Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
TRISTON
T he coffee shop is small but bustling with tourist traffic when I slip inside the doors and look across the various seats and tables.
I have my cowboy hat pulled lower than typical, hoping it keeps me a bit more discreet, and I’ve pulled a brown and red plaid flannel overtop a plain shirt, buttoned completely in an attempt to cover the fading hickeys left by Beau and Emily Saturday night.
In Oakland, the look combined with my black boots would have garnered more attention than I’m wanting.
Luckily, in Jackson—especially in late spring—it’s not a combination that stands out all that much.
A few people glance up as the bells ring above the door when it closes behind me, but no one does any kind of double take.
I tuck my hands in my front pockets, looping my thumbs through the belt loops, and look over the room again, slower this time.
Lance looks up just as I settle my gaze on him.
He smiles and lifts his chin, standing from the low-backed chair with ease.
He grabs the coffee in front of him and crosses the room.
He pulls me in for a quick hug then hands me the paper cup.
“Perfect timing as always,” he says in greeting. “We should have just enough time to run through a couple question potentials before the interviewer is ready.”
I take the coffee and use it as a way to keep from responding right away. The liquid burns my throat, and it’s not the right balance of creamer to coffee, but I don’t let it bother me. I give a bland smile, and he frowns.
“Are they recording it for social media?” I ask to delay the inevitable questions coming about Creek Falls.
He nods. “Makeup time is already built in if you’re wanting some.”
I manage to avoid touching the fading bruises on my neck.
The worst ones the collar covers, and my hair is long enough now to make the others harder to notice.
I suppose if people want to make a big deal about them, it’ll just drive the engagement up on the posts. It’s not like I’ll see the comments.
That thought has me remembering I never saw Emily’s messages, and my mood sours.
“Unless they’re overly concerned, I’ll pass,” I mutter, just like always. Lance nods, not at all surprised. “What’s after this one, then?”
“Up to you,” he says. “Figured we could run through what’s been brought up to me and fill out your summer before the interview. Especially since they’re probably going to ask you your plans after taking the respite.”
I take a longer pull from the coffee cup.
Lance lets the conversation drop, walking beside me as he leads us into the heart of Jackson and away from the main tourist thoroughfare.
I ease the hat a bit higher and stretch my neck.
It’s the wrong move. A small group of women step out of a small shop and their eyes widen.
The girl in the middle—at least a couple years younger than me, though they all might still be in college—gasps.
“Oh my gosh!” she says. “Are you Triston Harding?”
The others with her giggle, their cheeks flushing. I wordlessly touch the brim of my hat, and the girl who asked squeals.
“Could we get a picture?”
Before I can say anything, all four of them surround me, holding out their phones. Lance backs up a few steps, ensuring he’s out of the frame. I manage to plaster on that unfeeling smile that fools everyone just before they take the first set of photos.
“Thank you!” one of the women says, her cheeks darker than the others.
She twists her hands into the skirt she’s wearing.
It’s clear she’s hoping I’ll offer more than the photos.
My number or maybe even an invitation to a rodeo.
Other bull riders do it all the time, an easy way to find partners.
I pretend I don’t notice and tip my hat again.
Her face falls, but I pretend I don’t see that, either.
She drops her attention down to her phone.
Lance silently rejoins me as the women look over the various photos.
He chuckles a bit once we’re around the next corner.
“Well,” he says, tucking his hands in his pockets, “that break’s really helping.”
I sigh but don’t deny it. A month ago, even before the Drop, that kind of encounter would have had my skin crawling.
I rub the back of my neck, using the movement as an excuse to breathe deeply while the wrist Emily’d scent marked before I’d left for Jackson just before dawn—right after Beau’d gone to work the cattle—is near my lips.
The vanilla is so much fucking better than the synthetic substitute.
Sweet and with just a bite of possessive need.
It makes me want to run back to Creek Falls and find her while she does the administrative work of running Misty Mountain with Melissa.
Instead, I clear my throat.
“Yeah, it’s helping,” I say.
The small storefront of the studio the NbrA is using for the interview comes into view. Nerves tighten my chest and try to close off my throat. I swallow down the lump.
“It, uh, also came with a surprise.”
Lance raises an eyebrow and holds the door open for me.
The studio is dark woods and white linens.
A small sofa with green pillows and a brick wall behind it sits across from two tan suede chairs with a small round table between them.
There’s a larger coffee table in the center of the furniture, stained a rustic oak.
It’s like a perfectly curated farmhouse living room.
No one’s waiting for us here, though there’s a sheet of paper on the smaller table.
Lance walks deeper into the space, turning down a hallway tucked behind the brick decorative wall.
“What’s that?” he asks, holding his hand out to an unmarked door.
This room is much less polished, the seats worn but more comfortable.
I ignore the vanity and large mirror that take up one wall, in favor of dropping into one of the dark blue velvet chairs.
I tilt my head back, trying to decide the best way to phrase it.
Lance settles in the seat next to me and pulls out his phone.
It’s always been easy to admit things point-blank with Lance.
He’s been there with me the last five years, helping me navigate the semi-pro circuits and cementing my place in the pro circuit two seasons ago.
I’ve always been able to trust him with my deepest secrets and greatest worries, and so I don’t pussyfoot the news.
“I have a daughter.”
His eyes are wider than saucers as his gaze whips from his phone to me. “What?”
