Page 68 of The Man I Love

Okay—maybe she wasn’t ready after all. Her heart was frantic, and she could feel her pulse quickening. One second passed, then another, while she waited for his response. Whatever he wanted to talk about needed to wait—because she wasn’t ready. For the fighting that was sure to come. For all the emotion. For the rehashing of something that happened months earlier. They still had days of travel ahead of them. Days trapped beside each other in that truck with no way to escape.

“Yeah,” he whispered after a beat, his voice quiet. “It kind of does.”

Her lungs sucked in air, and she wedged her hands beneath her pillow again. She could barely make out his features, but she thought she saw him smile.

High Meadows was the horse camp they’d spent almost every summer at when they were young. It was only about a half-hour drive from their suburban neighborhood, but to Samantha, it had been heaven on earth. “Remember when Miss Piggy got out of her pen and chased that little red-headed boy around the stable?” she whispered. She needed to get him talking––about anything else but the state of their relationship.

Tristan shifted, and his face turned toward the ceiling. “Tommy Woodward,” he said thoughtfully. “I remember him well.”

“Yes!” Sam breathed, almost manic with relief. “I thought he was going to pee his pants.”

“I’m pretty sure he did.” Tristan let out a breath. “He deserved it though. That guy was a dick.”

Samantha couldn’t help it—she giggled. She wasn’t sure if it was out of relief, the fact that her plan had worked, or that she’d always thought the same thing about Tommy. Tristan visibly relaxed beside her, and his body settled deeper into the mattress.

“Remember that day when Mrs. Andrews rented the cotton candy machine?” she recalled, trying to keep the conversation light.

“Every kid ended up with blue sticky fingers,” he remembered.

“And didn’t someone get their hands stuck in Dolly’s mane?”

Tristan placed both hands behind his head. “Yes. That happened too.”

“I don’t think we ever had cotton candy again after that day,” she added.

“I think you’re right.” But soon things grew silent again. For so long that she began searching for another topic.

“I remember,” his voice was raspy and distant, “that day you got thrown from that brown horse. What was his name?”

“Westly,” Sam replied, though a lump formed in her throat at the tone of his voice, freezing her in place. She remembered that day all too well, almost as if it were yesterday.

Westly had been her favorite horse at the ranch, one she trusted completely. Every year, she raced to the front of the line to choose him before other kids could, convinced that he remembered her. They’d always shared what felt like a special bond. But one day, without warning, he’d thrown her from his back in the middle of the arena. To this day, she still didn’t understand why.

“I don’t think you could’ve been over twelve,” Tristan continued. His face found hers again. “Do you remember that?”

She nodded once, but the lump in her throat grew larger, preventing her from speaking.

His voice was distant, as though he was riding on the edge of a memory, his voice far off as though he were back there again. “Mrs. Stoney screamed at the top of her lungs, and I swear to God, I thought you were dead—you laid there so still—for such a very long time.”

Her breath grew heavy, and she could almost imagine being back in that space. Except now, she saw the scene through Tristan’s eyes, as if watching her prepubescent body lying there, completely lifeless.

“Everyone was panicking,” he continued. “Renee came to me crying and telling me to help you because no one was doing a damned thing. I was so mad. I knew I was going to have to go over there and give you mouth to mouth—but then you hopped off the ground, unaware that anyone else was watching. All you seemed to care about was the fact that the dumb horse had thrown you off his back.” He chuckled a little, as though he couldn’t get the vision out of his head. “You balled up your fists and placed them on your hips—then you laid into him saying curse words I’d never heard before in my life.”

Sam laughed. “I did not!”

He shrugged, but then his eyes met hers.

Her vision had adjusted to the darkness, and she watched his expression change from lighthearted humor…to something else entirely.

“I guess you’re right. I had no idea what you said that day, but I’d always imagined…” His tone grew serious again, his laughter fading, and suddenly, she knew they weren’t just talking about that horse any longer. “Whatever you said,” he continued in a low textured voice. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she forced herself to breathe. Fear, anger, and regret swirled in her chest all at once. She knew she couldn’t hide from this any longer. They needed to talk about what had happened, because ready or not, he wasn’t going to stay quiet.

At that moment, the baby seemed to urge her forward, kicking her ribs and making her jump.

Tristan sprang into action. “Are you okay?” he asked. But his eyes shifted to her stomach, like he half expected an alien to pop out of her abdomen.

She shook her head, fighting back a sudden burst of laughter. “The baby kicked,” she said. But seeing the sudden shift in his expression made her pause. This was the first time he’d seen the baby kick. The first time in all these months.

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