by J. L. Leslie
“Are you officially turning down our request?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
The waiter chooses that moment to deliver our food, and I’m grateful I have a couple of minutes to compose my response. One where I don’t lose the only sponsor I’ve ever had. To think things through a bit longer, I excuse myself and go to the restroom. My palms are sweaty when I return. Whatever I wind up saying, I can’t lose this sponsor.
“No, Mrs. Peake ‒”
“Miss Peake,” she corrects.
“Miss Peake, I’m not turning down the request. I am simply making a counteroffer. If I can compete in South Carolina, I’ll register for every event Wrangler wants me to for the rest of the season. I’ll do the Bangor Classic, Gwinnett Invitational, and the Vegas Invitational. Most importantly, I’ll kick ass on Team Wrangler in Vegas.”
She glances down at the schedule and back up at me. “I think that arrangement will work. I do have one condition, though.”
“Anything.”
She tells me her condition, and I start to protest. Tell her there is no fucking way I can do that. I’m a cowboy. A bull rider.
Then, I remember how much is at stake. What she has the power to take from me. And I agree to her request. Like I said before, anything to keep them happy.
36
Brynn
I read over my article, correcting grammatical errors and adding additional details. I didn’t conduct a formal interview with Kipton. Didn’t ask him the questions Ronald wanted me to. I’m certain he won’t be pleased, but I’ll get them at the next event. I’ll have his family there as a buffer.
“You got back fast,” Mike comments as he turns on his computer.
“I wasn’t able to stay.”
I don’t go into why or offer any explanation. I could not stay. It’s that simple and all he needs to know. If I had stayed, I would’ve given Kipton false hope, more than I already did. I would’ve gathered the courage to tell him what happened with John. He should know that. He should know so much more about me.
“I’m sure Ronald won’t mind. He’s been chomping at the bit for this story.”
“I couldn’t get the exclusive with Kipton,” I say with a shrug. “He wasn’t in the mood to talk.”
That part isn’t a lie.
“The guy has gabbed to you, and only you, each time you’ve asked for an interview. Don’t tell me he’s getting a big head now that Wrangler is going to make him a household name.”
“Yeah,” I respond absentmindedly. “Wait, what?”
“They broke the news on Instagram about an hour ago. They’re using him to launch their underwear line. Said they want the world to see what a real cowboy looks like and couldn’t think of anyone better than the rising star of bull riding who just happens to be a rider they sponsor.”
I burst out laughing. “There is no way Kipton agreed to being an underwear model. He’s…he’s…shy.”
“There’s a difference in being quiet and being shy. Besides, when your sponsor makes a request, you can’t turn it down. He can’t risk losing the momentum he’s gaining, and if Wrangler were to drop him, his career could be on the line.”
I grab my phone and go to my Instagram account. Sure enough, the announcement is there — the likes growing by the minute. I read and re-read the post from Laura Peake.
“Trust me, if he wears underwear the way he wears his jeans, men will want to wear Wrangler underwear too, and women will want to take them off!”
Ugh. I roll my eyes. I can’t believe this woman convinced Kipton to be photographed in his underwear. Correction, Wrangler underwear.
If I had stayed, would he still have agreed? That question runs through my mind, but I know the answer. It’s like Mike pointed out. He couldn’t turn down his sponsor’s request. I don’t know what I hate more. The fact that he’s doing something I know he won’t enjoy or the fact that I know a lot of women will enjoy seeing him in his underwear.
Before I can dwell on it too long, I get a text from Shannon asking if I want to do lunch since she’s in Chapelwood for the day. I haven’t been back to yoga class since the night Kipton was there. I’ve avoided Shannon’s calls, not wanting to explain who Willow is. Not wanting to explain why I’ve been lying. It’s time I suck it up and tell the truth.
I let her know I’ll meet her at Happy’s. Lunch date planned; I work on finalizing the article. I submit it to Ronald, knowing he won’t be one hundred percent pleased, and open my next work in progress.
The school is undergoing educational reform, and I’ve been reporting on their progress. They will have an official special education department. When Willow started kindergarten, they had no special education department. No individualized educational plan for her. No idea how to handle a child with Down Syndrome. They suggested she be homeschooled, but Kaler and Jenna fought that. I helped when I got back to town, and together we fought for my daughter’s education. I’m happy the school is finally doing what’s right. It’s long overdue.
I make good progress on this article, which is part of an ongoing story, before I click to save it and head out for lunch. I’m tempted to call Kipton and ask him about the modeling gig, but I don’t.
I walked out on him during the night. I told him I loved him, then I left. I have no right to grill him on his choices.
I walk into Happy’s and spot Shannon at a table, waving me over. I start in her direction when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see John with a to-go box in hand.
“Well, hello there,” he states, smiling.
“John, it’s good to see you again.”
“The other night was, it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time,” he admits.
“I enjoyed myself as well,” I assure him.
“It’s been quite a few years since I cooked a woman dinner. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not very good at this. Are you free this evening?”
I glance back over to Shannon, who is still patiently waiting. “I can’t tonight. I have my daughter.”