I nod and take off the cowboy hat, letting it dangle from my hand.
It’s the designer one I wear any time I’m doing something related to riding.
It’s custom made by one of my sponsors. For the first time, I wish I could wear the one I’ve worn the last several years working the cattle in Creek Falls, the light tan that’s sun stained and with the frayed edging.
It’s molded to my head in a way this one’s never managed despite the luxury fabrics and hand craftsmanship.
“Yeah,” I say. “Her name is Penelope, but they call her Penny. She turned one on Friday.”
“And you’re sure it’s?—”
I cut him off. “I’m sure.”
The resemblance is uncanny as all hell.
Lance doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough I let my eyes close and my hat drop to the floor.
“She apparently tried to tell me when she found out,” I continue.
“It was after I was doxxed and my phone had to be completely redone. She…” My throat tightens, but I breathe through the emotion.
It’s easier this time. Getting to spend yesterday with Penny and Beau helps soften the hurt.
So does knowing I’d woken up in their bed the last two days, both of their bodies pressed against mine.
“She sent me messages through social media channels. When I didn’t answer, the other person we’d been fooling around with stepped up. They’re raising her together.”
Lance curses. “All right. I’ll look into how they were missed.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, man. Of course. We’ll keep June light, then. Give you as much time there as we can manage. You good with flying out to things? Or you want to try to keep them here?”
“I’d rather travel than have the world descend on Creek Falls. When it was just me…” I shrug. “I’d rather try to keep them from having to deal with the public backlash until they’re ready for it.”
“Sounds good.”
My skin tightens, a lesser version of the horrible pain I’ve felt the last couple weeks. I press my wrist to my lips, soaking in her scent again.
“All right. The biggest event is a charity exhibition rodeo in Billings over Memorial Day. They’re raising money for an Omega retreat that’s opening in another month.
Technically we’re past the point of entrants being allowed to register, but the organizers requested you and a handful of the other guys from the NbrA circuit.
Thought that would be an easy way to get back into the swing of everything. ”
“I just need to ride?” I ask.
“Might be some small press on either side, but otherwise, yes. If you make it the full time, the NbrA says they’ll donate a quarter mil. A portion of all the ticket sales go to the retreat, too. They’re wanting to get your name out there ASAP to help push interest.”
“Of course. Happy to help a good cause.” I nod. “Can’t guarantee a full ride, of course. But I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.”
I smile, just a bit.
There’s a long stretch of silence. I finally look over at him. His eyebrows are furrowed.
“You want to invite them? Your daughter and the others?”
A lump is in my throat again, bigger than before. It takes me a minute to remember how to speak, how to breathe.
“I’ll give them the option. Not sure they want to be all that public.”
“That’s fine. I’ll make sure to keep a couple tickets back just in case. If they don’t end up joining, I’ll have the agency put together a last minute giveaway for them.” He taps on his phone. “You give any thought to your apartment lease?”
“I’ll let it go,” I admit.
I have enough money to buy a place anywhere in the greater Jackson area, including most of Jackson Hole.
Finding a spot closer to Creek Falls won’t be any real issue.
If I need my own place at all, at least. The three of us haven’t talked about what any of the long term might look like, not after agreeing to stay with them Sunday morning.
A cramp rolls through my stomach and steals my breath for a moment.
I close my eyes as I grimace, then force my body to relax around the pain.
It fades after a few moments. I focus on Lance again.
“You have everything you need out of it? Or should I have movers take care of it?”
“I brought everything that’s important,” I say with a shrug. “Mostly it’s just furniture left there, and the next person can have all of that.”
“All right.” He taps on his phone. “Then the only other thing that has to get done in the next several weeks is the magazine photoshoot for Western Life. They’re wanting you to be their July edition, so we need to get you with their people by the end of the first week in June so they have time to get it all ready. ”
“Can we just add that to the end of the rodeo in Billings? That way I don’t have to figure out a second bit of travel. I’m sure there’s some places that work decent for that.”
I gesture to the room around us in example. Lance makes a note. My phone vibrates as the changes he’s making to the synced calendar start going through.
“I’m sure there is. Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out with the editorial staff.”
A woman’s laugh echoes outside the closed door. My stomach tightens with sudden stress entirely different from the lingering touch-starvation.
“Did Sean reach out to you?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, he did. The junior rodeos in Nashville, right? They have them every two weeks through August. Thought the Fourth might be a good option. It’s their largest one, and it’s the one Sean’s agent mentioned specifically.
But we can do a different one if you’re wanting to do something else for the holiday. ”
“Um, the Fourth is fine. I’ll talk with…” I trail off before I say Emily’s name.
Lance grunts. “They can come, too, you know. I’ve managed athletes who have packs, Triston. It’s not any big jump for me. You just let me know, and I’ll get everything organized for you all.”
“Am I good to mention either of those?” I gesture toward the door. “Or should I stick to more broad things?”
“The one in Billings, yes.” He holds out his phone, showing a trio of text messages confirming my appearance and permission to use the interview as an unofficial announcement.
“Give me a couple more days to finalize everything in Nashville, though. Should be good to talk about it by the magazine shoot.”
Before I can say anything, there’s two soft knocks on the door.
“Mr. Harding? The interviewer is ready for you.”
“Showtime,” I mutter.
Lance chuckles as I stand and grab the hat from the floor.