Chapter 20 Nineteen
Nineteen
Quinn
My entire dresser vibrated as my phone buzzed loudly on the wood.
I craned my neck to look at the screen from where I stood, practically buried in my closet, only to see the word Mom accompanied by her photo.
I ignored it, returning to the closet where I was carefully placing shirts in garment bags for my upcoming weekend.
I was leaving the next day for three rides, and my entire room was a mess with hats and shirts tossed everywhere, and my living room was lined with every pair of boots I owned and belts hanging off the couch.
It was only three days; technically, I needed three shirts, three hats, three pairs of jeans, and boots—but this is how I worked.
I wanted to see everything and pick what felt right for the ride.
The last thing I needed was my mother calling me.
The last time I spoke to her was at the Grand Junction Rodeo two weeks ago.
She had given me a few text messages here and there, each one earning her a simple K or Yes response from me, but nothing other than that.
I really didn’t want to talk with her. Not after the ‘apparently, you can’t’ comment she made.
What I hated even more was that it was sticking with me.
Was the fact that I had someone with me the only reason why I had a good weekend? Would I have made more hiccups and mistakes if I had gone alone? What if she really was right—what if I couldn’t do this? What if…
The past two weeks at home had been full of training, training, and more training to prove to myself I could.
When Cash was with other clients, I’d take one of my boys out and circle barrels in the fields or run around the cow pastures.
And when I wasn’t in the saddle, I’d go to the gym and work on my core and leg muscles.
Abi and Kyla cheered me on from the fences, acting as my own personal hype team, but other than the girls’ day when we went dress shopping, I hadn’t had much interaction with any humans besides Cash.
But then there was Wyatt.
Wyatt…
Every night without fail, Wyatt came to my place with food and drinks.
He saw me at the gym one afternoon, and after that, the options he brought became healthier and protein-filled.
As much as I was loving the burgers and pizza…
a baked chicken with a side salad was probably the more feasible choice for staying in shape and building muscle.
He commented on how hard I was working and that someone had to make sure my diet followed the plan.
I would roll my eyes, and he would just stand there and smirk as he popped a cherry tomato in his mouth.
Then he’d get settled, and we’d watch the show together.
But what really sent my mind for a loop was the fact that I looked forward to him coming every night.
I looked forward to sitting with him and listening to his stupid comments about the show.
I looked forward to inching my toes closer and closer to him, knowing if I were to sneak them under his thigh, he wouldn’t protest. And I really looked forward to getting a hug from him each night—him always drawing it out longer than really necessary.
But I would sit in it, breathe him in, and just…
enjoy the feel of his arms around me. He was warm and welcoming, solid and safe, a friend I needed in the moment.
And as much as I hated to admit it, that’s exactly what he was becoming—my friend.
And something else that sent my mind for a loop?
Something else I would never admit? Every time he was near, butterflies flew like crazy in my stomach.
My phone buzzed again, that time louder, as if it were taunting me.
Mom.
I sighed, tossing the garment bag on the bed and placing my hands on my hips, staring at the mess until the phone stopped. Bending to grab a hat box, a low groan left my lungs when, yet again, my phone started to buzz.
That time, a text.
I tapped my screen.
Dad
Answer your mother, please. She just wants to know if your schedules overlap.
I typed out a quick one-thumb message.
Me
I’m packing. Tell her I’ll call her from the road
I wouldn’t…but maybe it would hold her over until then.
Dad
Come on, Pumpkin, one quick call.
Me
I will when I’m done packing. Promise.
Dad
We both know you won’t.
Then, another name dropped down on my phone.
Mom
You’ll text your father, but won’t answer my calls. Quinn Compton…
I gave in before I finished the sentence and tapped her name, the ringing through the speaker causing that same knot to appear in my stomach.
“About time, Quinn,” Mom answered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Where are you this weekend?”
“Northern Idaho.”
“Kelly and I will be in Colorado, Chelsea and Jada, too.”
I racked my brain to think about who those girls were. I knew Kelly—Mom never stopped talking about her—but Chelsea and Jada? Second and third attendant, maybe? I blinked and pushed the useless information from my head.
“That’s great, Mom. I’m sure Kelly is thrilled.”
