Chapter Forty-Seven #2
‘Rod?’ I yell, the only reasonable thing to do when I’m not completely sure what in the hell is going on. Montana. Somehow, this idiot decided that he was going to find a way to follow me to Montana, despite the fact that I took deliberate measures to throw everyone off my trail, most of all him.
My feet practically move themselves over to him, with some primal, instinctive behaviour that I feel no control over. I’m paces from him when I ask the next reasonable thing. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m-I—’ The announcer attempts to cut in, to guide me away, but I shake my head, taking another few steps forward to close the gap so I’m clutching the railing on the other side.
The downpour only intensifies, so much so that I can see the rainwater dripping off the barrier.
‘Giving you this,’ finishes Rod very awkwardly, presenting me with the tumbler like it’s a million-dollar trophy and not a cup from the local maker’s market.
‘You …’
As I take the tumbler out of his hands, still in utter disbelief, figuring out whether he’s some kind of hallucination or he’s right in front of me, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, shirt stuck to his chest, I catch sight of something else.
On his wrist, still right behind his Garmin watch. My hot-pink hairband.
I press a hand to my face, brush it over my eyes. There’s no way. This can’t be real. ‘What?’ I whisper, and then again, louder, ‘What?’
‘What, what?’
‘You!’ I finally let myself go absolutely apeshit, at least internally.
After the limbo of the past few weeks, I deserve that, at least. Doubt, confusion, wondering what, what in the hell I could have done differently to change things, and here he is, right in front of me, with rain trickling down the sides of his face and clinging to his eyelashes as if he’s the main character in some effortless rom-com.
‘You told me you didn’t want any part in this, didn’t you? That you didn’t trust me?’
‘Jor—’
‘Why?’ I nearly slump with exhaustion over the railing. ‘Why would you come back after that? After Charlotte—’
‘Jordan.’ He takes my face in his hands over the barrier, his hands cupping my cheeks. I don’t move to change that. His touch is still welcome. It’s a piece of muscle memory that my body hasn’t forgotten. ‘I remember what you said, about our fears. I talked to Charlotte.’
‘You …’ I can’t even get the rest of the words out. He did what?
If I’m being honest, I might be proud of the guy. I’m hesitant to admit it, considering he’s just shown up on a whim after giving me hell for weeks, but I might just be.
‘We both talked, actually. We needed boundaries. Real boundaries. And before I go on about what Charlotte said, I’m going to be honest, I gotta start at the part where I said something I shouldn’t have.
And the more I thought about it, the less sense it made that I’d said it to begin with.
My home is safe to me. It’s a place where I’ve never had to face the unknown, and I’ve never had to take a leap of faith. ’
‘Yeah,’ I grumble, a word that turns into a wisp of breath when I see the emotion in Rod’s deep brown eyes, the sheen of teariness that is definitely not from the rain.
‘But the incredible thing about my home,’ he says over the rain, his voice breaking, ‘is how much better it became when you were in it. ’Cause someone really smart told me, you know, that you have to take the big chances to have good things. Right?’
I’m rooted to my spot. I have no words. My eyes are wide and unblinking. They drink him in like I’m seeing him for the first time.
‘And this … it paid off. My home, my life became a good, good thing in a way I had never even imagined possible, Jor.’ His thumbs trace a back-and-forth against my cheeks, and he purses his lips.
‘And instead of letting you and all the magic and the laughter you’d brought in, I got scared, and I pushed you away.
That is no excuse for what I did when I said those things and I hurt you.
I’m so, so sorry, and I know that is nowhere near enough. ’
‘True,’ I manage to reply, even though I’m pretty sure at this point that there is no suitable reply.
He chuckles, his rumbling baritone a hint raspy, and shakes his head.
‘But you …’ Where do I even begin to put my shock into words?
‘You came all the way here.’ My voice rises quickly, an octave, maybe two.
‘You played this sick and twisted game of breadcrumbs, following any clues that I might have left behind just to figure out where I was and travel across the country. Who would even pay that much for a flight? Just to possibly find the wrong ranch, and what if you hadn’t even found it? Why would—’
‘Because I love you, damn it!’
