by A. J. Pine
“Keep it,” he said quietly. Hopefully. “Just in case you change your mind.” He stared at her a minute more as though storing up the vision of her face, then turned around and left.
Trying to hold it together, Jessa dragged herself back to the kitchen, the flowers and envelope weighting her hands.
Carla smiled brightly. “Is everything better?”
“No.” She dumped the gifts he’d given her on the kitchen counter. “He told me he loved me. And I didn’t say anything.”
Her mother’s sigh was both disapproving and sympathetic. Carla leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes so much like Jessa’s honed in on her face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded. “You of all people should be thrilled that I sent him away.” She’s the one who always told her she should be more careful about who she gave her heart to.
Instead of snapping back, Carla gestured for Jessa to sit on a stool.
“Why do I feel like I’m the one in trouble?” She slumped onto the stool. Wasn’t this what Carla wanted for her? To be an independent, strong, unaffected woman?
“I guess I understand where he’s coming from,” her mother murmured as though the admission embarrassed her.
Where he was coming from? “I’m sorry?”
“I loved your father, Jessa.”
“What?” She must not have heard that right.
“It took me ten years of therapy to figure it out.”
“Therapy?” Whoa. Wait a minute. Who was this woman? “You don’t do therapy.” Or at least she’d never said anything.
“Actually, I do.” Her mother’s smile appeared almost apologetic. “You never knew your grandparents. That was on purpose. My father…he was the worst kind of bully.”
Jessa had suspected as much, but Carla had never been exactly open about her own childhood. “You’ve never talked about him.”
“There weren’t many good things to say.” She paused as though she had forced herself to say them now. “He wasn’t abusive, but he was controlling. And he insulted my mother constantly. He treated her like a child. Wouldn’t even let her get her driver’s license.”
“God. Really?” Well, she was glad she’d never known him, then.
“When I left home, I decided I’d never marry. Never fall in love. I thought it made you weak.”
Like her grandmother. Her mom didn’t have to say it. Jessa could sense the feelings of resentment.
Carla reached over and gripped her hand firmly. “But you’re one of the strongest people I know, Jessa. And your father was, too.” Tears glistened in her regal brown eyes, softening them. “He always told me he’d love me forever. Even if I never loved him back. And he did. He sent me cards and letters and gifts all those years.”
The mention of her father sent a wave of grief crashing over her.
“I felt so unworthy,” Carla went on. “I pushed him away every chance I had. I told him to move on so many times.”
“He never did.” Buzz had never gone out on another date. He’d never said why, although Jessa had suspected he hadn’t gotten over her mom. The two of them never dragged her into their complicated relationship, though. She’d had no clue he’d sent her mother letters.
“No. He never did move on.” She laughed a little. “He was so stubborn, that man.”
Jessa smiled, too. Stubborn in the best way possible.
“After you left home, I realized I wasn’t healthy,” Carla admitted, as though somewhat ashamed. “Emotionally. So I started therapy, and it helped me understand how afraid I’d been.” Her lips pursed bravely. “The week before he passed, I wrote him a letter and told him how much I loved him. I was going to go up there to see him as soon as the summer session ended…”
But she hadn’t made it in time.
Her mother’s obvious pain pinched Jessa’s heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” Her head shook. “I guess I was embarrassed. I wasted all those years. We could’ve been happy. We could’ve been a family.”
“We were a family.” Definitely not conventional, but bonded by love all the same. “And at least he knew. Before. At least you told him you loved him.” It changed things, knowing that. Knowing he had everything he’d wanted at the end.
Mom’s eyes sought out hers. They were so solemn. “Fear does strange things to people. It makes them lash out.” An unmistakable empathy echoed through the words.
“You think Lance is afraid.” Yeah, well he wasn’t the only one.
Carla held her hands. “I think he loves you and I think it terrifies him.”
“I can’t help him with that.” Not again. Not this time. He’d probably just push her away like he had before.
Her mother lifted Jessa’s chin like she had so many times when she was young. But this was different. She understood so much more now. Looking back at Carla, she saw a woman who had been wounded, who had spent her life running from relationships. Kind of like someone else she knew…
“How many times have you almost been attacked by an animal you were trying to rescue?” her mom asked quietly.
“Too many to count.”
“Why do they try to attack?”
“Because they’re in a vulnerable position. They feel threatened, and…” As she said them, the words struck her with meaning. “Oh.”
“What do you usually do when an animal feels vulnerable and frightened?” She already knew, but Carla obviously wanted her to say the words.
“I move slowly,” she whispered, tears weakening her throat. “And carefully. I show it I’m not there to hurt it.” Sometimes it took a lot of convincing, especially when the animal had been neglected or abused.
“And you never walk away,” Carla said through a sad smile.
“No.” She’d never given up, even in the most hopeless of situations. She’d always stuck it out, done whatever it took.
“What are you going to do this time?” Carla asked as though she already knew the answer.
Reaching over, she slid the envelope off the counter. “I guess I’m going to Vegas.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lance had hardly stepped his spur inside the doorway to the swanky media reception before a curvaceous redhead cornered him. Up against a wall and way too far away from the bar for his comfort.
