Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Beau
‘Slow down, Bailey.’ I keep my voice low and level, controlled and cool, even when something is sharpening inside of me, pissing me the hell off.
It started in my gut last night when she didn’t reply to my text, even though I could see the light on in her room.
And then her response this morning, to just casually tell me to go on my merry fucking way, like there’s nothing between us.
And now this? Eating across the restaurant, deliberately sitting so she couldn’t see me, and leaving without so much as a glance in my direction?
I’ve never wrapped up a conversation quite so fast as I just did, so I could go after her.
She jabs her finger to the elevator button before turning to face me, a smile on her features that’s just as coldly dismissive as that first day at the airport.
It’s a red rag to a bull. The flare of my temper catches me off guard.
‘Yes?’ Her voice is soft, almost dismissive.
The elevator doors part but she holds them open rather than stepping inside. Only, I move into the space, leaving her with little option but to join me.
She hesitates though—a clear sign that something’s wrong, something’s bothering her. I rack my brain, trying to think what the hell’s happened since the night before last, when we spent a glorious few hours enjoying each other completely. She finally moves into the elevator and the doors ping shut.
‘Just what the hell is going on?’ I ask, sounding angrier than I mean to. I cross my arms over my chest to stop myself from reaching for her.
‘What do you mean?’
The wide-eyed innocence is more frustrating than anything else. I make an effort to control my voice. ‘Why are you pushing me away?’
Her lips part in obvious surprise. ‘I’m not.’
The elevator doors ping open and she steps out, keeping her head dipped low.
‘I’m just being practical. You said you were getting on the road today; I know you must be keen to see your family. I’ve got some loose ends here …’
‘What loose ends?’
She reaches her room and swipes the card, pushing the door open. I move in behind her quickly, closing my eyes on a rush of desire and familiarity that make it hard to keep my head in the game.
‘Work stuff.’ She gestures to her laptop like it’s some kind of shield. I make a sound of impatience.
‘Aren’t I your “work stuff”?’
She puts her delicate hands on her hips and glares at me. Good. Anger is better than cool indifference. Just like riding a bull, anger is an emotion I can surf, keeping above it, turning it into something better. Anger helps me understand because at least it leads to communication.
‘I don’t need time with you to write an article about you.’
‘Don’t you? I thought that was the point of these three weeks.’
‘Exactly.’
I laugh sharply. ‘You realise you’re contradicting yourself, right?’
She clamps her lips together. ‘What do you want, Beau?’
‘I want to know why the hell you’re ignoring me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You didn’t text back last night.’
‘I was asleep.’
‘Bullshit.’ She glances away from me. ‘I saw your light on when I got back to the hotel. Your window looks down on the parking lot, darlin’. I messaged because I knew you were up.’
She closes her eyes then, and I feel something like guilt for pushing her so hard on this.
‘Yeah, well … so what? Is it a crime to want some space?’
I’m not expecting that to hurt the way it does, but her words land like a thud to my side, making me feel like I’ve misread everything we’re doing here. Making me feel stupid as shit, like I always did as a kid. Making me feel like I don’t know jack and got everything wrong.
I don’t show it though. I suck it up, like I always do with hurt, pushing a breezy smile onto my face and shrugging nonchalantly.
‘No problems, Bailey. If it’s space you want, have at it.
’ I move to the door, keeping the smile locked in place, my tone easy, like she hasn’t just sucker-punched me in the gut. ‘I’ll see you in Arizona.’
I open the door and step out, exhaling hard once the latch clicks, then stride down the long, deserted corridor toward my own room, and wish, for the briefest second, I’d never fucking met Bailey James.
I’ve shoved the last of my things into the worn old leather bag I carry with me everywhere so I’m all packed up when a soft knock sounds on my door, followed by a louder, more urgent one.
I grind my teeth, half dreading and half hoping it will be her. Hope disappears completely when I wrench the thing inwards and see Bailey standing on the other side, her features pinched.
‘Can we talk?’ She twists her fingers in front of herself, a gesture that’s so achingly vulnerable despite the ball-busting tone to her voice.
For the briefest second, she reminds me of Mackenzie, back on the ranch.
Mackenzie who arrived one morning as one of my dad’s ‘strays’, a homeless teenager he picked up off the side of the road when she was hitching for a lift.
