Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEN
O n a chilly Friday in November, Jason tells me that he wants to take me somewhere to celebrate our three-month anniversary—somewhere out of Saddlebrook Falls and far enough away that I’ll have to ask my mom if I can push my curfew to midnight. He won’t tell me where he wants to go, and though I feign a teasing annoyance at the lack of details, I’m secretly thrilled.
It’s a bye week—a much-needed break for the team who have played their hearts out all season long. With only a few weeks left in the regular season, the Mustangs are expected to clinch their first perfect record in nearly twenty years. Jason has started in every game since that first one against the Titans and continues to dominate on the field with his steadying calm and one hell of an arm.
Scouts have even been at a few of the more recent home games, sending Jason into a tailspin. On the field, he leads a strong offense, but the second he steps off the turf, those nerves take root and poke at his confidence, driving him to practice till ten, eleven o’clock most nights. If he’s not practicing, he’s locked inside the school’s weight room. Even on the rare nights that we all hang out at Wells’s, Jason spends the majority of our time together throwing balls through a tire swing near the rec room.
Needless to say, spending a little quality time with him sounds like perfection, and I can’t wait. “What should I wear?” I ask from the passenger’s seat of his car as he takes me home after school.
“Boots and a jacket.” The corners of his mouth lift as the implication settles over me.
“We’ll be outside?”
He nods. “I’d probably put a little sunscreen on your face.” He looks at me with a sly grin. “Wouldn’t want you to burn.”
I laugh as my mind rolls through the possibilities. The beach? It’s only a half-hour drive away—but that wouldn’t explain a need for boots. Maybe a hike? “What kind of pants should I wear?”
This time he laughs. “You can skip the pants altogether, Layla. Trust me, I wouldn’t mind.”
My ears burn hot at the suggestion. We’re three months into our relationship, but I haven’t even let him take my shirt off yet despite his continued attempts. It’s not that I’m not interested in taking things more physical, because I am. Very much so, actually. But I think being eager is part of the problem because I’m not sure where that eagerness is coming from.
Even when Jason and I are just making out in his car I become intensely aware of my body and the fact that I’m not sure what to do with it. It’s an insecurity that leaves me feeling both terrified about fumbling through any attempt at more and also just ready to dive in and get it all over with in hopes it settles some of these bone-deep nerves.
Jason’s definitely not a virgin, and I guess when it comes down to it, I’m a little scared that my inexperience might bore him or disappoint him. And I know in my heart that’s not enough of a reason to give myself up, but I’m also not sure how else to feel more confident about it all.
“I’m serious!” I scold, hoping he doesn’t notice my flush. “Are jeans safe?”
His smile lingers as he wraps a warm hand around the top of my bent knee. “Jeans are perfect.”
The next day, he shows up at my house around noon with three bundles of flowers in hand—one for me, and the others for Mom and Annie. Annie just about topples over with excitement at her beautiful bouquet, and Mom gives me a look that confirms everything I already know about how she feels about him. And while the gesture is nice, I know it’s to sweeten her up before asking if he can bring me home later than usual tonight.
“Where are you two off to, anyway?” she counters when he eventually asks.
His eyes move to mine before they jump back to her. “I was kind of hoping I could keep it a surprise, but I promise it’s somewhere safe and that I’ll take great care of her.”
I almost snort at the thought of needing to be taken care of . . . like I’m a small child he has to babysit. But I know he’s only saying it to appease her, so I tamp down the urge to bite back with a retort.
“Oh, I know you will, sweetheart.” She waves a hand as if none of this matters anyway, not when Jason is the picture- perfect boyfriend. I might like him very much, but I still hate the way she’s ready to cement him into my life forever. “Just have her home by midnight, and not a minute later, okay?”
The smile he gives her is wide and toothy. “Yes, ma’am. I will.” He kisses my cheek before taking my hand and hauling me out the door.
Once we’ve made it into his car, I pull my seat belt over my lap and say, “The flowers were a nice touch.”
The smirk he throws my way is devilish, dripping in charm. “I figured it would help steer things our way.”
I laugh. “You’re terrible.”
He shoots me another glance, the smirk melting away into something tighter. “What do you mean?”
“The way you just played her to get what you wanted.”
A beat of silence passes. “I didn’t play her, Layla. I was just being nice.”
“Yeah but . . . you did it so she’d let me stay out later.”
