Chapter 33
Juliet
I don’t want to believe what Archer’s saying, but the look on his face tells me it’s true, so I keep quiet.
“I got into the sport because of him,” he explains as we pass beneath the orange lights stationed down the residential road.
“We grew up together rodeoing and were always pretty evenly matched.
When we made it pro, we both got sponsored by Amarillo Red, a well-known boot company in Texas.
We were both invincible. Or so we thought.
“He ended up getting married, had a baby boy, but still kept rodeoing. We were both young and stupid, riding the high of being rich and famous in our own little sphere.
“About a year after his baby was born, we had an event in Las Vegas. I drew the bull known for ripping people apart—Despoiler. He’d broken necks before, so for the first time in my life, I backed out.
Just didn’t have a good feeling about him.
Stetson ended up drawing the name after me, and even though I told him not to, he went through with it and was bucked off.
” His jaw twitched and brow furrowed. “He broke his neck. Died a few hours later.”
Horror pulls my stomach to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe. “That must have been horrible.”
“It was,” he says. “I took it hard. Had I not been a coward and taken the bull, he never would have had the chance to ride him. That’s what led to my first arrest. The shop I busted up was Amarillo Red, the ones who sponsored us.
I couldn’t take it, driving by each day, seeing our faces on the posters in the windows, happy and healthy.
“After getting caught, I paid for the shop and set up a fund for Stetson’s boy. He and his mama are happy now. She’s married again to a farmer who treats her well. But it’s my fault that little boy will grow up never knowing his daddy.”
I can hear the pain still evident in his tone, and while I don’t agree that it was his fault, I can’t say I wouldn’t blame myself in the same situation.
“I’m not telling you all of this to make you feel bad,” Archer continues. “Honestly, I can’t even believe the real reason I am sharing it.” He blows out a breath. “But I...I can see where your dad is coming from.”
I never thought I’d see the day—Archer taking Dad’s side?
“If he blames himself for your mama’s death,” he continues, “if he believes he’s the reason you had to grow up without her, he’s gonna do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
I’ve always known why Dad acts the way he does, but hearing Archer’s perspective draws a balm over my heart, and a renewed strength rises in me to be more patient.
“Thank you,” I say. “For your insight and for telling me about what happened. It helps me understand everything a little bit better.”
Archer pulls in his lips with a nod.
“It makes sense why you broke into the shop, too,” I continue. “I probably would have done the same thing in your position.”
He chuckles.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just can’t picture you doing anything against the law.”
“Hey, I can be a rebel when I want to.”
“I reckon you’ve never broken a single law in your life.”
Honestly, my level of law-breaking is pathetic, but I’ve done more than he thinks. “You’d be surprised. I have my own levels.”
“What, j-walking?”
The mood lightens around us, and I’m glad to be finished with the heaviness. “More than that.”
“Littering? Loitering?”
“Worse.”
“Nah, I’m not buying it.”
I kind of like that he doesn’t think I’m capable of doing anything bad. But I don’t want to deceive him any longer.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell my dad. He still doesn’t know.”
Archer smirks, though he clearly intends not to hear anything juicy. “All right, go on.”
I draw a deep breath. “I was almost caught at Make-Out Ridge.”
His mouth drops open. “The truth comes out. And after you criticized me for being caught up there.”
I cover my face with my hands. “I know, I’m the worst.”
He chuckles. “I take it you weren’t just parked up there for fun?”
“Nope, I was being a debase eighteen-year-old who’d just graduated and wanted to party before college.”
“Well, color me impressed.”
“To be honest,” I say, “I never got around to kissing anyone—up there, anyway. We were constantly discovered beforehand, but the guys always took the heat so I could run before being discovered.”
Archer
I know I don’t have a right to feel jealous about Juliet kissing another guy—especially when I didn’t even know her when it happened.
But the thought of her wrapped in another man’s arms makes me feel like I’m housing a bag of rocks in my stomach—rocks I want to chuck across the street because how dare another guy kiss the woman I like?
“It’s certainly more than I thought you capable of, hiding from cops,” I say.
“I’ve done more than that, too.”
“Have you now?”
She nods. “I shattered a window by putting a snowball through it.”
“Was it an accident?”
She pauses. “Fine, yes. But I doorbell ditched my neighbors...once.”
I hold up my hands like I’m trying to stop her. “Woah, woah, woah. You definitely should’ve been arrested for that.”
She grins. “Told you. I’m a rebel.”
We’re drawing closer to her house. I’ve driven by the mayor’s a few times, but I mostly know his address from sending singing grams and terrible presents to him—though I preferred sending them to his office at Town Hall. More people to be embarrassed around.
A few Halloween decorations dangle from the front trees. Orange lights are hung up on the house while a number of uncarved pumpkins decorate the otherwise empty porch.
