Chapter 28
JADE
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I DON’T SAY anything.
Not that it’s any of his business. And how dare he look at me with disgust on his face? I’ll sleep with whoever the hell I want. He gave up his right to weigh in the moment he ended it.
And I want to shout every last clarifying thought at him, but my words don’t come out.
Instead, I hurl the bottle across the fire pit.
It hits him dead in the stomach and bounces onto his lap—my bottle of calamine lotion.
“I was looking for you, asshole.” I turn and storm away.
My fingers squeeze the RV’s latch handle.
The urge to slam the door shut pulses in my chest. But the hushed breaths of my sisters sleeping stop me.
I let the door click shut, then, slow and quietly, tiptoe across the floor and ease into the bed next to Natalie.
Her back is turned to me, blanket pulled up high.
I stare at the dark ceiling like I had been ten minutes ago when I’d decided to take him the calamine lotion.
What a joke.
I should’ve hit him harder.
I pull the blanket up around my shoulders, but it’s no use; I toss and turn all night.
My mind’s stuck on what he said. On the words I couldn’t say back. My thoughts are still entangled with him when morning comes. I can’t tell if I’m exhausted or just numb.
I drag myself out of bed, but I can’t shake my anger.
I avoid him all day. I leave the campsite before he does, keep my distance at the booth, and pretend like I don’t feel the tension every time our paths cross. I manage not to make eye contact, even through the back-and-forth pranks that have been occurring all day.
Our folding chairs were zip-tied together this morning. Then Celi glued googly eyes to the guy’s product, which they enjoyed. They shot back by putting a Bluetooth speaker under our table that played random animal sounds. And Hope walked over there and faked contractions.
It’s been a fricken day, and I don’t even realize I’m not fully awake until Josie hands me a slushie concoction she’s whipped up.
I gag halfway through the first slurp of what reminds me of bacon dipped into a unicorn’s bathwater. But I swallow, fighting the urge to spit out the liquid in front of the entire rodeo market.
“What is this?” I reach for another slushie flavor or a napkin, or a blasted Wilde jerky—anything to rid the taste in my mouth.
The closest relief is an open pack of meat sticks at my fingertips.
“Cotton candy and bacon.” Josie sounds proud of the disaster she shared with me. “Don’t you like it?”
I turn away from the crowd to gag again.
I grab one of the jumbo meat stick and sink my teeth in.
The smoky flavor hits me first, with a hint of sweetness.
Like the cotton candy and bacon combo, but the Wilde meat tastes so much better.
I hear it in my head, the second the words jumble around, but my taste buds don’t give me a moment to wallow in it.
“A sample of our newest flavor, The Fox Lodge’s famous Carnival Smoke just for you.”
I spin around and catch the new slushie concoction from my sister’s hand just before she passes it to the mama waiting with her son.
“Try this one.”
I plaster on my best “lodge ambassador” smile, even though I hate every minute of it, and trade the slushy-style drink for the Foxhole Freeze.
“Kids at the lodge love this flavor.”
Socializing is not my thing. It’s why I designed this booth with fun samples and giveaways, because my talking up the lodge would be worse than my sister’s failed slushie brew.
“I don’t think you gave that flavor the appreciation it deserves.” Josie lifts a jug of the mixed slushie disaster above her Yeti.
“You already have a drink in there—”
Too late. She pours the thick crushed ice blend into the Yeti.
“I know. It’ll add more flavor.” She taps the jug against the side of the Yeti, loosening stubborn chunks.
“Add more flavor to what?”
She holds the Yeti to me. “Want to try?”
I shake my head. “No one will try that.”
I take the empty blender jug from her and set it inside the cooler I’m taking back to the RV tonight to rinse.
“I know a guy”—she snaps on the lid and slides the thick straw into the slot—“who will love the sentiment. Or not.” She shrugs. “Probably not. That’s what’ll make it perfect.”
“No more special mash-ups from you.” I dig out a bag of ice and a new blender jug.
“Rule stickler.”
“Where did you even get bacon flavor?”
“That’s my secret.” She slaps my ass before turning to leave.
“No, no, no.” I catch her arm. “You were late showing up—”
“I had to pick up the T-shirts I ordered yesterday from a vendor. Really nice lady. Did a custom order overnight for our bucket list event.”
“What bucket list event?”
“You have to wait and see.”
Does she purposely forget that I don’t like surprises?
“You were scheduled to work the morning shift and didn’t show up until late afternoon, and now you’re taking off an hour in?”
“I will be right back.”
I don’t believe her.
“Trust me.” She’s backing away. “You’ll thank me later.”
“I highly doubt it.”
