126. Yoga Rodeo #3
“Why did I agree to this in September? Should’ve waited another month or so and the weather would’ve been perfect.”
“The man who would sweat for a living is complaining about the heat? Pretend it’s a sauna and you’re sweating out impurities.” She slides into the front seat.
I buckle my seat belt. “I’ll need a nap and IV hydration after this I’d bet. Don’t do anything that requires me to use these handles,” I say, pointing at the fabric grips hanging from the roll bars.
I won’t say that I’m not struggling with the open-air concept or that the idea of having no control isn’t giving me the jitters.
I know damn well that if I have to grab onto a handle or a roll bar or brace myself in any way, my body won’t have the strength to do it and the attempt will be painful at best, detrimental at worst.
She pulls out onto the street and hits buttons on her steering wheel to call up music.
“No Dolly. Or Patsy. Or Shania. Or Reba.”
“Somebody’s a negative Nelly today,” she retorts.
“I just don’t want the who’s who of country music legends today. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Just the women, then? Are Hank and Willie okay?”
“Nah, not them either. Give me rock and roll or give me silence.”
“Patrick Henry is rolling over in his grave right now.”
I smile at her as she turns onto an old farm to market road and picks up a little speed.
Bob Seger flows through the speakers. “Not what I was going for, but your point’s been made.”
“I’ve missed you, Layton.”
“Missed you, too, Bright.”
“No, I mean I missed you while you were living in Oklahoma. I missed you when you were in Florida. I’ve missed you like hell since Mom left us. And the last few months, it’s been even more so. It’s worse knowing I could’ve lost you. You’re my ride or die.”
I reach out a hand and clasp her on the shoulder. “I’m here. Regardless of the hell I’ve been through, I’m here.”
“Thank fuck. I don’t want any of us to go through that again.”
Same. Seriously. Same.
“So forgive me for being a little overprotective of you right now when you’re still a little vulnerable.”
“I’m not helpless, Bright. But I won’t ever argue with us taking care of each other. You know that.”
“Then this is me taking care of you and going big sister on you for once… Are you sure…? I mean… completely positive, one hundred percent without a doubt that…”
“Spit it out.”
“Is Livy with you for you or is Livy with you for the money?”
What. The. Fuck.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” My voice is steel. I don’t know how she hears it over the wind and the music, and I don’t care.
“Don’t. Because I said it. If this girl is it for you, and you know without a shadow of a doubt it’s not about the money or the fame or fixing you or whatever, then I’ll shut up.
But if for one moment you have a doubt, then I want to be the one who says the hard thing even when it’s not fun. Because I love you that much.”
Fixing me.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask.
“A prenup. If things get that far.”
“You really think that’s necessary?”
“With as fast as you two are moving and the disparity of the situation? It can’t hurt. If she’s in this for forever, it won’t matter.”
I bite my tongue. Not agreeing, but to avoid the scream that wants to rip from me.
“Did you ask Elias for one?” My voice may as well be ice.
“No. Why?”
“Because you have an inheritance, a home, and a practice. He gets half if something happens. Aren’t you worried?”
Her head whips to mine, her hair flying around her face. “It’s different with us.”
“How?”
“Because it’s not about what I can do for him. Because it’s not about my money. Because…”
“Because why, Bright? Because you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing could ever go wrong?”
“This isn’t about me. Lay, I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From someone who took Brax for double what she was making with the team just to come to Texas.”
“Don’t bother.” I can’t have this argument. I don’t have the energy and I definitely don’t have the headspace. My sister—my person—questions one of the most fundamental facets in my life.
She wouldn’t know if my body weren’t the train wreck it is. I’d be in Florida working and fucking whomever I damn well please without the assumption that I was mentally unable to make a decent decision when it comes to either.
She would know when I told her and what I told her and wouldn’t get a fucking opinion.
Sounds good right about now. All of it. Her knowing what I choose to share, when I choose to share it, and keeping her mouth shut in the meantime.
“Take me home.”
“Don’t be like that, Layton. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you.”
“I won’t say it again.”
We spend the rest of the drive in silence. The songs on the radio blur into one long wall of avoidance. When she pulls to a stop at my house, she kills the engine.
“No need. I’m not inviting you in.” I hop out but can’t ignore my protector for the past several weeks. “Looney, be a good girl. See you soon, okay.”
I stride away from the car and into my house, wishing like fuck I had thought to put a pill in my pocket before I left. What’s with me thinking I won’t need them?