SABRINA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Serena and Dad are driving me crazy. The rodeo is in town next week, and I have no interest in going.
It’s never been my thing, but they love it.
Most years, I find an excuse to work on the farm.
This time, they just won’t let my absence go.
Dad’s sister, Eugenia, is coming over from Oregon for the next two weeks.
She and her daughter and son are our only living relatives outside of our immediate family, but they have their own farm, so they don’t make it down this way very often.
I always look forward to it when she does, both because we love her and because she takes care of Dad, giving us girls a break.
I feel guilty for it, but sometimes, I crave a break.
What if I could just…leave?
Say, hey, I’m gonna hit the road for a week and live a little. Pack all my shit and drive with the windows down.
A hard knot forms in my stomach. I’ve never had that kind of freedom, not even when Mom gave us the option to go with her.
Despite everything, I can’t leave Dad and the farm.
The thought of him alone out here, the barn falling into disrepair, the horses unbrushed, tears me up.
No, this is my responsibility, and while it isn’t always easy, I’m willing to carry it.
Maybe it’s meeting Coen that’s got me in a self-pitying mood. What we’ve done together, twice now, is stirring up something I thought I’d put in my back pocket ages ago.
He makes me feel…wild.
After dinner, which he didn’t show up for, I clean the kitchen alone.
Serena told me she went upstairs, but I know for a fact she crawled out the window and down the tree, probably making out with Colin somewhere.
Dad went up to his room to sleep, and I can just catch the faint sound of him snoring.
Usually, the silence is a nice time to wind down from the day. Right now, it just feels empty.
I load the dishwasher, wipe the counters, and leave the dim kitchen shining.
Trailing upstairs, I get into my sleep shorts and a baggy t-shirt with paint spattered all over it.
Sinking on the edge of my bed, I release a heavy sigh.
I can already tell from the way my brain is churning that I won’t get much sleep tonight.
The back door opens downstairs.
Frowning, I freeze and listen, but all I can make out are a man’s footsteps.
It’s possible one of the wranglers is down there, but, more likely, it’s Coen, which is a little strange.
He’s never come into the house after hours before.
I get up and slip down the hall and stairs silently, coming to a sharp halt at the bottom.
He’s standing by the counter, fully dressed in his work clothes.
Our eyes meet. A thrill skitters up my spine.
“Hey,” I say softly. “You hungry? I can put something in the microwave.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. He’s still in his work clothes, but his hair is wet, slicked back like he just got out of the shower. Maybe he intended on sleeping but couldn’t get any rest?
“You okay?” I ask, creeping into the kitchen.
The closer I get, the louder his presence is. He is the loudest man I’ve ever met without saying a single word.
He shakes his head, then nods. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
My stomach flip-flops. “Is everything good?”
He comes around to my side of the breakfast bar and leans the heels of his hands behind his lean body. “My agent just called me.”
I wait. “Yeah?”
“I have to go back to Nashville,” he forces out.
Dead silence.
“Why?” I whisper.
He runs a hand over his face, smoothing his short beard. “There’s someone I’ve been wanting to work with who’s in a tight spot, and Jamie wants me back to write half his album.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
I blink hard. Why does it matter to me if he leaves? He’s barely been here at all. The lump in my throat won’t smooth out, no matter how hard I swallow, and I don’t know why. “You leaving tomorrow?” I manage.
He shifts, hands on his hips. “I am.”
“Okay.”
“And I was…kinda hoping you’d come along for the ride.”
My jaw drops, and I cycle through every emotion in the book.
His eyes are guarded. Is he fucking with me?
Hope rises in my chest, then drops abruptly, turning into anger and fear he doesn’t mean it.
Or that he thinks I’m a groupie or something, willing to throw my life away to tag along with him. My forehead scrunches hard.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks.
I shrug. “You don’t know me like that.”
It comes out harsher than I meant, and he recoils slightly. A tiny flinch. He clears his throat and looks me in the eye. It’s a naked stare that makes me want to squirm.
“This isn’t what you think,” he says.
“What do I think?”
“I’ve never asked this of anyone before.”
Does that make me feel better or worse? I can’t tell.
It’s like something out of a movie. A tall, sexy music producer and songwriter shows up, sweeps me off my feet, shows me the best sex I’ve ever had, then asks me to travel across the country with him, all without even knowing my middle name.
I can’t wrap my head around that, but more bewildering than all that is the realization I want to go with him.
I’m dying to be on the road. I have been for so long.
I’m desperate to see all the things I’ve only witnessed on the TV, read about in books, or heard on my favorite records.
I want to drive with the windows down, desert air slipping through my fingers.
I want to stop at cheap motels on the side of the road and drink beer on the curb while the sun goes down.
I want to be free of the weight I’ve carried for so long, to let someone else take the wheel and allow the ocean to carry me on the tides.
I want to see all the things he writes songs about.
“You could be a serial killer,” I say.
He laughs once. “I’m not.”
“And I have to take care of Dad.”
“I thought your aunt was coming. This is the perfect time. I can fly you back before she leaves.”
“Fly me back?”
“I’m planning on driving there and writing the album along the way. Why? You don’t like road trips.”
Hunger so intense, it shocks me floods my body. If I push my family out of my head, and the ranch with it, I can feel wanderlust so powerful, it rivals what I felt with his hands on my body.
What if I said yes?
What if I let him open the gate and just…ran?
“I can’t,” I whisper. “What will Serena do?”
He clears his throat, giving me that faintly amused stare. “I don’t know your sister well, but I’m pretty sure she’d tell you to go.”
