Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bailey
I’ve never shied away from tackling a difficult angle in a story. In some ways, the grittier the better. So I’m ashamed, professionally, that I choose not to meet Ash.
Sure, she could tell me some stuff about Beau I might not know, but I don’t want to hear it from her. I don’t want to hear about him from a woman who’s known him like I know him, who knows him even better.
The thought of that sticks inside of me like a piece of glass. The further we get from Goodnight, the easier I breathe. But she’s still playing on my mind an hour after leaving the Silver Spur and started heading south, toward Phoenix.
He cranks up a country music station, the acoustic songs interspersed with radio DJs chattering away. I turn a little in my seat to face him, ignoring the hammering in my chest. ‘Why did you guys break up?’
He tenses ever so slightly, and doesn’t look at me.
‘You and Ash,’ I prompt after a beat, when he doesn’t answer my question.
‘We didn’t break up, exactly,’ he says, still hesitating.
I stay very still, trying not to betray the way his words cut into me. ‘What does that mean?’
He must hear the panic in my voice anyway, because he reaches out and puts a hand on mine. ‘We aren’t still together either.’
I can’t even dredge up a smile. I just nod and move my gaze back out the front windscreen, rather than keep looking at him.
‘It was just casual, you know?’
‘Like with us?’ I say, wanting him to deny it. I feel his eyes probing me, but when I glance in his direction his focus is back on the road in front of us.
‘Different.’ I expel a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. ‘I’ve known her since we were kids, and the other stuff just kind of happened.’
‘So, what? You both just fell into bed?’
He frowns. ‘I’m not doing this right. I don’t mean to make it sound like she didn’t matter. She did. She does. Ash is a special girl. But when I decided to get back on the circuit, she told me it was over.’
‘So she dumped you?’
‘She was like the rest of my family—hated the idea of me riding bulls week in and week out.’
I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘And that’s the only reason it ended?’
‘It wasn’t like a thing to end.’ He sounds exasperated. ‘I didn’t care if she saw other guys, and she was the same with me. The main thing is we were friends, sometimes more.’
‘Were?’
‘Are,’ he corrects, frowning a little though.
‘Do you see her often?’
‘Nah.’ Another quirk downward of his lips. ‘I’m not usually back for long enough. Every now and again she’ll come to an event, or I’ll make a point of going round to see her and the family, but it’s not like it used to be.’
I stare out the window at the passing scenery. When we first left Goodnight, we were surrounded by leafy, ancient forests. The air was clear and clean, scented with pine, but now it’s changing, green giving way to the red of dusty deserts and canyon walls in the distance.
‘We grew up,’ he says. ‘Life happens, things change.’
‘Yeah.’ I frown though, because I can’t help but wonder what would have happened with him and Ash if he hadn’t gone back to bull riding. ‘Did she try to get you to stay?’
‘She tried to get me to quit,’ he corrects subtly.
‘But you didn’t.’
‘It’s not up to anyone to tell me what to do with my life.’
My lips pull to the side as I consider that.
‘But I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. The job in reporting. I’m going to have a meeting with them, later in the year. Just to hear a bit more about it.’
‘You are?’ Surprise surges through me, followed quickly by relief.
He nods. ‘I’d be stupid to rule it out, without at least learning more. I know I can’t do this forever.’
He reaches back out, covers my hand with his. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ash sooner. I just … didn’t think there was anything to tell.’
‘It’s fine,’ I murmur, squeezing his hand back then removing mine. ‘Like I said, you have a past, and it’s none of my business.’ I force lightness into my tone, hating that it feels so forced. ‘We’ve got four more nights, cowboy, and then you’re rid of me for good.’
‘Yeah,’ he says, with a matching lightness in his voice—I wonder if he’s faking it, just like I am.
The hotel in Phoenix is your standard four star, with corporate decor, crisp white bed linens and all the facilities.
But after staying at the Silver Spur it feels soulless and dull, and almost makes me want to scream for how impersonal it is.
I yearn to be back in Goodnight, in that country-furnished room above the bar, with the view out onto the charming historic main street that probably hasn’t changed much since the first stone was laid.
Here, the view from my room is of the outer suburbs of Phoenix, all flat white roofs with sparse trees in between. If I crane my neck to the east, I can see the stadium’s domed roof, the enormous place the venue for tomorrow night’s first event of the weekend.