He shrugs. “Sure, that might’ve been part of it. But it’s hardly manipulation.”
That’s exactly what it is, but I choose to keep that argument to myself. We’re only five minutes into his elaborate anniversary surprise and here I am poking at him. Guilt ripples through me at that because my frustrations have everything to do with my mother and hardly anything to do with Jason. I try to get us back to safer grounds. “So, where are you taking me, exactly?”
Thankfully, it seems to work—the corners of his mouth rise with the secret he’s keeping. “Foxborough County.”
I scrunch my nose as I work to figure out what in god’s name could be waiting for us out there. Saddlebrook Falls isn’t all that big, but we’re still lucky to have the shops and businesses and general access that we do. None of it would rival the main drags of any big city, but we still have just about anything we might need placed comfortably within reach. Foxborough County is . . . nothing but country. As far as I know, it’s predominantly made up of orchards and farmland and a few scattered homes occupied by the people who work them.
Jason chuckles at what I’m sure is the bright beacon of confusion shining from my face. I look down at my shoes—my trusty high-top Converse, because despite living in Texas I don’t actually own a pair of boots—and hope we aren’t doing anything too physical. Maybe we’re picking apples or . . . having a picnic? A sneaky glance into the back seat gives away nothing except the fact that Jason is a borderline slob.
It takes us just shy of an hour to cross county lines, and not long after that I notice a glossy banner hung across one of the highway’s overpasses. It takes a few seconds for the glare from the sun to shift so that I can make out the words, but when it does, I read FOXBOROUGH RODEO I haven’t let myself open that mental trapdoor in years. But I desperately miss my grandparents, and being here today is a reminder of that longing. They might have their issues with my mother and the decisions she’s made, but they’ve always been good to me.
Before they moved to Florida, I spent many nights at their house while my mom worked night shifts at the local diner, doing her best to keep the lights on in our one-bedroom rental. I’d tuck myself tightly between them on the couch, a blanket thrown over all six of our legs as if it might cement us together forever, and we’d watch movies until I grew tired enough to fall asleep. My grandpa taught me how to ride a bike when I was five, soothing my skinned knees later that day with gentle hands while my grandma warmed cornbread in the oven. She always had something warm to eat on a dime, her favorite way to comfort.
I’ve only seen them a handful of times since they moved away. For so long I held on to bitter resentment over their decision to leave, but as I’ve gotten older I think I understand why they did it. It had been too easy for my mother to fail back then, too easy for my grandparents to pick up the pieces of her life, as they’d always done—especially after I was born. When Mom came home from Vegas with a shiny new husband on her arm, they took it as an opportunity to break free. So, no. I don’t blame them for it. Not anymore.
I was just collateral damage.
“Okay,” Jason says around the fried Oreo in his mouth, pulling me out of my haze of memories. “I think we’ve eaten enough food.”
I look down at the orange-lacquered picnic table between us, at the paper cartons of fried Oreos, fried pickles, and the plate-sized funnel cake I insisted on, dusted with copious amounts of powdered sugar. They’re all mostly empty now. Pulling the final piece of cake in half with my fingers, I shrug before tossing one side of it into my mouth. “There’s always room for more.” He laughs, and I feel a zing of pride that I can make him do that. “But,” I add mournfully, “I’m going to need a solid half hour of digestion before we can even think about getting on a ride.” My gaze moves to the Zipper in the distance, to the cages of people flipping as they orbit around the tall boom, and my stomach lurches.
Jason nods. “No problem, we have somewhere to be, anyway.”
“We do?”
He plucks the other half of the cake from my fingers and drops it into his mouth, eyes crinkling as a warm grin spreads wide. “Yeah, come on.”
We untangle ourselves from the bench seats and throw our trash away. The sun is high and bright in the sky as Jason grabs hold of my hand and leads me deeper into the grounds, where a small arena comes into view—just past the Wacky Shack funhouse full of screaming children—and I remember the banner on the highway. “A rodeo?” I ask.
“Yeah, it starts at noon,” he says, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket to check the time. “We have about ten minutes to find a seat.”
He looks more excited than I’d expect over a county rodeo—but maybe I’m learning something new about him, a golden nugget I can tuck away for later. He pulls me into the bleachers where we walk the metal platform before spotting an open spot six rows up. We take our seats just as the national anthem starts playing over the loudspeakers.
