Chapter 19
Willow
New Year's Eve
The morning of New Year's Eve hits like a sledgehammer. I'm jittery. Not from coffee or lack of sleep but from something worse.
Anticipation and dread mix with more than a touch of desire, which I keep trying to shove down so far it gets tangled in my rib cage.
Today is the day.
Why the hell did I agree to Wyatt's stupid bet?
I didn't.
Well, not technically…
I pace my bedroom, my feet lightly slapping against the hardwood floor as I try to figure out what to wear. It's not like we're going to a gala or even some wild New Year's bash.
But knowing Wyatt? He could say we're grabbing dinner and then end up stealing a plane and flying us to Mexico.
Which, to be fair, almost happened once.
I can't help but smile at the memory.
It was right after Wyatt's first big win in Montana. Sponsors were sniffing around, and he hadn't yet learned how to say no to anything or anyone.
I was almost eighteen, and giddy in love.
He'd come home and told me to pack a bag, add my bikini, sunscreen, and passport, and meet him by the truck.
I'd felt the rush of excitement I always got whenever he'd surprise me with secret getaways. I'd asked where we were going.
He'd winked and said, "Trust me. And tell your parents you're staying the weekend at Ginny's."
Ginny had become my excuse when I'd wanted to go places with Wyatt overnight.
The next thing I knew, we'd been on a puddle jumper to San Diego, where a new buddy of his had a pilot license, a questionable plane, and a taste for adventure.
Two hours later, Wyatt's hand had been wrapped around mine as we'd crossed the border in a rental car with no GPS, two bottles of tequila, and no real plan besides "find a beach and get lost."
We'd ended up in some sleepy fishing village on the Baja coast, eating grilled octopus from a vendor on the pier, barefoot and drunk on each other.
He'd danced with me under a string of lights and kissed me so hard, I'd forgotten my name.
That night, he'd made love to me in a bed with no frame, in a room that'd smelled like salt and citrus, with crashing waves as our only witnesses.
The next morning, we'd gotten caught in a rainstorm on the way back. The rental car had gotten stuck in the mud, as did our shoes. We'd had to hike barefoot up the road while laughing so hard, I'd nearly peed my shorts. It was the stupidest, most reckless trip I've ever taken.
To this day, it's still the best weekend of my life.
I curse under my breath and yank my robe tighter around my waist.
Stop taking trips down memory lane.
I'm not going.
I lost the bet.
My phone buzzes.
Wyatt: Ready for tonight, sugar?
I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover over the keyboard, but then I drop the phone on the bed with a frustrated groan.
No, Wyatt. I'm not ready.
Not for you.
Not for your half-cocked smile and those sin-dipped eyes.
Not for the way you limp around now, like you didn't start a bar fight three days ago, and still think you can ride bulls like your body is made of Kevlar.
He shouldn't even be out of bed, let alone going anywhere.
Yet, here I am, nervously counting down the hours until I get to sneak away with him, just like the olden days.
I ignore his dozens of messages and calls. To pass the time, I spend the afternoon pretending to be busy.
I play with my nieces and nephews. Then I reorganize a perfectly organized closet. I scrub already-clean counters. I even try to make banana bread, which ends with flour everywhere and a loaf that comes out like a brick.
Jagger walks through the kitchen, lifts a brow at my failed attempt, and says, "Remind me never to piss you off if this is your idea of victory baking."
"Victory?"
"Wyatt's win," he boasts, grinning like an idiot.
I throw a towel at him just as Georgia walks in.
He dodges it and tells Georgia, "Teach her some baking skills, for the love of Texas!" and laughs his way out of the room.
Eventually, the sun sets, and I'm out of time.
I dress slowly, pulling on jeans that hug my hips, boots that click confidently with every step, and a top I shouldn't be wearing.
It's a deep burgundy with an open back, thin straps that whisper trouble, and a clingy fit.
I throw a plaid wrap around my shoulders.
Like that will keep Wyatt from staring at me.
A soft knock rattles my door, startling me.
"Willow," Wyatt's deep, rich, unapologetic drawl calls through the wood.
I stand frozen for a second. Then, I open the door, trying to breathe normally.
It's the Wyatt I spent my teenage years obsessing over.
All rugged charm and crooked temptation, dressed in dark jeans and a black button-down that he didn't bother to button all the way.
His rolled sleeves show off his forearms, tattoos, and bruised knuckles.
And he wears a glint in his eye that promises chaos.
"You're still limping," I say, arms crossed, the butterflies going to war inside my stomach.
He grins. "I'm just standing here."