I turn away from it as a kaleidoscope of butterflies stirs inside my stomach; just thinking of Beau in there, doing his thing, makes me both excited and nervous. And proud as well—a pride I probably have no business feeling, but do.
Beau was very coy about whatever he’s got planned for tonight, but he insisted I dress up and keep an open mind.
Which could mean just about anything. I’ve googled the area—we’re near a casino and a famous restaurant, and there’s a scenic viewpoint about twenty minutes away.
Any and all of these things could be on the agenda.
I cross the carpeted floor when there’s a knock at the door, my smile lifting of its own accord when I see Beau on the other side.
For once, he’s not in jeans. My cowboy’s wearing khakis and a white button-down, but his trademark hat is still firmly in place, and a thick brown belt with a huge buckle that makes my fingers reach out to touch. Not just his belt, but all of Beau.
‘Howdy,’ I say with a grin.
He returns it, then steps inside, sweeping me into his arms and kissing me like we haven’t seen each other in weeks. ‘You look good enough to eat,’ he complains, when we surface for air.
I raise my brows and his expression stirs my soul to burning point.
‘Consider that an IOU,’ he promises, so my temperature spikes even further.
‘Dress okay?’ I check, as I step back to grab my clutch off the foot of the bed.
I only brought one thing with me that’s neither casual nor work clothes—this is my ‘go anywhere, do anything’ black jersey dress.
Strapless, fitted, stretchy and easy to throw in a suitcase without worrying about crinkling, it works for almost any occasion.
I’ve teamed it with a pair of chunky gold earrings I bought at a gift shop in Goodnight, and some strappy black heels.
‘Better than okay.’ He nods his approval, holding out his hand. ‘Let’s go, Bay Jay.’
But I only hold his hand for a second before removing mine. ‘We should go back to being careful,’ I remind him. ‘You’re probably pretty well known around these parts.’
For a second, his easygoing expression slips and the same impatience is echoed in his features that I feel, but he replaces his smile almost instantly. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Can’t have everyone thinkin’ you wrote such nice things about me because we were sleeping together.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, over the racing of my heart.
He steps back and gestures for me to precede him out of the room, but as I walk by him his hand grazes my hip and a tremor runs the length of my spine.
The whole drive through Phoenix, we talk about nothing. Small talk, but easy and comfortable, like we’ve gotten past any kind of pretence. We fit together like we were designed for that.
He pulls the car into a street parking spot then comes around to open my door, his hand brushing my ass when I step out of the car.
We walk side by side for a couple of blocks, and then I see where we are and freeze.
The building is a pale-brown brick modernistic behemoth, all jagged angles and square roof, with a garden of cactus and desert plants.
If I was in any doubt of the significance of this theatre, the huge billboard out front would enlighten me.
Swan Lake performed by the Southern Districts Ballet Company.
All the warmth drains from my body like a water tank with a big fat leak. I turn to face him, note the trepidation on his features, but can’t feel anything other than an icy sort of anger.
‘Beau, what are we doing here?’
‘Don’t be mad,’ he says, employing a tone of voice he might use to calm a wild horse.
But I am mad. Spitting, hopping mad. The kind of mad you can only feel when you’re shit scared, being made to confront something that horrifies you.
‘I’m not doing this,’ I say, turning around and starting to walk back toward his car.
‘Bailey, wait.’ And to hell with getting seen, he wraps his hand around mine and pulls me to a stop. ‘Just hear me out. If you want to leave, we can. Just—let me say something.’
I close my eyes but hold my ground, angled in the direction of his car, almost like I can magic us away from this.
‘You had to turn your back on your dream.’ His voice is earnest and low. ‘And I’m sorry about that. But it seems to me that you’re cutting yourself off from one of the things you love most in the world, and I hate seeing it.’
‘So?’ I demand, because I’m not an idiot and I know he’s right. I’ve all but said the same thing to him.
‘So, what if I can help you find your way back to it?’
‘You can’t.’
He moves to stand in front of me, his beautiful eyes boring into mine, making me feel things I really don’t want to feel. ‘You think?’
I shake my head quickly. ‘You have no idea what this would do to me. To sit there and watch them—to see them.’ I’m finding it hard to catch my breath.
‘Bailey, I know. I know what it will be like. But I’m asking you to try, for me. I’m asking you to take a chance on the fact I’m right.’ He puts his hands on my hips, squeezes me there. ‘We can leave anytime. I just want you to try this.’