“Ooh, I’ve got it!” Juliet snaps her fingers, her features alight as we walk up the drive. “I may not have gotten arrested for j-walking, but I absolutely would’ve been for punching my ex-boyfriend in the face.”
Now my attention piques. “You really did that? Why?”
“He was getting too friendly. I warned him if he tried to touch me again I’d let him have it, so my hand kind of got a mind of its own and I”—She pauses, making the upward swinging motion with her hand—“nailed him in the nose.”
I chuckle, imagining her doing that to every man she kissed...unless she ever kisses me. “I take it you learned that from having a cop for a dad?”
“Yup. And watching the Walker boys.”
Her hands are still swinging at her sides—while mine are still tucked in my jacket pockets. Her fingers must be cold. I could reach out for them, warm them up a bit.
The image of her laying out her ex on the floor flashes through my mind, so I keep my hands tucked safely away. “Was that the reason you broke up with him?”
She looks up at the stars. “That was part of it. He wasn’t my type.
He expected me to be at all of his pickleball tournaments, but when I had big presentations at school, he never made any effort to come.
I only dated him to pass the time.” Her lips part, and she looks like she regrets her words.
“I mean, I wasn’t using him. Well, I guess I kinda was, but he was using me, too.
Anyway, after I bloodied him up a little bit, he finally got the picture. ”
The more I learn about this girl, the more I fall for her.
Hard.
“Remind me not to ask you to come to my pickleball tournaments,” I joke.
“You play?”
“Naw, I was just joking. I’m more of a horse-rider than pickle-ball-hitter. Does that disappoint you?”
“I don’t think you could ever do anything to disappoint me, Archer.”
“Not even being arrested?”
“Twice,” she coughs.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
She grins. “Nope. Not even that.”
I don’t respond for a minute. “Can I ask why that doesn’t bother you?”
She shrugs. “Why would I judge you for things that happened before I even knew you? Anyway, you’ve given me no reason to not trust you.”
I fall silent, her words striking me with humility as we reach the end of the long drive a few seconds later.
“I just need to go to the bathroom and grab the keys,” she says, leading the way up the front path. She opens the screen door and motions for me to follow her inside. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”
I’m wildly hesitant at the notion. Still, I come inside, taking off my hat and stepping over the threshold like I’m allowed into the Cave of Wonders.
She flips on the switch nearby, and light floods through the open front room and kitchen as I awkwardly remain in the entryway, closing the door behind me.
Juliet tosses her coat on the back of the sofa. “I’ll be just a minute,” she says over her shoulder, then she disappears down a side hallway, and I’m left alone to stare at her house—the mayor’s house.
The front room is clean with large sectionals and a modest fireplace.
A blanket’s thrown on the chair nearest the fire, shoes are strewn across the landing, and a stack of letters are spread on the kitchen counter.
The warm glow of the light Juliet had flicked on creates a comfortable environment, which is the exact opposite of what I imagined feeling here.
What I was expecting, I’m not sure. Something befitting of the mayor? Rigid. Cold. Pictureless. Windowless. But after the odd connection I discovered between me and him tonight, I guess what I imagined had been too harsh.
I take a few steps forward, eager to see what else I can discover, not for the mayor, but for Juliet. I want to find hints of her life here, if she’d colored on any walls as a kid or spilled tomato soup on the edge of a couch.
The fridge is covered in masses of photos, but I don’t dare walk that far into the house.
Instead, I find a few framed on the mantel—teenage Juliet with the blonde hair holding a massive fish with her dad standing proudly in the background.
One where the two of them are dressed up as pirates for what I assume was Halloween.
Another of Mayor Monroe holding an infant Juliet in his arms in the hospital.
Then there’s one of her mom holding Juliet in a shoulder ride. They really do look like each other, but there’s more of Mr. Monroe in Juliet than she knows. The dark hair, the ears. But the blue eyes are definitely her mother’s.
A distinct sadness washes over me. There was a photo of Stetson holding his boy in the same way.
His wife forgave me when I was back in Texas. Told me it wasn’t my fault. I’ll still carry my decision to my grave, but time has helped ease the burden, if only to a degree.
Has it helped Mr. Monroe?
I stare at another picture of him and Juliet at her graduation, tears in his eyes as he stares emotionally in her direction.
My respect for him grows. He loves his daughter, and I can’t help but admire his efforts to keep his wife’s memory alive for them both.
Footsteps sound to my left, and Juliet stands still at the end of the hallway, her eyes calculating as she watches me.
“This is weird,” she says.
“What’s weird?”
“You. Standing in my house.”
I leave the photos behind and take a step toward her. “You invited me in.”
“Oh, I know. But it’s still weird.”
I chuckle. “Why?”
“Because I never thought I’d see you in here. Though I used to imagine you in here all the time.” She smiles wistfully, her eyes taking on a faraway look before she blinks, and a blush paints itself across her cheeks.