The words are both wrenched and sweet, something I’ve wanted to hear, and something I can scarcely even comprehend.
‘I’ve loved you since you got on that stage at karaoke and sang your lungs out.
I’ve loved you since you took my hand during the tarantella.
Since I watched you teach my daughter how to care for the horses.
Since you let us be Hot Rod and J-Dog even though you thought it was dumb – you can’t lie to me, you totally thought it was dumb.
Since you let me braid your hair. Definitely since I saw you in the kitchen with that jersey on.
I honestly think I’ve loved you since you texted me ‘back of the guesthouse, I have nets.’ Probably since you walked out of Eddie’s bathroom all covered in sink water.
Jordan,’ Rod laughs nervously, brushing a hair from my face, ‘nothing about the way I love you has boundaries. I love you not in spite of your journey, but holding everything you’ve overcome in the highest regard.
And I am so sorry that I ever, ever made you think that there was some kind of limit to what we have.
Because there will never, ever be a limit on the way I want to love you. ’
I’d be lying if I said my jaw wasn’t on the floor.
I’ve lived a lifetime with the firm belief that everyone took their pickup truck out of the garage, packed it all up, and turned back at some point, leaving behind an empty driveway and a stack of bills.
That every love story worked the same way human lives did, with a finite beginning and end that you would eventually have to face.
‘Huh?’ I croak.
‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that I just …’ Rod’s chest heaves an awkward laugh. ‘I really, really wanted to see you again.’
My laugh in return is one of some disbelief, as well as relief.
So this is kind of wild for both of us. This man stands across from me as everyone behind him rushes to hide themselves beneath oversized hats and Carhartt jackets, looking me dead in the eye with the sort of steadiness I didn’t think I’d ever have in my corner.
It was easy to believe that love was both predictable and ultimately fatal.
In fact, I was so sure I knew exactly what it all looked like – until Rod.
He’s had his moments – oh, definitely. But he’s so firmly rooted in the people he would ride or die for.
And I am just now beginning to realize that he’s admitting to me that I am one of those people, that he wants to become a constant in my life, but he’s also, in his own, confusing way, asking me to become a constant in his.
A bright crack of lightning arcs across the sky.
The announcer yells that’s it, he’s packing it up, everyone had better get inside.
We don’t budge. Except for Rod, who slings himself right over the railing, no one to tell him no, and wraps his arms around my waist. His hands come to rest on my hips, just below the old rodeo championship belt and buckle I wear with my jeans.
Hot Rod Wilson in damp denim and a white T-shirt starting to untuck itself, hair tousled, eyes wild.
Professing his love to me? No poster on my wall could have predicted this.
And so I reply in the only way I know how when words totally and utterly fail me. I reach up to my hat, the brim flooded with water, and tip it behind me a moment to let the rain run off, before I bring it forward and fit it on Rod’s head. Those wild eyes break into a grin. ‘Is that permission?’
I nod, and when the ability to speak slowly comes back, it’s barely a whisper, but one he hears all the same. ‘As long as I have permission to love you back.’
His eyes still shine with tears, but these don’t look sad or regretful. I brush one from his cheek, although it could be rainwater and I’m not looking closely enough.
‘You don’t need to ask for permission.’ His palm cups my cheek, a tender touch, and I feel his fingers relax behind my ear. ‘I should have let you in a long time ago.’
My fingers skim the stubble dotting his jaw and, in one fell swoop, something like a scene out of a movie, his lips crash against mine.
I would rather we not spend the rest of our time together fighting and making up, of course, but there is something ecstatic about how familiar he feels.
Beneath the smell of rain, the scent of his cologne, there is something more woodsy, more grounded.
That wave of hair that always sneaks out and falls in front of his forehead.
As much as he welcomed me into his home, and, I hope, his heart, I realize that as he lifts me off my feet, spinning me around as the rain pours down and the crowd continues to clamour, he’s become mine. My home, and my heart.
I might not know it for sure yet, but in the months to come, the years, even, it will feel like we’ve lived our entire lifetimes alongside one another.
Neither of us will know the difference, and for the first time in my life, the insecurity and the fear of everything crumbling and having to run yet again will dissipate.
Because despite it all, he’ll stay. And so will I.