THE FLANNEL BLANKET is soft beneath me, and the stars are bright up above me. Most of the horses have been tucked into their stalls for the night, but we’re still lying out amongst all the paddocks, down by the furthest one that backs onto the fields—the one DD used to be kept in.
“Is this really how you spent your first night on the farm, Billie?”
“Yup. Pass the wine.”
The two of them have me sandwiched in between them. Their way of forcing me to come out for a girl’s night. When I said I couldn’t muster the energy to go to Neighbor’s Pub, this was Billie’s suggestion. What I didn’t tell them was I didn’t want to go to the pub because it reminded me of that night with Cole. When he finally softened up a little. When things got out of hand in the truck. That night, over pints of dark beer and chicken wings with a little too much batter, we came to a tenuous agreement. We turned a corner. The next day, he built Pippy her shelter.
“Wine straight out of the bottle and everything?” Mira asks from where she lies on the other side of me.
“Oh, yeah,” Billie says. “It’s not the same with a glass. Less therapeutic that way, I think.”
I giggle. “And the bread? You didn’t cut it? You just ripped pieces off?”
“I’m fancy like that.” Mira snorts in the most unladylike way, and Billie continues, “But it’s way more fun with you guys here.”
“I love you guys,” I blurt out with a light slur.
“Violet, no more wine from the bottle for you,” Billie says. “You’re just drinking your feelings now.”
“Seems as good a plan as any.” I put my hands behind my head and continue staring at Orion’s Belt up in the night sky.
I wonder if Cole is sitting outside looking at the same thing. He liked to sit outside with Pippy when he couldn’t sleep. But I haven’t taken her back over there yet—something I feel bad about. I left and took the one other living thing he enjoyed spending time with.
“Maybe try eating your feelings instead?” Mira holds a chunk of ripped French bread with a slice of brie on it over my way.
I take a bite right as Mira asks, “Have you seen Cole at all?”
“No,” I mumble around my overfull mouth. It’s been three days, and nothing. No call, no text, no smoke signals from his house.
“Well, go get on his case already.”
“I don’t know what to say to him. He told me he can’t handle me being a jockey. What the fuck am I supposed to do about that? Quit?” I snort. “Screw him.”
I look over to see Mira nodding. “The screwing must be pretty good for you to be this torn up about it.”
My mind flashes to his hands on me, his gruff voice, his stubble between my thighs, me bent over in that stall for him. “You have no idea.”
“Ugh! Gross,” Billie says, as she sits up to take another swig of wine. “You guys are both so stupid. He’s scared of losing you, and you’re scared of losing him. You both need to toughen up and get back to smashing. You’re both in a better mood when you do. He’s less grumpy, and you’re less emo.”
I can’t help but laugh. Billie minces no words, and it’s one of my favorite things about her.
“When I first met you,” she says, “I thought you were like Drew Barrymore in that movie, Never Been Kissed. Virginal and awkward, but you’re more like a secret freak. I respect the hell outta that. Channel that girl, and go make G.I. Joe pull his head out of his ass so I won’t have to keep avoiding the offices when I know he’s there.”
“So, this is about you?” I quirk a brow and point at her unsteadily.
“Of course! Everything is about me!”
We all dissolve into a fit of giggles and revel in the lightened moment.
Until Mira ruins it. “Speaking of egomaniacs, Violet, has Stefan Dalca spoken to you?”
My body goes tense at the mere mention of his name. I feel like I sober up instantly. “No. Why?”
“He said he was going to.”
“About what?”
“Not my place to say.”
Mira is like a lockbox. I know there’s no point in pestering her. Where Billie might spill, she won’t.
“Just checking,” I say.
“Didn’t know you and Dalca the Dick were buddies, Mira.” Billie swigs again.
“Honestly, Billie. What is with you and the nicknames?”
“Way to deflect.” Billie flops back down onto the blanket.
I feel safe between these two women. Co-workers turned friends—best friends. I’ve never had this before, and it warms me to my core. Without a mom or sisters and living on a ranch, I always felt isolated. Not cool or girly enough to feel like I belonged with other women. But Billie practically plucked me up and told me we were friends, and Mira just slid in. She started out cool, maybe a little standoffish, but we carried on like we didn’t notice and now . . . “Here we are. Sisters from other misters.”
I meant for that to be an internal thought, but the other two women don’t laugh. They shift closer to me, elbows touching mine, feet flopped over against each other.
I’ve been numb for the last few days and have thrown myself into Pippy’s training. We’ve got her running the track pretty comfortably after that first blip on the radar. I want to call Cole and brag about her. My project. Living, breathing proof I’m not just the lucky blonde that got handed a championship horse. I’m an exceptional horsewoman. I want to crawl under the covers and tell him about it. I want his smell to wrap around me, and the light dusting of hair on his chest to tickle my lips as they move, telling him about my day as we drift off together.
I want him with me. I want him there cheering me on. I don’t need those things. But I need him to be mine. And I decide, as I’m lying here with two of the strongest, most accomplished women I know, that I’m going to make sure I tell him. I’m not going to be shy about what I want. I won’t make it easy for him to walk away.
Because Billie is right. More than anything else, I’m terrified of losing him. And I’m going to tell him. Even if he can’t tell me back.
I WALK along the gravel roads with a flashlight in my hand. I’m too inebriated to drive, and I have, once again, underestimated how long the walk is. With every step I take closer to the blue farmhouse, doubt seeps in. And sobriety. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Does this make me seem desperate or brave? I can’t decide.
