Prologue #2
His smile broadens. “You actin’ right creepin’ around like this?”
“I couldn’t sleep either.”
His smile fades. “Another nightmare?”
“So Colt told you I’ve been having them. A lot.” Looking down, I kick at the dusty floorboards.
“He’s worried about you is all.” A pause. “Truth be told, I am too. What d’you think they’re about? The nightmares.”
A surge of something strong and awful moves through me. Before I can think, I spit out, “Why do you care?”
Another pause. It strikes me how different Ryder is from my brothers.
Heck, he’s different from his brothers too. If I asked them that question, I feel like they’d just tell me to shut up and walk away.
But Ryder stays. He thinks.
He really does care, and that makes my chest cramp.
“You’re a lot like Cash,” he says at last, referring to his oldest—and least friendly—brother.
“Always got your dukes up. But it’s when you’re throwing the most punches that you’re the most scared.
So tell me why you’re scared so I can play some Taylor Swift for you already.
” Ryder shifts the guitar so he’s holding it across his middle.
“I wanna show off all the shit I learned in my guitar lessons this summer.”
I’m laughing, and I don’t want to be.
Scratch that. I really like laughing, especially when Ryder laughs with me, not at me the way my brothers always do.
As their kid sister—I’m number three in the birth order, smack dab in the middle—I’ve always had to hustle to keep up with them.
They find it hilarious when I inevitably fall on my face.
“You’re really gonna play for me?”
“If it will make you feel better, yeah.”
“And you know Taylor Swift?”
“I’ve heard you listening to her. I can learn.”
Turning back to Meredith, I tuck my cheek against the star on her head. She feels warm. Safe.
Maybe that’s why I’m able to say, “I’m just noticing things now. Like how people treat me differently, and not in a good way.”
“What do you mean?”
“So after dinner, Mom always makes me stay to help her do the dishes even though Colt and the rest of them get to ‘go do their homework,’ when really everybody knows they’re just going to play their stupid video games.
And Dad—he’s trying to teach me all this budgeting nonsense that’s boring as all get-out.
Meanwhile, my brothers get to ride out with the cowboys all day.
I miss that, but Dad doesn’t seem to care.
” I sigh. Damn, it feels good to get that out.
Ryder’s eyes are serious when he replies, “I hadn’t thought about it like that. Sounds like it’s harder for girls—doing what you want.”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe. I think that might have something to do with these weird dreams I keep having. I feel…sometimes, in real life and in these dreams, it’s like I can’t breathe. I wanna move, but I can’t. It really pisses me off.”
“I can tell.” He grins, strumming his guitar. The pretty sound is calming. “I can promise you two things. One, I’ll try my very best not to treat you any different.”
My face splits into a smile, the kind I can feel in my cheeks. “Okay.”
“And two, I don’t know the lyrics or the notes to any Taylor Swift song, but I’m gonna learn. Here.” He tips his chin toward my horse, then reaches out to give her chin a tickle. “Maybe Meredith can help us out. You know how to sing, right, pretty girl?”
Meredith eats his pretend sugar up, tucking her lips into his palm. She likes Ryder.
He’s grown up on his family’s ranch about twenty miles from here on the other side of Hart County, so he’s been on horseback and around animals all his life. It shows. He’s tender with Meredith, but confident too. I like that.
Ew, but I don’t like Ryder. He’s Colt’s friend, not mine. And I think Colt would punch us both if we—
Nope. Not even gonna think that disgusting thought.
I should probably get back to my room. I don’t think anyone would like it if they found Ryder and I alone out here together.
More than that, though, all these things I’m feeling have me super freaking confused. I’m hot, but I’m also kind of happy? But also nervous, which makes no sense because I’ve known Ryder forever. He’s like the sixth brother I never wanted but now I’m glad to have.
Only, I don’t want him to be my brother. I want him to be my friend. And something about that is scary for reasons I don’t understand.
Yup, need to get the hell out of here.
“Hey, Ryder—”
“Yeah?” He sits down after giving Meredith one last tickle, settling his back against her stall. “Chocolate Chip likes it when I play for him. You think she’ll like it too?”
I let out a burst of laughter. “I still can’t believe you named your horse Chocolate Chip.”
“Hey.” Ryder strums the guitar again, reaching up to tune a string.
“I was seven. And anything with chocolate chips in it still happens to be my favorite food. Also—I don’t know if you know this—but I did this thing called animal therapy when I was little.
I had a speech delay, and being around horses apparently helped me work through some of that.
When Mom and Dad gave me my own horse, I think they knew how big that moment was. So they let me name him all by myself.”
I blink, startled—warmed—by Ryder’s vulnerable admission. “I didn’t know you were in therapy.”
“From what I remember, it was pretty cool. I’d recommend it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I scoff, glancing at Meredith. “Maybe I need to spend more time around horses, then. To, you know, work through this nightmare stuff.”
“Can’t hurt. So what’s your favorite Taylor song right now?”
I’m sitting beside him and folding my legs into a pretzel before I know what I’m doing.
