36
S leep. Food. Sex. Peace and quiet. Ranch work. Sex. Sex.
Life has been scarily, blissfully perfect.
Ford and I are essentially living together, if living together constitutes me at his place twenty-four seven. Between therapy, Ford, and working with Geneva on our new venture, I feel like I’m blooming in slow motion. Bosko continues to dig into Gavin’s finances. He has the password to get my money. All he’s waiting for is for me to say go. But not yet. I want to play my cards just right.
Which I hope I am.
That’s the inevitable thing about perfection. There’s always room to fuck it up.
God, I hope it doesn’t all fall apart because…this man…
This summer…
It’s been nothing short of magical.
“I come bearing dinner,” I say, slipping into the apartment.
“Pizza?” Still in his dusty ranch clothes, Ford’s barefoot, standing at the open back door. He shakes a bowl of cat food.
“The answer is always pizza.” I shrug off my bag, set the boxes on the counter. I’ve worked all day in town at Dakota’s bakery. “And pastries. Your sister-in-law sees us as nothing more than pawns.” I check the clock on the wall and smile, nerves welling up inside me. “But first a surprise.”
Silence.
I turn. Ford stares outside, his handsome face creased in worry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Mouse,” he says, shifting his gaze to me. “She didn’t come back last night.”
“Oh no,” I say, crossing to him. I look out the door at the wide expanse of ranch. The August sun is setting, getting lower and lower earlier and earlier. “Has she ever done this before?”
“No.” Ford clears his throat, clears his withdrawn gaze and looks at me. “Probably out chasing mice. She’ll be back.” He chuckles, but it’s strained. Amber eyes softening, he runs a hand over my shoulder. “Now, what’s this about a surprise?”
Heart beating hard, I take his hand and lead him to the table. “Sit.”
With his brow arched in amusement, he settles into a chair.
Last week, I hatched a plan and called Bo Bosko. Then, I used my star power to get an easy in. I mean, what’s the point of being world famous if I can’t cash in now and then?
I have to do this for Ford. Because he’s done so much for me.
I wet my lips. “Okay, listen,” I say, after I fire up the laptop and open Zoom. “I’m going to do something for you, and you might hate me, but…” I exhale. “Are you ready?”
With an easy nod, he sits back in his chair.
I click the number in the link and the call goes through.
A teenage boy fills the screen—thirteen, with shaggy brown hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. He’s wearing a Phoenix Renegades jersey and an ecstatic grin.
Ford sucks in a shocked breath. Every muscle in his body has gone rigid.
He knows who it is.
His eyes flick to me, then back to the screen. He says nothing. I can’t tell if he’s angry or upset. If he was, I’d understand, But I had to take this chance.
I know what it feels like to not grant yourself forgiveness—to feel like you deserve to be stuck in the sad. He deserves this.
“Holy shit! I don’t believe it,” the boy says, and when he smiles, every muscle in Ford’s body relaxes.
“Hey…uh, kid.”
“Mark,” I whisper.
“Mark,” he says.
“I didn’t believe that you wanted to talk to me, but here you are.” He looks offscreen. “Mom! It’s really him.”
“I’ve thought about you a lot,” Ford says. “About what I did.” He drags a hand through his floppy gold hair. “I’m sorry for fucking up.”
“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Mark says, genuinely puzzled.
A muscle jerks in Ford’s jaw. “But I am, kid. I’m really sorry.”
“Man, are you kidding me? I’m going to put that on my college application. Beaned by Ford Montgomery. I kept the ball.” The camera swivels to show a baseball sitting on a dresser.
Ford laughs, a husky rumble that has my heart beating double time. “Come out to the ranch and I’ll sign it.” He scans the kid’s face. “So you good? In school and—and everything?”
“Yeah, man. I got straight As last month.” His face wrinkles in disgust. “I hate math.”
“Same.” Interest lights Ford’s expression. “You play any sports?”
“Of course.” A beam tips Mark’s mouth. “Baseball. Oh! And soccer. What about you? You ever going back to playing baseball?”
I tense. Sorrow clogs my throat.
Soon, the summer’s over. I should be focused on what happens after. My freedom. The end of my contract with Gavin. But that’s not what really matters to me.
Not anymore.
“Not sure yet,” Ford drawls. “Got some things happening, but you’ll probably know when I know.”
A sly smirk crosses Mark’s face. “Are you really dating Reese Austin?”
“Nosy as hell, ain’t you, kid?” Ford says, but he’s grinning.
Mark laughs. “That’s what my dad says.”
“Yeah,” Ford says, reaching out to clasp my hand. “That’s my girl.”
I flush. My girl. Sweetest words I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Say hi, Reese.”
Cheeks heating, I peer into the camera and flutter my fingers. “Hi.”
Mark hoots. “I don’t listen to country much anymore, but your first album was the best.”
I smile. “I like that one, too.”
“Holy shit!” Mark drums the desk in front of him. “You two have the same numbers. Your jersey is ninety-eight, the same title as her first album.”
Ford and I stare at each other in stunned silence, jaws slack.
Then he chuckles, rubs a hand over his jaw. “Damn, kid. Just spreadin’ all kind of revelations over here, aren’t you?”
They talk for a few more minutes, then with promises to keep in touch, end the call.
Grinning, Ford tugs me into his arms so I’m sitting on his lap. He lets out a watery breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
His fingers stroke my cheek, and my heart beats faster. “I was broken, Birdie. Until I met you.” His throat works.
I smile up at him. “You’re not your past, Ford. And I’m not mine.”
For the first time in my life, I believe it.
In the blue moonlight of our bedroom, I stare at the text from Gavin.
Say goodbye to summer, Reese. Soon, you’ll be home.
It feels like a threat.
It is.
I screw my eyes shut. The black hole above me pulses as memories surface of Gavin pulling me from the tub. You’ll never leave me, Reese. Never.
When I open my eyes, I glance at Ford sleeping beside me. His face boyish and sweet. One big arm under the pillow, the other possessively tossed over my waist.
Carefully, I slip from Ford’s tight grasp and slip out of bed. I change, then pad barefoot to the door. Hand on the knob, I look back over my shoulder at Ford.
I made a promise to tell him when I need the water. To trust him. And I do trust this man. I can’t remember a time I trusted someone so fully. With my entire soul.
Thanks to him, I’m in therapy. I know how to balance a checkbook. I’ve reclaimed my life. Acknowledged my past.
He doesn’t tell me to be less. He looks at me from across the room and tells me to do more. He accepts me for exactly who I am. He tells me I am enough. And if I can’t be enough, he’s enough for both of us.
I love him so damn much.
I tiptoe back to bed. “Ford,” I whisper, shaking his shoulder. “Ford, wake up.”
He blinks, lifts his head. “Birdie, what is it? You okay?”
My heart clenches at the sound of his raspy voice.
“I can’t sleep. I need the water.”
It’s all I need to say.
Rousing, he pushes up on his shoulder. Eyes never shifting from mine, he scrubs a hand down his face, then grabs his jeans. “Let’s go.”