“Yeah, but she’s reckless. She doesn’t think things through,” I sniff.
“What if you were like that? Just this once?”
He’s right. Serena would tell me to go, but she does all kinds of crazy things I would never do, so that means nothing. My lashes are wet as I shake my head.
“I just…can’t,” I manage. “I’m sorry if this meant more to you than it should’ve.”
His face falls. Ouch, that was harsher than I intended.
“Did it mean anything to you?” he asks.
I want to lie, but I can’t. “It did.”
“So come with me.”
“It’s not that simple,” I snap, angry he won’t let it go. “I’m not a super famous producer with unlimited money and no responsibilities. I’m just…a random person. You need to go back to your house. Now.”
He’s hurt, I can tell, even though his face doesn’t change. He has a way of narrowing his eyes that isn’t really narrowing them, not the way other people do. It’s a flex, briefly creasing the tanned skin. An almost imperceptible wince.
“This is why I hate this shit,” he says quietly.
Taken aback, I gather myself. “What shit?” I ask.
He lifts a hand, waving it absently. “If I could go back to that first fucking contract, I don’t know if I’d sign that shit. If we’d met in a bar and fucked around for a few nights and I asked you to go to Nashville, you’d really consider it.”
My lips part.
Is he right? Would I go with him if he weren’t famous?
“All this shit…fucked up my life.” He doesn’t say it angrily or resentfully. It’s just a sad admittance. “You’re right in staying home. I’d hate to drag someone else into it.”
I’m speechless. He waits for a moment and then shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gentle. “I shouldn’t have asked. Goodnight.”
Before I can react, he walks out and the door swings shut on a little gust, handle clicking.
A prickly lump rises in my throat, and my eyes sting.
I wipe my eyes and look around the room, the one I’ve spent every single evening in for as long as I can remember.
Back when Mom left, I was so certain it was my responsibility to stay with the ranch, with Dad and Serena.
Now that I’m twenty-four and I’ve never left this land, I’m not so sure that’s enough.
I do love this ranch. I’ll take it over after Dad retires fully, and I’ll get married and raise my kids here. But before that happens…I want out.
I go up to my room, but I don’t get to the door. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk to Serena’s room, knocking lightly.
She pulls open the door. I wasn’t expecting that. I assumed she was still out with Colin. The second she sees my face, she steps aside to let me into her bright pink, gauzy childhood bedroom. She still has a boyband poster on her wall over the dresser.
“Did someone die?” she asks, shutting the door.
I shake my head. The words sit in my throat, heavy.
“What?”
I shrug, biting my lip.
“Seriously, Sabrina. What?”
“I slept with Coen,” I blurt out.
Her jaw drops, and the silence is so loud. Then, her mouth curves into a smile.
“Seriously? When? Was he any good?”
Wringing my hands, I sink down on the edge of the bed and ignore all her questions. “I think I like him,” I blurt out.
She drops down on the bed, cross-legged. “How long has this been going on?”
“Like…the whole time he’s been here,” I admit, wiping my eyes. I don’t know why, but I’m crying a little bit.
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“He’s leaving.”
“Leaving? When?”
Sniffing hard, I pull my sleeves over my hands and use them to wipe my tears again. “He had a work thing come up, and I don’t know why I’m so upset. It’s not like we’re going out. We hooked up, like, twice.”
“Okay?” Her brows crease.
“He asked me to road trip to Nashville with him,” I croak. “I feel so dumb, like he thinks I’m a groupie or something, so I said that, and he seemed really hurt. He said something about how his job had fucked up his life and went back to the house.”
She stops, and I can almost hear the gears in her head churning. Serena is a lot more happy-go-lucky than I am, far more reckless, but she does have good insight. I wait while she taps her nails against the back of her phone and stares at the wall. Finally, she takes a breath and releases it.
“Here is the thing,” she says. “You’re right that it changes things that he’s famous and he’s asking you to do this, but I’ve looked up everything there is to find online about Coen, and he’s not known for being a player.
He’s not one of those guys flying out models and dumping them.
He’s pretty quiet, only with a couple of public relationships. ”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t fucking around behind the scenes.”
“I know, but it doesn’t mean he was.” She leans in, eyes wide. “What does it matter if he was?”
I pause, checking in with the little ache in my chest. I like him, and I want to protect my heart, but I also know in my head that Coen and I will never be anything real. Our worlds are too far apart.
“You’re saying I should just do this for fun?” I whisper.
“Be real. You’re gonna regret it if you say no.”
My stomach does a little dip and soars as I imagine it for the first time.
Driving across the desert with him, windows down, wind whipping in my hair.
No responsibilities until we get to Nashville.
Maybe Serena is right—the worst that could happen is I get a broken heart, put it back together, and move on.
Someday, I’ll tell my kids about the time I drove across the US with Coen Taylor, and they won’t believe me until I pull out a handful of worn polaroids.
Serena’s face swims back into focus, her eyes so earnest.
“Go, Brina,” she says. “Aunt Eugenia will be here in a few days, and Dad and I will be fine until then.”
“What will Dad say?”
“Oh, he’ll have a fit. You leave before he gets up. I’ll take the heat.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
Her face is all lit up, like it used to when we’d come up with a plan to sneak out at night. “Pack your shit and leave with him before Dad gets up. If you don’t, you’ll have to go around telling people you almost ran off with Coen Taylor. Is that what you want? Almost?”
I shake my head, heart hammering. “No.”
“Then go.”