“You’re gonna make fun of me.” The door of the stall bites into my shoulder blades, but I don’t care.
“Probably. Lemme guess, it’s a love song.”
My face burns. “Maybe.”
“That’s okay. I’ll still play it.” A pause. “You know I’m joking, right? I don’t mind love songs.”
I elbow him. “Duh. Of course I know that.” But I’m really glad you said it anyway.
“Some of the best songs ever written are love songs. At least that’s what my mom says.”
“I like your mom.”
“I do too. You know I’m her favorite.”
I grin. “Everybody knows that. Babies are always the favorite. Tate is my mom’s favorite.”
“He is.” Ryder’s grinning too. “Can you hum the song?”
I clear my throat. “Uh. Yeah. I can, um, do that. Sure.” I clear my throat again, feeling like an idiot.
But the way Ryder looks at me, his eyebrows curved gently upward, makes me feel…like I can actually do this.
I start to hum the song, closing my eyes as the lyrics pass through my brain. I don’t know why this one is my favorite. It’s just cute. And fun. And sometimes I secretly wish what happens in the song might happen to me one day.
Your father’s such a romantic, Mom always says. They kiss a lot, which is kind of gross. But they look happy together. Everyone points to them having six kids as proof of how in love they are, although I don’t understand why.
Whatever the case, ending up like Mom and Dad wouldn’t be so bad. I don’t want to be in the kitchen as much as Mom is. But she and Dad smile a lot when they’re together, and smiling is kind of the best.
I’d know because I start to smile all over again as I hum. My eyes fly open when Ryder starts to play along on his guitar, picking out the notes without missing a beat.
I stop humming. “Do you know this song?”
“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Keep humming.”
“Then how can you play it on the first try?”
“I’m a prodigy. Keep humming, Billie.”
The song sounds so pretty on the guitar, and I don’t want him to stop playing, so I sit up a little straighter and hum another verse, then another chorus.
This time, Ryder doesn’t notice when I stop humming. He just keeps playing, his fingers delicately working the strings of his guitar like he’s been doing this all his life.
He hasn’t. When you get to middle school in these parts, they make you play an instrument. Ryder picked the guitar when he entered sixth grade. He’s only been playing for a couple years now.
Still, he’s really, really good.
I like watching the way his hand moves up and down the neck of the guitar. Steady. Gentle. Behind us, I hear Meredith shuffling in approval, ducking her head to sniff Ryder’s hair.
He chuckles again. “Is that her version of throwing her bra at me?”
I blush at the word bra. I know girls start wearing them at some point, but my chest is still as flat as a pancake. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Girls at concerts throw their bras at lead singers they like.”
“Aren’t I the one singing, though? I don’t want any bras thrown at me.”
“You can sing if you like.”
I clear my throat for what feels like the hundredth time. “Do you think I have a good enough voice?”
“If you think I’m good enough at playing guitar, then sure, I think you have a good enough voice.” His eyes sparkle.
I look away. I’ll probably sound stupid if I sing. But my humming was okay, right? And the way Ryder is playing my favorite song—the notes soft and pretty—it’s hard not to sing along.
Taking a deep breath, I do.
I sing.
Judging by the way Ryder’s smile grows and grows, I’m doing an all right job of it too. Maybe I suck. Maybe I don’t. But I keep singing, closing my eyes. I hear Meredith let out a snort, which means she’s happy. I am too.
Ryder pauses, not sure where the song goes next. I open my eyes and meet his. I continue to sing, my voice echoing down the long hallway. Ryder starts to play again, picking up what I’m laying down. It takes all of one verse for us to get back in sync.
We sit like that, me singing, him strumming, smiling at each other like he’s not my older brother’s best friend and I’m not some stupid kid sister who’s a pain in the ass.
The more I sing, the better Ryder plays. The notes get louder. Bigger. My heart feels bigger too. So big that I worry it’s going to burst clear out of my chest.
I’m sad when the song ends. Ryder’s hand drops from the strings, and I hunch forward a little, suddenly shy. The quiet in the barn is so loud I wonder if it’s alive too, just like I am, and Ryder too, and the horses and all the cowboys sleeping in the bunkhouse next door.
Ryder’s eyes are blue. Not regular blue, but blue blue. What I imagine the color of a tropical sea would look like.
“I like that song.” He shifts, rotating the guitar out of his lap. “What’s the name?”
Disappointment settles over me like a wet blanket. Do we really have to be done? But I didn’t want to be out here with Ryder in the first place. Why do I feel short of breath at the idea of him leaving?
“It’s called ‘Love Story.’”
Standing, he grins. “Of course it is. Want me to walk you back? I’m pretty tired, and I know you need your rest too.”
“Um. Sure. Yeah.”
He holds out his hand, and I take it. Helping me up, he tucks the guitar underneath his arm. Then we walk together in silence back to the house.
I don’t sleep a wink. Instead, I stay up thinking about Ryder. How happy he looked playing his guitar. How much better I feel after spending time with him.
You should’ve told him that.
Ryder was wrong. Girls scare just as easy as boys.
We’re just better at hiding it.