“Lance Cortez,” she said in a flirty tone. “I’m Amber Hart.”
He did his best to keep the cringe inside as he returned her dainty handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he said politely, sneaking a glance at the media badge that dangled from a lanyard hanging over her fake breasts. He didn’t recognize the name of the publication. Probably some small-town newspaper or one of those ad publications. They let just about anyone in here.
“So how are you feeling about the final ride?” she asked, leaning into him slightly.
Shitty. Actually, indifferent would be a better way to describe it. For the first five rounds of competition, he’d tried to maintain his focus, but each day that passed was another day he didn’t hear from Jessa. Didn’t know how she was doing. Didn’t know what she was doing. He’d held out hope, and every time he went into the arena, he’d checked the seat number he’d given her. But she hadn’t come.
Even with that distraction, he’d managed to maintain a spot as fourth overall in the competition, which meant he’d have to have a damn near perfect ride tomorrow to take the title.
If only he could shake the sinking feeling that maybe he’d really lost Jessa for good…
Not that Red had rights to any of that information. Avoiding eye contact, he shrugged. “Oh, you know. I feel ready.”
“You sure look ready,” she murmured, stripping him down with her eyes.
Five years ago that little suggestion beaming in her gaze would’ve invited him to take her arm and lead her to the bar, where he’d buy her drinks and charm her all the way up to his hotel room, but apparently Jessa had ruined him for any uninvolved fun because, despite the slinky dress and the imp
ressive curves, this woman did nothing for him. “Um, will you please excuse me, Miss Hart?” He made a quick sidestep and scanned the restaurant over her shoulder. “I should go find my father.” They’d come in together, but in true Luis Cortez form, he seemed to have wandered off. Smart man.
“Oh, sure, okay,” she bubbled. “Here’s my number.” Her hand expertly slipped a card into his jean pocket, patting a little too close to his package. “Maybe we can hang out later.”
“Maybe.” He gave her a smile even though he had no intention of following up.
After he’d left her behind, he worked his way across the room, saying hello to some of the guys he’d competed against over the years and avoiding eye contact with every woman who seemed to be there to snag herself a stag. Finally, he saw Luis sitting at the end of the bar alone, which was exactly where he wanted to be. Head down, he elbowed his way through the lively crowd and plopped down on the stool next to Luis.
His father looked him over. “You look as miserable as a hog who’s had his tail straightened,” he said, taking a pull on his beer.
“I am,” he admitted, signaling to the bartender to bring him whatever Luis was drinking.
“What’re you doing here, son?”
He knew Luis didn’t mean at the party. He meant why was he here when things weren’t resolved with Jessa. Lance inhaled deeply. “Actually…I have no idea.” For months he’d had this clear vision, this laser focus on Worlds. Like the closer he got to losing his career, the tighter he’d held on. Except now he couldn’t for the life of him think why. It suddenly seemed a hell of a lot less important.
“This world…it doesn’t give back to you.” Luis looked at him square in the face, wearing the same expression he had when Lance was a teenage delinquent. “You sacrifice your body—hell, your whole life—and in the end you don’t have much to show for it.”
“So I guess the joke’s on us, huh?” Funny. The only guarantee when you were a professional athlete was that you’d have to retire early. You had to be prepared to walk away and start something new. Walk into a whole new life. No one told you that when you were starting out, though.
“If I hadn’t had you boys when I retired, I would’ve lost myself.” Luis turned the stool to face him. “I did for a while. Took some time to get myself straightened out. I don’t want that to happen to you. You’re a lot like me. The most like me out of all you boys.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Even though that wasn’t how Luis meant it. And he understood. He hid behind his career. Used it as an excuse to block out everything else. He’d learned from watching his old man. He studied his father, still saw that spark of a young cowboy in his eyes, even with all of the lines the years had carved into his skin. “Why couldn’t you stop Mom from leaving?” He’d never asked, but now seemed like as good a time as any, seeing as how he was going to have to deal with his issues if he ever wanted to get Jessa back.
Instead of deflecting the question with a gruff shrug of his shoulders like he usually did when Lance brought up something he didn’t want to talk about, Luis set down his beer. It clanked against the bar top with the tremor in his hand. “Maybe I could’ve. Truth is, I didn’t try.” His solemn eyes lifted and found Lance’s. “We got married young, and your mom…she worried an awful lot.”
“I know. I remember.” She was always fussing over the three of them. Though as they’d gotten older she seemed to detach herself more and more.
“It wasn’t normal worry. It consumed her, made her sick.” His father’s cheeks hollowed. “They’d call it anxiety now. And it was constant.”
“I guess I didn’t realize it was so bad.” But now that he thought about it, she stayed home as often as she could. Didn’t have many friends. Tended to keep them home, too. She never hung around the corral, never went to any of their competitions.
“They didn’t have medication for it then,” Luis said. “No help. And I didn’t know what to do for her.”
“That’s why she left?” Because of anxiety? It seemed like such a simple thing…
“She couldn’t handle it. The fact that all you boys were following in my footsteps. Riding bulls. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She was so afraid something would happen to you.”