She was thin as a rail and as wary as anything—she still sometimes puts those walls up, even now.
Most of all with Nash—they’ve always butted heads—but even with me sometimes.
I step back, gesturing for Bailey to come into my room.
As with Fort Worth, it’s about twice the size of hers, with a set of sofas in one corner, a small dining table and a huge-ass bed we made excellent use of two nights ago.
I tamp down on those memories; they’re not helpful right now.
Not when I need my brain to stay focused and sharp.
‘What’s up?’
Her eyes drop to my bag. ‘You’re leaving?’
I don’t answer. What can I say? She told me to go.
But it was always my plan to hit the road today.
Finally we’re headed to Arizona and I’m itching to get home for a couple of days before the event to see the family.
It’s the one downside to this life, being on the road.
I miss them. Not that I’d ever admit as much.
I miss the whole damn place. The ranch, the cows, the forest that wraps around it, the creek, the town. I miss the people, the sunsets, the sound of birds in the evening, the call of coyotes.
‘Look—’ She turns around again, her eyes holding mine for a long, drawn-out beat before moving away, first to the bed, then across the room, as if she can’t bear to think about the other night either, and how damn good it felt. How damn good we felt.
‘I didn’t mean to say that. About needing space.’ She twists her fingers and moves across to the sofa, perching herself on one of the arms. ‘It’s not you.’
It sounds like a break-up line from a bad movie, so I hold my ground, feet planted, braced for what’s coming.
‘I hated seeing you ride last night.’
It’s the last thing I expect her to say, even when they’re words I’ve heard a billion times from just about everyone in my life. Her eyes stay fixed to the wall on my right, her expression impossible to read. I make my frame relax, taking a few steps toward her.
‘I mean, you looked amazing, but all I could think about, all I could see was that video I watched of your accident. The way your body flew through the air, the sound you made when you landed on the ground. The way you lay there, still as a rock. Everything slowed down, and I spent eight seconds imagining it happening all over again, hating the thought of it.’ Her eyes track sideways, meeting mine, her lips flickering downwards, like lightning sparking in the sky.
Quick and fast to appear and then to disappear, her features impassive all over again.
‘Okay.’ I nod like it makes sense, when it doesn’t.
‘No.’ The word is drawn painstakingly from her.
‘It’s not okay. I’m not supposed to care about you, one way or another.
You’re meant to be … the subject of a piece I’m writing, and this, this is supposed to be just sex.
’ Her brow furrows at the description, and I get it.
That agreement we made seems like a thousand miles away, even when it still holds true.
It has to. ‘I felt physically ill, watching you out there.’
‘I was fine.’
‘You were fine,’ she agrees, but her tone is laced with disbelief, with heated cynicism. ‘But you could just as easily have not been fine.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t get how you’re just … okay with it.’
I shrug slowly, drag a hand over my stubbled jaw. ‘Because I have to be.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve tried not riding, and I hated it. Because this is just what I do.’ I take another step toward her. ‘Because it’s who I am. Like you, with ballet.’
‘But that’s not who I am anymore,’ she says. ‘I gave it up; I walked away.’
‘You had to.’
She opens her mouth to say something, then clamps it shut. Silence draws like a blade through the room. ‘You’re missing the point.’
I wait for her to keep going, sure she will. I can practically see her gears grinding, as she thinks about what to say next.
‘I don’t want to care what happens to you. I should be able to just watch you get on a damn bull and ride your ass off, and not feel like it’s going to affect me either way.’
I make a noise at that, a harsh, sharp sound of rebuttal. Her eyes zip to mine, hurt.
I move quickly to close the rest of the distance between us. ‘You ever seen someone get thrown, Bailey James?’
She stares across the room, all belligerent, just like Mackenzie used to be. I reach down, pressing a finger to her chin, tilting her face up to mine with gentle insistence. Her throat shifts, like she’s thinking it through, but I don’t wait for her to answer.
‘It’s just about the worst thing you can see, no matter who it is. You don’t want me to get thrown, but you’d feel the same about any of the other riders out there.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she responds, and something thumps inside of me. A warning. A desperate, urgent warning. Take a step back, walk out the door. Do what she said and just go home.
‘You’d hate it.’