20. Phoenix
Phoenix
I ’ve never been so pissed, hopeful, horny, and frustrated all at once in my entire life. What the fuck was Knox thinking, orchestrating this shit? He had to have been listening from his truck or eavesdropping elsewhere to appear at the most inopportune time.
But thanks to his meddling, I’m now unlocking my front door with Walker DeVille hot on my heels.
His snarky, I’m-only-telling-the-truth-from-now-on attitude may very well earn him a broken jaw to match his wrist. Although, his sincere comment about my house lessens my annoyance, albeit ever so slightly.
I flip on the foyer light, taking comfort in the creak of the loose floorboard beneath my boot. I hang my hat on the hook above the small bench and walk straight to the kitchen for a beer.
Walker drops his bag and follows behind me at a slower pace. When I look at him over my shoulder, he’s glancing around my space with interest .
“You want a beer?” I ask, figuring his day’s been worse than mine and the least I can do is offer him a drink.
When he finally ambles into the kitchen, he shakes his head. “Na, I took a couple pain killers at the arena. Don’t think I’m supposed to drink with them.”
“I don’t think one is enough to do any damage, but suit yourself.” I twist the cap off my bottle and chug half of it in one go.
Walker shrugs, throwing caution to the wind. “Eh, what the hell. But if I can only have one, you got anything stronger than beer? I’ve definitely had more of a whiskey day.”
I lick my lips as a truth of my own falls from them. “I’m not so sure you and I should get smashed on liquor together.”
The cocky smile he throws me makes my dick throb. Confidence looks so fucking good on him it makes my balls ache.
“Why’s that, cowboy? Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around me?” The fucker winks before adding, “Besides, who said anything about getting smashed? You said I could have one. ”
Rolling my eyes, I reach into the cabinet next to the stove and pull down a bottle of Gentleman Jack. I remove the lid and throw back a healthy pour of my own before sliding the bottle to him across the counter.
Before I can stop him, he reaches for it with his right hand and tries to pick it up with still-swollen fingers, dropping it almost immediately.
“ Ow, fuck!”
The bottle only falls an inch and lands upright, but Walker’s shout of pain almost makes me dizzy. I’m around the counter guiding him onto a barstool before I really think it through.
“Sit down,” I instruct angrily with one hand on his back ready to steady him if needed. Leaning around him into the cupboard by his head, I pull down a plastic cup and fill it with a quarter of an inch of liquor. “Here.”
He throws it back with no hesitation…and no wince.
“I’m glad to see you’ve upgraded your palate. I’m sorry for not offering you a Smirnoff or vodka and Kool-Aid that night.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs. With the cup in his left hand, he instinctively brings his right hand up to shove me in the chest, but I catch it before he can make contact, the pads of his fingers burning my palm.
“Hey, you gotta be careful with this thing. You need it to heal correctly so it doesn’t give you complications and keep you out another season.”
Walker nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I just forget and try to use it. Sucks it’s my dominant hand.”
“Better than your face,” I tease. The shot of whiskey I took from the bottle is knocking the edge off my anxiety enough for me to get the joke out.
“I suppose. Definitely better than my back.” He looks up at me where I’m still standing in his personal space.
“Thanks for that catch by the way. I know Jonas thinks it was a bad call and breaking my wrist fucking blows, but on the back of that horse I knew it was going to be bad and I froze. I didn’t know what to do except brace for the impact and the subsequent pain. ”
I return to the other side of the kitchen counter, needing space in order to think clearly.
Even still, all I come up with is, “No problem.”
I leave out the details of how my heart ceased to beat when I saw him get unbalanced or how I almost shit my pants knowing what was coming next, afraid I wouldn’t get the words out in time, or that he wouldn’t hear me, or listen to me.
I don’t tell him how I was already pushing people out of the way to launch myself over the gate by the time he hit the dirt .
Walker swirls his whiskey in his cup, looking like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.
After watching his brows repeatedly pinch together and then relax, I finally ask, “What’s on your mind?”
He swallows and licks his lips. My gaze snags on the movement, wondering if they’re still sore from last night.
Looking up at me from under long, dark lashes, he asks, “Which is it, Phoenix? Do you want to hear my thoughts or do you want me to keep them to myself?”
I want to hear them.
Of course, I do.
I’m just not sure I trust myself with the knowledge.
He saves me the trouble of having to answer when he declares, “It’s all good, I’m not ready to talk about it yet, anyway.” He downs the rest of his drink and sets his cup back on the counter. “Mind showing me where I can grab a shower? I’m about ten minutes from being comatose.”
“Right, yeah. Follow me.” I walk back into the foyer, picking his bag up before turning for the staircase.
“I can get that. Left arm still works fine,” he argues behind me.
“Just wanted you to have a free hand in case you lost your balance or something,” I reply, trying to be a decent host.
Walker’s deep laugh fills my ears. “So, I let one bronc get the best of me and suddenly I’m at risk for falling down the stairs like a feeble old lady? Fuck, Harding, what happened to your legs still work. You can walk, bike, and squat? ”
“Okay, smartass.” I drop the bag at the top of the stairs. “Carry it your damn self then. Room’s down here.”
I lead him along the hardwood floors to the guest room I think he’ll enjoy the most. It has the best view of the horse pasture out back and gets the early morning light.
It also happens to be right next to mine .
Opening the door, I wave him in. “This house is old. Knox and I remodeled my bedroom to include an en suite, but your bathroom is in the hallway.”
“No problem. I’ll be sure to use my cane if I have to get up in the middle of the night.”
I flip Walker the bird and he grins wickedly.
I like the suggestion in it far too fucking much.
Trying to keep my voice neutral, I explain, “There are towels and washcloths under the sink. Extra blankets in the closet. I sleep with the A/C on arctic, so I know it’s summer, but you might need ‘em.”
“Doubtful. I run hot.”
Those three words cause a torrent of images to flood my mind. The way we were so drenched with sweat on the tack room floor that we just slid across each other’s skin and our bodies made the most delicious sounds because of it. Our kisses were salty and our hair was wet.
Coming back to the present, I watch Walker pull clothes from his duffel bag and place them in the old chest of drawers.
I know it’s temporary, but the way my heart flutters tells me allowing this to happen is going to leave a permanent scar.
One that will run just as deep, if not deeper, than the one he left before.
“Just let me know if you need anything,” I choke out, forcing my feet to carry me from this room.
Before Walker can respond, I’m out the door, flying down the stairs in search of something to keep me busy while he gets naked on the floor above me.