Forty-One | Harlow
The music blares in my earbuds, my hips swaying to the beat as I whisk the pancake batter in the bowl. Colson’s T-shirt glides across my thighs as I sway, the only thing underneath being my bra and panties as I jam out in the kitchen that is oddly starting to feel like mine.
I should snuff out that thought—the feelings swirling in my chest that make this, in a way, feel like home—but I can’t bring myself to want to ruin this.
I don’t want to ruin the little time I have left here in Tennessee before I move back to Arizona in less than a month after this season ends and a new champion wins the buckle and all the glory that comes with it.
We fly out tomorrow to New Mexico for the last event of the season before the finals.
This is the most important weekend of my life.
If I can last those eight seconds in all three rounds and collect enough points, I may have a chance at competing in the championship round in Texas with Colson.
He’s already guaranteed one of those spots, but thanks to him and his coaching, I’m neck and neck with some of our other competitors.
This dream is so close that it’s brushing the tips of my fingers.
And for the first time since my accident, my parents are going to be in the audience because they know how much this means to me. How hard I’ve been working.
We’re supposed to train today, and I’m itching to practice with being this close to the end, but I know how hard yesterday was on him.
We got back from the lake around two a.m. and crashed the second we hit his mattress.
Most of the night, his arms were holding me close, our limbs tangled together comfortably, until I slipped out of bed this morning and grabbed one of his T-shirts.
I read for a while, enjoying my coffee, since I had no intention of waking him.
But now that it’s nearly eleven, I move about the kitchen, getting brunch ready, knowing he should be up soon.
I’m horrible at cooking, which is why I chose this homemade pancake recipe, because that falls under the baking category, and I am damn good at that. I hope Colson likes crispy bacon. If I’m lucky, he’ll like it burnt to a crisp.
The bacon splatters, the scalding grease landing on the back of my knuckles. “Fuck,” I screech, jumping away from the pan sizzling as I lift and cradle my hand, reaching for the dish towel beside the oven to wipe it off.
A finger taps on my shoulder, and I smirk. The second I turn around, I expect to see the man I left upstairs, but my blood drains from my face as two strangers peer at me.
From inside Colson’s kitchen.
What the hell is it with us getting unplanned visitors all the time?
My heart stops inside my chest, and I swallow, ripping out my earbuds. “Uh—Can I help you?”
A middle-aged woman and a man stand before me, attentively scanning my appearance while I do the same to them.
The woman must be in her late fifties, judging by her soft age lines and grays threaded through her dark-brown hair.
And next to her is a man in a flannel shirt and jeans, wearing cowboy boots.
He has dark, peppered facial hair covering his jawline, with eyes …
Oh, shit.
Those eyes are too familiar to be a coincidence. But unlike Colson’s, these are a little bit darker with specks of gold.
The familiarity of the two people standing before me shifts into clarity until there is no guessing who they are. I’ve only seen them in photos around the house, and now they are here in the flesh, missing the smiles that they had in those photos.
I struggle to speak. “It’s going to be just my luck that you are Colson’s parents, huh?”
The woman gives me a strained smile, her eyes dragging up the length of my body, making me painfully aware that I’m practically only wearing her son’s T-shirt. Which isn’t wrong.
“See, I told you we should’ve called, Sheri,” the man says to her.
Colson’s mom, Sheri, sighs, looking at him. “You know he never answers our calls. I was worried about him when nobody answered the door, Rich.”
Her words register. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I rush out.
I should be worried about rushing to put on some more clothes instead, but this couldn’t be worse.
Now I know how Colson felt when Mel surprised us at the hotel.
“I had my headphones in while I was making breakfast, so I couldn’t hear you.
And I wasn’t expecting we’d get visitors,” I say, reaching for my headphones case and placing them back inside.
“We,” Colson’s dad mouths to Sheri.
Nervously, I reach out my hand to Rich first. “I’m Har—”
“Oh, we know exactly who you are, sweetheart,” his mom says, with a hint of amusement. At least I hope that’s what I’m catching and it’s not irritation.
My heart smashes against my ribs as my mouth opens and closes, unsure of how to respond.
“Your bacon is burning,” Colson’s dad mutters.
“Sorry, what?” I sputter, looking at him. He points to the burner. “Shit,” I curse under my breath, reaching to turn it off and move it to the side.
Heavy, quickening footsteps draw nearer as Colson quickly rounds the corner and finishes tugging his shirt on. “Mom? Dad?” His eyes widen as he freezes on the spot.
With all four of us in the room, the tension tautens until it’s so suffocating that I snap.
“Well, I think I’ll let you guys have a moment.
I’m going to go put some clothes on and work with Cosmos.
I’ll … um—” I glance between Sheri and Rich.
“It’s nice to meet you guys.” Rushing away from them, I give Colson a sheepish smile as I hurry past him, not looking back at the brunch mess I’ve left behind.
As I ascend the stairs, their voices drift through the house.
Quickly going to my room, I get dressed, tug on a pair of my Wranglers and a T-shirt, tossing my hair up into a messy bun before cautiously heading back downstairs.
They are still in the kitchen when I get down to the main floor, so I stay quiet and slip on my boots and grab my hat in the entryway before heading out to the stable.
The soft, lukewarm breeze brushes against my skin, the air carrying an earthy, damp scent of late spring as the temperatures bleed into summer. It wraps around me as I pace across the driveway toward the horses. Especially when my anxiety is skyrocketing, being with them helps calm me down.
When I push open the doors, the calming scent of hay and leather washes over me.
The bright morning light drifts through the skylights, and I say hello to each horse, giving them each a treat, before making my way back to Cosmos.
It may sound strange, but after yesterday with Colson, I feel like I have clarity with her, too.
This was his sister’s horse. His twin. And that loyalty between them was strained and lost when Paisley died.
Paisley was her constant, and with a family grieving, Cosmos’ routine changed dramatically.
She must sense me, because her head peeks over the stall, and she lets out a whinny, drawing me to her.
Placing my palm on her nose, I brush my hand over her in long, soothing strokes.
Reaching for the halter and rope attached to the hook beside her stall, I move gently like I always do with her.
She lets me slip it on and buckle it around her neck before I open the stall door and lead her out.
Her hooves patter on the packed dirt floor toward the front of the stable.
I pause, reaching up to pet her softly, her brown eyes staring into mine.
Her neck bends, her nose nudging my pants.
I giggle, reaching in to remove a treat from my pocket, her soft lips nibbling it out of my hand.
“What do you say we try a morning ride?”