On one hand, how many times do I need to tell this man I want him for him to believe me? On the other hand, if I don’t lay it out to him in plain terms, face-to-face, I know I’ll regret it. If I let this thing we have fizzle without trying, I’ll never forgive myself.
Still, my feet feel heavy, like someone put lead in my pink and white checkered Vans. It would be easy to turn around. A relief even. But I made it my goal a few years ago to take risks, to take chances, to live. And this is that. Staying true to myself. Or at least the girl I want to be.
I walk up to the house and pause at the base of the few steps that lead to the porch. It’s after midnight, and there aren’t any lights on. Great, I’m going to wake him up and put him on the spot. I blow out a deep breath and look up at the sky. A silent prayer for strength.
“Careful. I hear the guy who lives there is a real dick.”
I start and spin, eyes scouring the dark yard until they land on his figure, sitting hunched over on the top rail of Pippy’s empty paddock. He takes my breath away. His inky hair in the dark almost looks like it’s alive above his glowing gray eyes.
“He pretends to be.”
“He is.”
“He’s not.”
Cole runs his hands through his hair. It’s like he wants me to hate him as much as he hates himself. But I won’t.
“You’re stubborn,” he says as he drops his elbows back onto his knees.
“Yup.” I nod my head, struggling for what to say next, aching to rush across the gravel driveway and kiss him. Hold him, run my hands over his neck, and tell him how I feel.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes look pained as he trails them over my body. He looks uncomfortable.
I give in to my urge to move closer, wanting to get a better look at him in the moonlight. “Sorry for what?”
Only a few feet separate us, and my entire body aches with the need to touch him. But I don’t give in because it would make walking away again that much harder. I’m like an addict. One more hit, and I’ll be off the rails.
He breathes heavily for a few beats, and I watch his pectorals rise and fall in his signature black T-shirt. His closet is full of them. Different neckline shapes. Same color. Arranged perfectly on hangers.
“For messaging you two years ago. For being intrigued by all your questions and sticking around when we clearly weren’t after the same things. For talking to you. Every day. All night, sometimes. For coming to rely on a woman I’d never met to make me feel good. For embarrassing you to save myself. For the way I spoke to you on the day you won the Denman Derby—not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that one. For being a growly shithead when you came to live with me. For not being able to resist you. For being dishonest. For not telling you things you deserved to know. For not being what you deserve.” He stops, panting under the strain of the extensive list he just recited, and looks down. “Fuck. I’m sorry because I fell in love with you somewhere along the way, and now, I don’t know what to do with that.”
I thought I blacked out that day DD and I fell on the track, but that was nothing compared to right now. I sway on the spot—and I don’t think it’s the wine straight from the bottle.
“You love me?” My voice is high and uncertain. I sound like a child to my own ears. My chin wobbles.
“Yeah.” His wobbles too as his eyes meet mine.
“Then get your shit together and start loving me!” The words burst out of me in a flurry of frustration that even I didn’t see coming.
“It’s not that easy. I’m . . .” A tense growl tears from his chest as he looks away. “I’m fucked up, Violet. There’s hard work that I need to do. The shit in my head? It doesn’t just get better because I want it to.”
If he’s searching for pity, this isn’t where he’s going to get it. He just told me he loves me, and he’s still dicking around ignoring me? That’s even worse than thinking he doesn’t care about me enough to make this work.
“Do you want it to? Do you want to get better? Because from everything I’ve seen, you’re pretty stagnant.”
“Violet—”
“No. You are. Don’t lie to me and pretend you’re not. Take the demons by the horns. I don’t need you better. What is better anyway? That’s not a goal. That’s not quantifiable. Pick something you can do, and fucking do it. I don’t need you down at track level. I don’t even need you at every race. I don’t need you to love horses, but I need you to love me.”
He starts, gray eyes wide and glassy, full lips rolling together like he’s holding words in that he just can’t quite bring himself to say.
“I know you see yourself as dark. But you aren’t. You’re swirling color, all different shades, a mosaic. You’re complicated and beautiful. And I’m not quitting on you, so you better not quit on me.”
The words ring out between us like chimes on a windy day. The silence is heavy and so is my conscience as I brace myself to put an expiration date on us. “Pippy has her debut race in two weeks. Tell me a plan by then. Or don’t. At least I’ll know how to proceed with my life.”
“You’re giving me a deadline?” He sounds borderline offended. Like no one ever lays down the law where he’s concerned. Like they’re so busy tiptoeing around his shitty moods and broken persona, they forget to treat him like he has responsibilities. Like he’s capable of handling pressure. That his actions have consequences.
“Yeah. Two weeks should be long enough for you to decide if you’re going to try or not. That’s all. Not—” I hold my hands up in air quotes, “better. Not healed. Not different. I don’t want you different. I want you with your jagged edges and your growly moods.” I step forward and let my hands fall onto his knees, feeling the line of muscles beneath my palms. And I squeeze, urging him to look me in the eye. Really look me in the eye. So he knows how serious I am right now. That I mean every word right down to my bones, to my marrow. “I know everyone else has let you hide away. No one has gone out of their way to check on you, to love you. Everyone around you has failed you so thoroughly, given up on you so easily.” I shake my head, and tears spring up in my eyes at the injustice of it. It makes me want to fight even harder for him. “I want you. But you need to want you too. I can’t want you enough for the both of us.”
There are no more words to be said between us, and it feels like Cole knows that, too. He just gives me a terse nod. One I return before turning and walking away from him for what might be the last time. I walk down the gravel road back to my apartment, mulling that possibility over.
And then the tears finally come.