His face falls, and I can see the story I’ve been waiting for slipping from my grasp. I can handle a butt chewing from Ronald for not getting the interview with Kipton, but how will he react if he finds out I had a way to get the story on the Hendricks Accounting Firm and I turned it down?
“Tomorrow night? Seven o’clock?” I offer, and his face lights up.
“That would be wonderful.”
John leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek before telling me to have a good afternoon. I tell him to do the same, and then I go join Shannon, who is full of questions. None of which I’m prepared to answer, but I put my big girl panties on and tell her everything.
37
Kipton
I’m driving to South Carolina when I get a call from Kaler. I talk to someone from my family at least once a day, grateful that we’re all close.
“Hey, man,” I answer. “I know you miss me, but I’m going to see you Friday.”
He laughs. “If I recall correctly, it was you who called me earlier this week. Who’s missing who?”
“I only miss your daughter.”
“She misses you, too,” he promises. “Look, I called because Jenna is hounding me to finalize wedding plans. Shit, I honestly thought we wouldn’t have to go through with this ceremony bullshit, but her parents are really coming, and she wants the real deal.”
“She’s already your wife, Kaler. A ceremony isn’t going to jinx it or anything.”
“Will you be my best man? Well, one of them. I want you and Tauren both up there with me, and he’s already agreed.”
“It’s on the fourteenth, right?” I ask, and he confirms. “Fuck, I’m competing in Georgia that weekend. Wrangler has put some stipulations on their sponsorship. They want me competing in more events.”
“So, you’re not even going to make the wedding?”
I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He’s my brother, and sure I watched him marry Brynn, but it was a small w
edding. My dad was his best man. This wedding will be different.
“I’m sorry, Kaler. You know I would be there if I could.”
He sighs. “I know. I know you would.”
“Tell Jenna I’m sorry. I know she’ll be the most beautiful bride in the world.”
“You’re damn right she will,” he says with a chuckle. “Speaking of beautiful, I have someone here who wants to talk to you. I’m turning on FaceTime.”
Willow’s face appears on the screen, and I laugh because she always gets a little too close. “Kip!”
“Hey, my sweet girl!”
She starts talking, the words flying out of her mouth so fast I can’t understand them. I indulge her, talking back as though I completely understand her. She’s animated as she talks, her hand moving up and down and around with her words.
“Mama here!” she suddenly exclaims, and I see Brynn in the background.
“Thanks for picking her up. I had a meeting that ran late.” I hear her say to Kaler.
“Mama, it’s Kip!” Willow says, holding the phone out.
Brynn’s eyes widen for a moment, stunned to see my face on the screen, then she composes herself. The slight blush of her cheeks the only indication that she’s speaking to a man who’s fucked her six ways from Sunday.
“Hey, Kipton. Hope you’re doing well.”
Her words are polite, emotionless. She could’ve very well said those same words to a fellow church member in passing. To a waitress at Happy’s. To that god-awful Pam from yoga class.
“I miss home,” I reply. I miss you.
“Willow, tell him to stop being a baby,” Kaler calls out.
Willow doesn’t do that but instead tells me bye and tosses the phone onto the floor. I wait until someone picks it up, and that someone is Brynn.
“Kaler will be right back,” she says.
“Brynn ‒”
“Here you go. She was done,” she says to Kaler. “Have a good night.”
Instead of waiting on Kaler to come back on the line, I disconnect the call. He’ll believe Willow hung up and I won’t have to give him an explanation on my sudden mood change. She hopes I’m doing well.
Fuck that. I hope she’s miserable without me.
38
Brynn
I wasn’t expecting to walk into Kaler and Jenna’s house and see Kipton. I know he wasn’t there in person but seeing his face still had the same effect. For someone who did so great pretending, his face revealed everything.
The way he said my name. Damn, it was heartbreaking. Why did I think this would be easy? Heartbreak is never easy.
“Okay, we’re going to put these eggs in now,” I tell Willow.
After we got home, we played outside for a while before I told her it was time for supper. We had dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, baked beans, and mashed potatoes. I promised her we would make cupcakes afterward, so she’s standing on a chair at my kitchen counter.
She dumps the bowl of eggs into the cake mix, and then I hand her the measuring cup with the oil. Once she has that poured in, I measure out the water and give her the cup.
The last time Willow only came for the afternoon was when Kipton was home. I still pick her up from school every day until Kaler and Jenna are finished with work. But instead of her coming once a week until eight o’clock, she spends the night, and I take her to school the next morning.
“What now?” she asks, peering over into the bowl.
“Now, we stir it,” I inform her, handing her a whisk.
I show her how to do it with the whisk I’m holding, and she copies me, falling into a fit of laughter. I laugh with her, dipping my fingertip into the batter and tasting it. She copies me again.
“Mmm, yummy! I like it!”
She smacks her lips, and I giggle. I keep letting her stir the batter while I turn the oven on to preheat and get the cupcake pan out. I grab some cupcake flutes from a drawer and show her how to put one in each slot.
“I done, Mommy!” she calls out, climbing down from the chair and running off.