There’s an undercurrent of anticipation that buzzes as a red tractor drags an industrial-sized rake across the dirt, forming neat lines as it goes. It’s not long until I notice horses being led toward the line of chutes as cowboys work to fill them one by one on the other side of the arena.
Soon the first event starts: saddle-bronc riding. The first contender makes it nearly six seconds before being thrown from the saddle, a dull thump sounding as his body hits the earth. I can’t help but flinch. Coordinators throw their arms up to appear bigger as they attempt to herd the fuming horse back to safety, and within moments the second rider starts. But it’s the third rider that has me gasping into the palm of my hand.
Wells.
There’s no mistaking him and next to me, Jason is beaming, eyes locked intently on his best friend. “Hell yeah, Wells,” he mutters under his breath. “You got this.” I’m struck by the pride in his eyes, so obvious it’s almost palpable. It knocks something loose in my heart to witness a display of support like this—of friendship—especially when I hold it up against the experiences I’ve had in my own life.
Friendships haven’t always come easy to me. In middle school I often felt used and discarded; other girls would temporarily try me on just to toss me into the go-back pile when all was said and done. No one ever seemed to stick, and at times I felt downright lonely.
I guess I still ache to belong to someone the way I’m realizing Jason and Wells belong to each other.
I fasten my attention back to Wells, on the black cowboy hat he wears as he waits in the chute. I’ve only seen him wear that hat once, when he and Kasey were getting ready at the ranch to take their mother to Beaumont to visit her sister. It’s a stark difference from his usual dirty ball cap—it makes him look so much more grown up.
An air horn sounds, and the cowboys on the floor of the arena yank open the gate. The white horse Wells straddles bursts out like a strike of lightning and my heart leaps in my throat as he begins to thrash. Wells has one hand out in the air, and even from here I can see the determination set in his jaw, his mouth nothing but a firm line. He wears black chaps over his jeans, dark fringe bouncing with the movement of the horse.
For what feels like the longest eight seconds of my life, I can’t drag my eyes away from his face, bracing myself for the moment when he’s bucked so hard he goes flying. But he doesn’t. Even as the horse bucks harder, Wells keeps control of his body and stays rooted in the saddle beneath him, until the air horn sounds again and the crowd in the stands roars with applause.
Twenty minutes later the saddle-bronc event ends when the tenth rider is thrown into the stadium fence, and Wells makes his way to join us in the stands with a joy in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Something silver flashes in his hands as Jason gets up to hug him. “Dude, that was so sick,” he says, slapping his best friend on the shoulder with an open palm. “You literally fucking won!”
Wells grins, and I’m stunned by the casualness of it. He seems . . . pleased. As if that horse knocked his standard-issued attitude right out of him. I’m surprised when he turns his focus to me next, his earthy brown eyes filled with that familiar edge of curiosity. “What about you?”
I stare blankly at him. “What about me?”
“What did you think?”
Jason turns to look at me too, just as a loud buzzing starts an assault against my thoughts. What do I think? “About you? On the horse?”
The corner of his mouth tics, and I feel a flush crawl up my neck. “Yeah,” he confirms.
“Oh, um . . . I—” I stall, looking around at the people around us. “It’s impressive,” I fumble. “You . . . I mean. You were impressive.” His eyes flash with something like amusement and before I can stop myself, I ask, “Can you teach me how to ride?”
His face blanks, all traces of humor gone. “You want to ride?”
“Yeah. I mean . . . not like that ,” I jut my chin toward the arena. “I’m not trying to get hurled into the dirt or anything. But, I’d like to try riding a horse, I think.” My ears burn hot as Wells and Jason look at me like I just asked them to take me to Europe for the summer.
“Um,” Wells starts, looking at Jason as he shrugs. It’s clear I’ve caught him off guard. “Sure.”
Jason looks back and forth between us with a layer of gratitude in his expression. Wells is one of the most important people in his life, and I know he wants us to get along. “Okay, but she’s on her own. Last time I got on a horse I ended up in the mud.”
Wells rolls his eyes. “That’s ’cause you’re a moron and you didn’t listen to a word I said.”
Jason laughs, his eyes dropping to Wells’s hand. “Aw shit, you got one?!”
Wells turns the buckle over in his hand, that soft smile playing on his lips. “Kasey’s going to freak.” He looks around, a thought triggered by the reminder of his brother. “Speaking of . . . he’s around here somewhere.”
Jason’s smile grows bright. “Let’s find him and go have some fun.”