“What the hell happened in here?” Wyatt’s voice came booming up the stairs, and even though my mother was already talking in my ear, a small smile spread across my face. A few nights ago, I had stopped locking my door, knowing he would just come in, wanting him to come in.
“I gotta go, Mom. Wyatt just got here—”
“Oh!” Her tone automatically changed. “Wyatt Hartwell. You are seeing him, then?”
“No, Mom. I’m not. He’s just a friend.”
“Quinn!” Wyatt called. “Boots have taken over your living room, did you know this?”
I laughed. “Mom, I have to go. Have a good time in Colorado.”
I hung up before she could say anything back, shoved my phone in my pocket, and made my way downstairs.
Wyatt stood in the middle of the living room, a box of pizza balancing on one hand, a bottle of ginger ale in the other.
Our eyes met, and he beamed, small crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes.
Those wrinkles only made me smile; the pure amusement that radiated off of him as he stood in the midst of all my boots was contagious.
“You have more boots than any normal person would have in their lifetime, and why are they all in the living room. Better question? Where were they before they were in your living room?”
I chuckled and tossed the hatbox I was still carrying on the chair. “There are twenty-one pairs of boots here, Wyatt, and they were in my closet. I’m packing.” I took the pizza box from him. “Pizza? I thought I had to eat healthy.”
“Cauliflower crust and veggies. It’s basically a salad.” Wyatt spun in a circle, looking at all the boots. “Twenty-one pairs…how long are you gone for? A month?”
“Three days.”
“My question still stands about the boots.”
I headed into the kitchen, hearing him follow.
“I like to see my options,” I said, placing the pizza box and my phone on the kitchen island.
My phone buzzed…again…with the same parent calling.
I turned the phone screen down and caught Wyatt’s look.
No one really knew about my relationship with my mother.
Cash knew snippets—enough to know I didn’t really have her in my corner—but other than him, I never talked about her.
And even though I could see the question filtering through Wyatt’s face, I cleared my throat and moved on.
“Cauliflower crust, huh?” I sighed, opening the pizza box. “Never tried it.”
He inhaled. “It’s disgusting, so I apologize in advance.”
“You know.” I gave him a sideways glance before pulling a slice from the box.
“I go to the gym and work out so I don’t have to watch my weight.
I eat what I want, when I want.” I took a bite and chewed and…
oh…yes…Wyatt was so wrong. It was delicious.
I hummed as I chewed. “I learned my lesson as a kid. I will never, ever count calories.”
“Who the fuck made you count calories as a kid?” He furrowed his brow and leaned on the counter.
For a quick moment, I debated lying, but for some reason, I didn’t want to lie to him.
Even if the truth hurt a little. “My mom. For pageants. But when I stopped those, I stopped counting. I love food, and I’m grateful I never developed a bad relationship with it.
” I took another bite. “But you’re very wrong.
” I chewed, closing my eyes and savoring the taste. “This is delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” Wyatt smiled, his eyes on me, a slanted grin on his lips as he accepted the change of subject.
My phone, however, didn’t. It began to buzz once again, and I swear, the vibration just kept getting louder. Was that a thing? Did phones know you were avoiding calls and purposely become more violent when you didn’t answer? I glared at it.
Wyatt pointed at it. “You can answer that, you know. Don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s not important.” I spun, reaching for two glasses, a little disappointed I had forgotten to pull them out.
“Who is it?”
Shaking my head, I turned the phone over, Mom’s photo blaring between us.
I watched until it stopped, then flipped it over again, sliding it further away.
Ignoring it, I grabbed the ginger ale, the cap making the perfect pfft sound as it released with the twist. Wyatt was silent, his eyes following my every move.
I filled both cups and handed one to him before he finally spoke.
“She’s uh—” He began, a crack in his voice. “—not very supportive? Is she?”
I heaved a long sigh, met his gaze, and then shook my head. “No,” I said simply.
He was quiet, his eyes darting as he tried to find something to focus on, but like always, he settled on my eyes.
The bright blue orbs filled with concern as he took a deep breath, in and out, focusing on me.
My body just froze, feeling the chill my mother always brought with her.
She could take anything that I found joy in and ruin it. Even a night with Wyatt.