I finish up, pouring the batter into the cups, and putting the tray into the oven. I set a timer and go find Willow in the living room watching television. Her shirt still discarded on the floor from where she took it off the moment we came home.
I pick it up and take it to the laundry room, washing a load of clothes while the cupcakes bake. Midway through, Willow comes back into the kitchen and sits in front of the oven. I turn the oven light on and let her watch the cupcakes.
An hour later, we’ve frosted the cupcakes, which can’t be judged by their appearance, and Willow has already eaten one. Scratch that, she’s eaten the top half of one where all the icing is. I ate the bottom half.
“Bath time, little girl,” I say.
“No. Not yet,” she argues.
“Yes, yet.”
I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom. She strips down, struggling a bit to get her shorts and panties off of her ankles while I run her water. I toss in a few toys and sit on the toilet lid with my phone while she plays.
I can’t help myself; I go back to the Instagram post. Then, I Google Kipton, and Mike was right. Wrangler is going to make him a household name. His video views are increasing at a rate that he’ll be viral in no time. Maybe it won’t be so difficult for him to move on if he has plenty of options to choose from. That thought sucks. Plain and simple.
Putting away my phone, I tackle the task of washing Willow’s hair. I swear, if she hadn’t gotten chocolate icing in it, I wouldn’t be bothering. She hates having her hair washed almost as much as she hates me brushing it. I asked Kaler before if he has this same problem, and he assured me he did. He did mention that occasionally she lets Jenna brush it. I’ll have to ask her how she does it.
To avoid the temptation of my phone, when Willow gets out of the bathtub, we play some games on her iPad. When her eyes start drooping, I turn off the game and carry her to bed.
“Mommy, pray,” she says sleepily as I tuck her in.
“Who are we praying for tonight?”
“Hmm,” she replies as though she’s thinking. “Daddy and Jenna and Kip.”
We pray, her simple words different from mine. I pray for Kipton, too. Only I pray that one day he finds it in his heart to forgive me.
39
Kipton
Since I didn’t bring any church clothes with me, I purchase a button down shirt from the hotel gift shop. My family is coming in tonight and we’re having dinner at the hotel restaurant. I’ve subtly asked who all was coming to know if Brynn would be with them, although I didn’t see her when they checked in half an hour ago.
I pull on the shirt, tucking it into my Wranglers, and head down to meet them. When I get to the restaurant, they’re already seated. Still no sign of Brynn.
Disappointed, I give my mama a quick hug and kiss, Willow right after, and then I take a seat beside Tauren. His hand is on Helene’s thigh, and she’s gripping it tightly. She has put on a few pounds, like my mama said, but the two of them look very happy together.
“Are we waiting on anyone else, folks?” a waiter asks, and I’m pretty sure I hold my breath while I wait on an answer with him.
“Brynn is on her way,” Jenna says. “One more.”
I let go of the breath I’m holding and listen to my family as they rattle off drink orders to the waiter.
“You are so obvious,” Tauren leans over and says to me. “How many times have you two hooked up while she was playing reporter?”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” I grumble and turn to the waiter. “Sweet tea.”
Brynn chooses that moment to arrive, the host showing her to our table. She apologizes for running late while she looks for an empty spot, finding the only one available across from me. I may or may not have planned that.
“And you are so screwed,” Tauren whispers.
I don’t engage with him. It’ll only make matters worse, and I don’t want him to cause a scene
. He’s one who doesn’t mind doing so.
“I’ve heard about rodeo all week from this little one, so you’d better get your eight seconds tomorrow,” Kaler says.
“I plan to,” I say.
“He wouldn’t be sponsored by Wrangler if he wasn’t getting the eight,” Mama says proudly.
“He’s sponsored by Wrangler because they needed an underwear model,” Brynn comments, and I look up at her, her blue eyes going wide. “I mean, you deserve the sponsorship, Kipton. You’re a great bull rider.”
“Underwear model?” Mama asks. “What in the world are you talking about? My son is not modeling underwear for people all over to see what the good Lord gave him.”
“Mama,” I groan.
“Son, is that true?” Daddy asks.
I glance at Brynn, who has now averted her gaze, and over to my parents. “It’s part of my agreement with Wrangler.”
“Holy cow,” Jenna murmurs.
“Don’t even think about it,” Kaler warns, and both her and Helene giggle.
“Seriously?” Tauren asks, squeezing Helene’s thigh. “Okay, fine. I can top Calvin Klein here. We’re having a baby.”
“Jesus, Tauren!” Helene hisses, and he kisses her cheek.
“A baby? I knew it! I knew it!” Mama exclaims, getting up to hug both Tauren and Helene.
“I’m happy for you two,” I tell them.
I try again to get Brynn to look at me, to fucking acknowledge me, but she won’t. She fidgets with the table napkin, looking at everyone else but me.
“It’s not a baby announcement,” Kaler says. “But we’re getting married on the thirteenth now. Not the fourteenth. And yes, I know it’s Friday the thirteenth, but Kipton, I need you there. If getting married on a cursed Friday is the only way to do it, so be it. Will you be my other best man?”