And she’s off, skipping to her own beat. I knew she signed up for this event to play and hit the after-parties. Now I’m left handing out slushie samples solo.
Hope is helping Hannah at the saddle photo op. It would be more my thing if it didn’t involve dealing with kids and pretending to enjoy charming the smiles out of them.
No thanks.
Handing out drinks is more my pace. If the damn blenders would stop stalling, seizing up, or doing whatever it is they’ve been doing all day.
I double-check that the off button is really off before dumping in the ice. This thing has a mind of its own, just like my eyes when they scan the Wilde side.
Dean is describing to a guy how they cure the meat. Levi is sharing stories about ranch life. Bronx and Wyatt challenge several passersby to a quick tug-of-war. And Hart isn’t anywhere to be seen. It’s a relief that stirs irritating curiosity.
I rip open a pre-measured bag of frozen mango chunks just as Hope walks over. It’s more of a wobble now, with one hand on her belly and the other supporting her back.
“Whew. Okay, we need a minute. I need a minute,” She lowers herself into the lawn chair. “This baby’s sitting right on my bladder.”
Natalie and Celi are giving two teens lasso demonstrations before they take a shot at the lasso toss.
Daisy was gone before breakfast. I didn’t put her on the schedule since she’s barrel riding this week, but she’s a phone call away if we’re desperate.
As I dump in the mango chunks, I shoot Hope a grin over my shoulder. “Is it just the baby or the sweet tea you downed like water?”
“Both.”
We laugh.
It’s a weird in-between hour. The main events have ended for the day, and everyone’s having supper. At eight, we’ll have a burst of people pass our booth as they head to the evening events. Then we’re closing up shop for the night.
“I’m happy you came.” Hope shifts positions, trying to get comfortable.
“Because I whooped Josie on the bull?”
Hope laughs, then tightens her hands around her belly. “Don’t make me pee myself.”
“Get up and go pee.” I pour in the mango juice and squirt lime juice in before placing the lid on top.
She scrunches her face. “I feel like I’m in there every half hour.”
“That’s because you are.” I press the button and nothing happens.
Seriously? Piece of shit, finicky, stupid thing.
Hope shifts again. “I need my own personal porta-potty. I feel like a human water fountain with no off switch.”
I hear the ice jangle in the jug and glance over to see my sister pouring sweet tea into her tumbler.
“Well, you did choose to grow a human inside you.” I pound on the side of the machine with the heel of my hand. “I guess it comes with free frequent flyer miles to the bathroom.”
“Don’t make me laugh. I’ll pee right here.” I hear her gulp back a mouthful of sweet tea.
“Hope, you’re gonna wet your pants on the way to the bathroom.” I shake the machine.
Nothing.
“I’ll just say my water broke.”
I bite back a laugh as I duck under the table. My knees brush grass, and my fingers feel around for the power bar hidden in the mess of cords. The tablecloth drapes over my back as I lean in further to unplug and plug the machine back in—no sounds above me.
Dammit.
“I’m glad I came, too.” I crawl back out and stare at Hope. “Because I see you’re more of a sit-and-watch kind of help, cheering from the sidelines with snacks and sweet tea, so the girls needed an extra hand.”
She throws a chip at me, and it lands on the ground beside my hand.
“Good aim.” I stand, dusting off my hands and knees.
She tucks the bag of chips between her and the chair, and I see her reaching for the pickles.
“Do not dip that in—”
Hope dips the chip into the pickle juice.
“Disgusting.” I flick the on-off button.
Nothing.
I flick the four beside it—on, off, on, off—in rapid-fire, but still nothing. It seems more like an extension cord issue. Or the power bar.
“I can’t help the cravings. Give me all the salt.”
“Just get dill pickle chips. No soggy, dilly, whatever that is.”
I turn in time to see the chip come up dry, and the horror on my sister’s face makes me smile. She tips the jar to look inside, and then she looks up at me.
“It’s empty.”
Good Lord, not another prank. Please, not another prank. These have gotten carried away today.
“You were very aggressive with it on the ride up here,” I suggest, hoping—praying—she consumed it all.
“This is a new jar.” I see the pregnancy hormones building behind my sister’s eyes.
“What about a slushie? I’ll add a pinch of salt.” I toss the lid on the table and look for the salt.
“It’s not the same.” Her eyes well up with tears.
I swear her hormones are worse than Hannah’s ever were.
“I have four flavors to choose from.” I lift the lid off another one. “Blueberry Breeze.”
Tears slip down her cheeks.
“Or Watermelon Wave.” I lift the lid and inhale the fruity scent, then turn the jug to show her. “Smells delicious.”
Another tear.
Bloody hell. Not the crying. Please, not the crying.