Something did happen to them. All three of them. The day she left, she broke them. God, just look at them. All around thirty years old and not one healthy positive relationship among them…
“She didn’t leave because she didn’t love you,” Luis said quietly. “I never wanted you to think that.”
Remnants of the familiar anger stirred. “She could’ve chosen to stay.” She could’ve tried to get help. She could’ve gone to counseling or something.
Luis shook his head. “Anxiety’s a hard thing to understand if you’ve never had it. It’s not just in your head. It’s physical. I saw it in her. It was killing her.” For the first time, Lance noticed a tremor in his father’s head. It ticked, making Lance look away. He couldn’t stand to see it, the evidence of a disease.
“I should’ve tried harder. I wish I would’ve done more. I wish I would’ve at least taken time off to try and help her before it got so bad.”
For the first time, Lance let himself consider the possibility she hadn’t wanted to leave. Maybe she didn’t feel she had a choice. “You think it would’ve made a difference?”
“Maybe.” Luis sighed. “If I’d fought for her. If she would’ve had more support.” He gave Lance a long, steady glare, the same one he’d used when Lance would mouth off as an angry teen. “I know it cut you deep when she left. But it might be time to stop blaming her, son. As a parent you try to do your best with what you’ve got. In her way that’s what she did. That fear she had…it lied to her. Told her you’d be better off without her. I know it’s hard to understand, but that’s the truth of it.”
“Guess I don’t have to understand it.” All these years, he’d tried. And even knowing what he knew now, he couldn’t understand. Luis was right. He hadn’t stood where she stood. He had no idea what she struggled with. But he did know one thing. He couldn’t let fear rob him of loving someone, of letting her love him. He wanted to do better than his mother had. All these years, he hadn’t. When he’d lashed out at Jessa, it wasn’t because he was pissed. It was because he was afraid. For his father, sure, but also for himself. “You regret it?” he asked his father. “Sticking with your career instead of walking away to be what she needed?”
A deep inhale seemed to steady Luis’s tremors. “More than I can say. I was too busy collecting a whole lot of shiny shit that doesn’t mean much.” He looked around the party surrounding them. “Thing is, that’s not my legacy. That room of buckles and trophies and news clippings. No one here gives a rat’s ass who I am now.”
“I do,” Lance argued. His father had done his best for them. In his imperfect way. But it was enough. He’d earned their loyalty, their love, even if he didn’t feel he deserved it.
Hope sparked inside of him, filling that empty coldness that’d hounded him since Jessa had sent him away. Maybe his pathetic, imperfect offering could be enough for her, too.
His father reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “You can leave your mark on this world only in the people you love. Not in the stuff you accomplish. You remember that, son.”
If Luis had said that to him six months ago, he would’ve laughed. But now he was starting to understand.
* * *
“It’s gotta be perfect, Cortez,” Tucker said, pacing on the outside of the chute. “I mean, one hundred percent flawless. You gotta get your leg off him. You need the extra points.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Lance tightened the chinstrap on his helmet. He eyed the bull that snorted on the other side of the fence. Loco Motive made Ball Buster and Wild Willy look like kittens. The damn bull had already taken eight riders out of the competition and had sent two to the hospital.
Adrenaline boiled in his gut, shooting his body temperature
up about a hundred degrees. Damn all the gear they made ’em wear these days. When he’d started out, he hadn’t had to bear half his weight in body armor.
“Stay loose up there,” Tucker instructed.
How was that possible when he felt this tense? He glanced around at the television cameras, all starting to swing his way. The announcers were no doubt detailing his story, his last title from six years ago to now, when he’d barely qualified to be here.
Was Jessa watching? Would she be cheering him on? God, he wanted to call her right now, tell her everything he’d wanted to say to her. But she hadn’t returned any of his messages. Five days. It had been only five days since he’d seen her and yet it felt like five months.
All week, he’d held on to her words. You can win. They’d kept him going. Jessa thought he could do this, so he’d ride perfect. Not for the cheering fans. Not for Luis or Tucker. Not even for himself. For her. From this moment on, he wanted everything to be about her.
The manager gave him the signal to climb up and get into position.
Here we go. He tried to clear his head the way he’d always been able to do. Took some deep breaths, inhaling that manure-tinged scent of the bull. Took about five guys to hold Loco Motive in place while Lance climbed the fence.
Tucker gave him a final pat on the arm, looking a hell of a lot more nervous than him. He couldn’t blame him. Lance hadn’t exactly had a stellar ride this week. Solid, but nothing that could put him on top. Not yet at least.
“You’re on,” the director said.
Lance swung his leg over the fence and slid onto the bull.
Instantly agitated, the son of a bitch snorted and bucked.
Lance got his right hand gripped onto the rope and kept his left hand up. Had to keep his left arm raised, no matter what happened. If it came down, if it so much as grazed the bull, he’d lose points.
The chute opened.
Loco Motive shot straight into the corral, bucking and kicking. Pissed off as all hell.
But Lance kept his form. Left arm waving, right hand fisting that rope so damn hard it felt like his knuckles would break. The arena flashed around him, fragmented glimpses of the crowd, the judges, the scoreboard.