"You shouldn't be going anywhere."
"Aw. You worried about me, sugar?" he teases.
I glare at him. "No. I'm worried about myself. If you collapse on the sidewalk, I'm not dragging your ass back here."
He chuckles, stepping into my space. "Then I guess I'll have to stay upright. For you."
Don't fall for him again.
"Cut the cowboy charm. Where are we going, Wyatt?"
He steps back, that grin still playing on his lips. "You'll see."
I grab my purse and coat. "What am I supposed to tell my family? That I'm sneaking off with the guy I haven't spoken to in years until he ruined Christmas and then kissed me like he owned every memory I ever had of him?"
Horror fills me when I realize what I just said. My cheeks flame with embarrassment.
He savors his win for a moment, then states, "I'm telling them we have business to attend to."
My brows lift. "On New Year's Eve?"
"Sure. We're meeting the head of a corporation in Dallas tomorrow morning. Bright and early," he adds with a wink.
"And I'm just supposed to tell them I'm with you?"
He nods, all wolfish confidence. "Yeah, sugar. Let them know you're with me. You're my agent. Remember?"
My stomach flutters.
Damn him.
He leads me downstairs. We walk into the living room, and my chest tightens like it's caught in a vise.
Jagger's sprawled on the recliner with a beer, watching football. Dad's got his glasses low on his nose, reading something on his tablet. Mom's folding napkins and putting them on the coffee table like it's a competitive sport.
All three look up at once. All three narrow their eyes when they catch sight of me with Wyatt.
I clear my throat. "Hey. Wyatt and I have to head out for the night."
"Ace!" Wilder and Isabella shout.
Ace darts between us and through the other door. Wilder and Isabella are quick on his heels.
Jagger sits up, brows furrowed. "Where the hell are y'all going? It's New Year's Eve. The party starts in a few hours."
Wyatt slides right into the conversation, smooth as whiskey. "Sorry. We have to miss this one. We've got a meeting tomorrow morning in Dallas. There's a new sports drink brand looking for a rider."
He really thought this lie out.
Dad lowers his tablet. "On New Year's Day?"
I nod, too quickly, falling right back into the old way Wyatt and I used to tell tall tales to my family. "Yeah. Apparently they're from Europe. Don't do the whole 'holiday' thing like we do."
"Since when don't Europeans party on New Year's?" Jagger prods suspiciously.
"Like you know anything about European business people," I point out.
He scrunches his face, as if he's trying hard to figure out how anyone would want to meet on New Year's Day.
My stomach flips faster.
Wyatt adds, "They're on a tight marketing timeline and have to find someone. It was the only time that worked in their schedules."
Mom lifts a skeptical brow. "And they want to meet with you two specifically?"
Wyatt flashes that grin that should be illegal. "They're interested in sponsoring a few of Willow's riders and potentially building a training partnership. Willow thought it was best to bring me. It's a big opportunity."
Jagger makes a face. "Still weird. On a holiday?"
Guiltily, I add, "New year, new deals. Besides, if it pans out, it could be major for the team too. We'd be the first to land them stateside."
Dad grunts. "Guess business doesn't sleep."
Mom looks between us, fretting, "Are you staying at Sebastian and Georgia's?"
Wyatt answers before I can. "No. The company got us rooms at a hotel."
Mom waves us off. "Well, drive safely. And swing by Sebastian and Georgia's on the way home. You can bring back her pie dish."
"Pie dish?" I question.
"Yes. She forgot her favorite one. Remember?" Mom reminds me.
I faintly remember Georgia whining about her dish. I quickly state, "Sure."
Dad's already back to his tablet. "Make it worth it, kids."
My heart pounds so hard, we could have just pulled off a heist. I follow Wyatt outside, and he opens the passenger door to his old truck.
I slip into the seat.
He leans in, close to my face, and murmurs, "Told you they'd buy it, sugar."
I push him away. "Don't get cocky."
He grins, shuts the door, then limps to the driver's side.
His truck still has the same leather seats and the dent in the back fender. As we cruise past familiar roads, butterflies start to beat their wings harder inside me.
I glance out the window. "Why are you driving toward Devil's Wash?"
He quickly glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Aww, you're taking the fun out of it."
We pass the old bar, the grocery store, and the diner we used to sneak off to when no one was paying attention.
Then he veers left at the fork toward Pecan Hollow.
Panic and memories rush me all at once. "I thought we were going to Devil's Wash."
He chuckles. "We gotta eat, sugar."
"Eat? Where? Everything's packed on New Year's Eve," I point out, on a racetrack rushing down memory lane.