a human jungle gym. Look at his face. He doesn’t seem appalled by the idea either.
My attention shifts to Tiller, Roan, and Camden outside on dirt bikes, making bets as to who will make it across the pool before they hit the cactus on the other side. It’s an awful idea.
“They’re not really going to do that, are they?” I ask, pointing outside. It’s not even that they’re trying to jump the pool. They want to glide across the water without sinking.
Scarlet shrugs. “I hope they do, and Tiller lands in that cactus and the spines get stuck in his ball sac.”
“Scarlet?” I gasp, slightly alarmed at the detail of her daydream. “Why would you wish that upon him?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, downing her third glass of wine. “Tiller and I have history with that cactus, and he owes me.”
There’s a lot I don’t know, apparently.
Ricky leans into Willa beside me, kissing the side of her neck as he moves her hair out of the way. It’s sweet and tender and not at all what you usually see between the two of them. “I hate to break it to ya, Scar, but you jumped off the roof and landed in the cactus. Tiller didn’t force you.”
Setting her wineglass forcefully on the counter, she scowls at Ricky. “He called me a pussy.”
Just then, the scream of a two-stroke fills the house and we see Roan shoot across the backyard and attempt to glide smoothly over the pool and not hit the boulders and cactus on the other side. He gets about ten feet and sinks.
Shade perks up. “What a bunch of fools. I gotta go show them how it’s done.”
And then he’s added to the mix. I might add, none of them are wearing riding gear, but they at least have helmets on so there’s that.
Camden tries next, on the dirt bike Tiller gave him for his birthday, and hits the diving board and we’re pretty sure he’s broken his wrist, but he won’t complain. Gingerly he jumps out of the pool, gets his bike out, and then Tiller goes for it.
Guess what happens?
He lands in the cactus.
Shade is the only one who actually makes it all the way across the pool without sinking and doesn’t land in the cactus.
Remember when I said about the unconventional ending? Just wait. That’s not even the worst part.
The next hour is spent pulling cactus spines out of Tiller’s back and leg while he moans in pain about his stomach hurting. “Will you hold still?” I ask, sitting on his legs to keep him from moving. River’s right beside me, holding a wet towel to his face because he says he’s hot. “I can’t get these out if you keep moving.”
He doesn’t stop moving. To our left, Camden’s getting bandaged up by Shade. “It’s broke, Cam-Man. Want us to take you to the hospital?”
“Don’t be a pussy!” Tiller shouts at him, only to have River stick the cloth she’d been holding against Tiller’s head into his mouth.
“Shhh. Sleep.” I’m not sure if she’s trying to kill him or make him relax.
Camden shrugs. “I think I’ll be okay.”
Roan comes back downstairs, reaches for a handful of meat on the tray I’d been arranging before I had to play nurse, and stares at Camden. “Which hand ya spank it with dude?”
Camden’s brow furrows. “What does spank it mean? You mean spank someone?”
Tiller’s head raises off the floor, grinning, but then he looks at River. I know he’s thinking something dirty, but he doesn’t say it and flops his head back against the wood floor.
“No, I mean spank something,” Roan clarifies.
Camden stares at them like they’ve lost their minds. They have.
Shade and Roan both start laughing and attempt to explain in terms of not saying anything River and Berlin might repeat. They make the awful mistake of using hand gestures. For having been around the Sawyer brothers for the last three years, Camden is still awfully naïve. Sort of like I am. But he doesn’t get it when Roan takes a cucumber from the counter and strokes it.
Or maybe Camden does because he points to the cucumber, his cheeks red. “You mean like my penis?”
Shade raises his eyebrows. Roan laughs. Ricky picks Berlin up and takes her into the other room. Tiller groans, curling into himself.
“Seriously?” Camden shakes his head, finally understanding what they mean and slides off the stool with his ice pack and duct tape cast.
It’s in the midst of all this, Willa forgets the sweet potato casserole in the oven and burns the marshmallows on the top. Ricky comforts her. “Can’t be any worse than last year. At least we get to eat the turkey this year.”
“What happened last year?” I ask, standing up and leaving my moaning boyfriend on the floor in the kitchen.
“Roan stabbed Tiller,” Scarlet tells me, pouring herself another glass of wine. She offers one to Tiller, because he’s still moaning in pain, but he shakes his head, looking pale.
Roan chuckles, helping Willa pull the turkey out of the oven. “The knife slipped.”
“Bullshit, asshole,” Tiller yells, then curls into himself again.
River holds his head in her hands. “It okay. I save you.”
TWO HOURS LATER, dinner is served and even I’m drinking wine because Tiller is driving everyone completely crazy because he’s one, in pain, and two, refuses to take anything for it because of his addiction to pain killers he used to have.
“Dude, you hit your back on the cactus, not your junk,” Shade notes, looking down at the floor where he’s still lying. “Why are you holding your stomach like that?”
I peek under the table. He’s holding his right side, sweating and pale as a ghost.
This time he doesn’t tell us to fuck off or even speak. He just holds his side in a fetal position. River glances up at me. “He hot.”
I set my napkin on the table. “Is he?” Scooting out from the table, I crawl under the table to check on him. He is hot, like burning up and drenched in sweat. “Crap.”
And here’s where our unconventional Thanksgiving rings true. We spend the rest of the evening in the ER since Tiller’s appendix has ruptured and he needs emergency surgery to get it out.
Six hours later, he’s out of surgery, refusing pain killers, and lying in bed with River in his arms. “Are you sure you don’t want something to take the edge off?”
Do you see the distant look to his eyes and the slow, subtle shake of his head, his eyes heavy and bloodshot? He’s fighting it, but stubborn as always. River’s sound asleep on his chest and he pats the other side. “Come over here.”
I do. I’m not in the mood to argue with him because I did ignore his whining for long enough. Curling up next to him, he kisses my temple. “You’re enough.”
And that’s where it ends, for now, with three of us in a hospital bed. One sleeping, one in pain, and one irrevocably in love.
You see that girl at her computer? The one wearing the same clothes she wore the other day, and the day before that? The one with messy hair and a pink Yeti coffee cup, mostly ice, little bit of coffee?
Do I look tired? Do I look stressed out? Do I look broken?
Sometimes I feel that way. It’s been a trying year since my dad died and I can honestly say it’s been a year of growth for me. Not only personally, but mentally.
I’d like to think I put more of myself into my words and obsessive over them just the same. That will never change.
I’d like to thank my husband for always believing me and never questioning my ability. Every time I want to quit, or tell him I don’t think I can take the constant negative thrown my way and the online hatred I receive from authors, he tells me, “What would that prove? Nothing. You keep writing and rise above it.” He’s the most loyal, honest person I know and I thank God every day he’s in my life. He makes me a better person.
My daughter, this girl is so full of fire and drive I can’t wait to see what she does with it. She’s another reason I keep writing. What does it tell her if I simply give up because I can’t take the negative any longer?
Becky, I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes but I can tell you I fucking adore my little aussie friend! Thank you for pushing me to be a better writer and exploring my abilities as a writer.
Thank you to my family. I know it’s been a rough year and we’re not always crossing paths at the same time, but I love you.
The girls in my BETA group and the members of SheyNanigans, thank you so much for staying by my side through all this. Thank you! I hope I did Tiller justice for you!
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.