26. Archer
CHAPTER 26
Archer
“Passport?”
I take the brand new book out of the front pocket of my laptop bag and show Ryder. “Yep.”
“Is it signed?”
Opening it up, I check once again that I’ve signed my name to it and confirm, “All good.”
“Uh… toothbrush, underwear, socks… shit, I don’t know what else to check. You’re not flyin’ commercial so if they lose your luggage, chances are they lost you. And if they lose you over the Atlantic, we’ve got bigger issues than your clean boxer situation,” Ryder says, glancing around his truck.
I slap my hand on my knee to stop the sudden jiggling of my leg and snap, “That’s not funny.”
“Fuck, sorry. Breathe and put your head between your knees.”
“That’s if you’re gonna puke.”
“Whatever.”
He tries to hide it, but my brother starts laughing from the driver’s seat. “Sorry, I’m stopping,” he lies, getting out of the truck and continuing to laugh his ass off as he closes the door. I can still hear him when he drops the tailgate to grab my single suitcase.
I take my Stetson from his dash and get out, putting it on, looking up at the bright Tennessee sky.
There’s not a single cloud out today, and at just after eleven in the morning, it’s already in the high eighties and humid. It’s the kind of day Tinsley would love. One where she would drag me from behind my computer so we could take Gatsby and Rowdy out to the lake and ride them through the shallow waters before dismounting and floating under the sun, letting it color her bare skin. Then on the shore, she’d let the sun dry her off, laying on her stomach, and we’d talk until I couldn’t resist her anymore and roll her under me, forgetting a world existed outside the two of us as we passed the afternoon.
It’s a beautiful memory. One of thousands I’ve held on to for the last decade, keeping it close and replaying it in my head until it became worn around the edges like an old photograph. Remembering my Tinsley, my Shortcake, how she was back then, has always been my comfort. First when she was gone, and then when I thought I’d never have that girl again and would only ever see the global icon she’s become.
But the woman who owns the world and the girl who owns my heart are one in the same. No one version of her is better than the other. No version less deserving of absolute love and devotion from them or from me. Especially from me.
Tinsley was born to shine, and I was born to love her. All of her. And while that memory is one I’ll always remember, it’s from another chapter of our lives. One I’ve held onto too tightly instead of turning the page so I can help her write the song that will play next for us.
The girl from Louisville and the boy from a town miles off the freeway in East Tennessee are still here. They’re still inside us and will forever be a part of who we are and how we love each other. But it’s the woman in sequins under bright lights singing for tens of thousands who needs to be loved by a man who follows through on chasing her to the ends of the earth. Who does more than tolerates her celebrated life. Who lives up to the name of Superman and is always there when she needs that soft place to land and call home.
I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder as Ryder extends the handle of my suitcase, and together we make our way across the municipal airport’s parking lot.
“Dad would be proud of you, Arch. I know he never got to meet Tinsley, but he’d have loved her and been so incredibly proud of what you’re doin’. He probably also would’ve kicked your ass ten years ago for not goin’ after her, but hey, better late than never.”
“Definitely,” I agree.
My hand’s on the door, pulling it open when he stops, looking alarmed. “The ring! Do you have the ring? How did I fuckin’ forget to ask you about the—thank God,” he sighs in relief when I pull the antique box out.
For good measure, I open it up and show him our mom’s resized, fresh from a cleaning at the jewelers, sparkling engagement ring.
“Good, good, good…” he nods, popping his hat off and running a hand through his shoulder length hair before putting it back on.
I snap the box closed and stuff it back in the front pocket of my jeans where it’ll live until tomorrow night.
Inside the airport—which is more like a hotel lobby with couches and a TV in the center of the room and a long counter that’s divided into checking in for flights and lessons and a rental car stand with a single conference room and two offices down a short hall—he rolls the suitcase over to me and asks, “So who am I bringin’ back to the ranch again?”
“Skylar DuBois; she’s a friend of Tinsley’s. The filming of her show just wrapped and after some family drama, she wanted to get out of L.A. Since I’ll be gone, I offered her?—”
“Archer?” the golden blonde in question calls out.
She gives me a small wave, already looking down at the two massive suitcases in front of her. Each one is topped with an oversized and overstuffed bag that she starts to expertly wheel over.
I’m pushing my bag from my side to my back, straightening my glasses on my way to help her, but Ryder’s already halfway across the room to her. By the time I get to them, not even five seconds later, he’s already taken both suitcases from her and is introducing himself.
“Ryder Hayes, Archer’s brother.”
Skylar can’t look at him, nor can she stop looking at him. Every time she tries, her Caribbean blue eyes dart back up to him.
My brother for his part has forgotten I’m even here. His attention is consumed by her and her shy return of his introduction.
The second she puts her hand in his, she’s yanking it back with a quiet gasp as if she’s been burned, her suntanned, freckle dusted cheeks turning pink.
She rubs the fingers of her right hand over her palm several times, staring down at it as if it’ll give her the answer to some unasked question before bringing them up to her lips. She looks up at me and, like a reflex she can’t control, drifts her gaze to Ryder, smiling a little more before looking down and tucking the long waves of her hair behind her ear.
Eyes trained on the hem of her lavender dress that brushes the floor, she asks, “So what now?”
Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I hand them over and answer, “Ryder’ll take you out to the ranch, show you around, and get you settled in my house. You’re welcome to anything there, including my truck—you do have an active license right?”
She laughs and confirms, “Yes, I have my license and it’s in good standing. Just had to get a new one last month for my birthday.”
“And Tinsley mentioned you wanted to learn how to ride while you’re here, right?”
“I would love to. I’ve always wanted a horse. But if it’s too much trouble?—”
“I’ll teach you,” Ryder interjects.
“Are you sure? I’m sure you’re busy. It’s kind of silly anyway. It’s not like I can have one now?—”
“It’s not silly and yeah, I’m positive. We’ll get you settled in and if you're up for it, I can take you to our family’s stables and show you around. See if you connect with anyone and go from there.”
Somehow, I don’t think my brother’s just talking about our horses.
“Okay, well if y’all are all set?—”
“We are,” my brother answers, turning Skylar’s suitcases around.
“—I’m going to check in and get going.”
“Thank you again, Archer,” Skylar sweetly says. “I know you’re doing it for Tinsley, but it’s really kind of you to open up your home to me.”
“Of course. You’re her family. And if you need or want me to look at anything else, I’d be happy to do so.”
“I can help with whatever you need,” Ryder offers, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You barely passed Algebra II and that was with me—your younger brother—helping you. How are you going to help?”
My brother just glares at me and snaps, “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Yes, I do. I have a plane to catch and a girl to surprise.”
At that, Skylar squeals and claps her hands, dancing on her toes. “Oh my gosh, it’s so romantic. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
We say our goodbyes—my knocked-on-his-ass brother not even hanging around until I get on the plane—and before I know it, I’m strapped into a club chair by the emergency exit, already two fingers of whiskey deep before we even take off.
This is going to be the longest seven hours of my life.