Page 8 of Riding Jamie

“I know,” I repeat tersely. “I'mworkingon it.”

I watch his annoyance flare in my peripheral vision, but I don't move to look at him properly even as his brows raise and his lips thin in warning. I probably should have because the next thing I know, he's got the collar of my shirt in his hand, and he's yanking me around to face him, muscle memory failing me spectacularly.

His breath smells like cigarettes, and I sneer at him, refusing to back down.

It's his own damn fault he taught me to stand my ground.

“Your lack of focus is going to wind up with you dead, boy,” he tells me, frustration boiling in his eyes. “If you don't pull your head out of your ass and get it in the game, I'm?—”

I don't give him time to finish his sentence, my own anger coming to a boil beneath my chin and threatening to spew out.

I manage to bite my tongue before I say something I'll really regret, but I yank my glove off my hand and throw it right in his face. I'm seething with rage that I have no real outlet for, and I stalk right past him, ignoring the way he splutters out half formed shouts behind me.

My vision tints red. I’m panting. The adrenaline of getting thrown has faded, but I still can’t quite catch my breath. I clenchand unclench my fists, trying to rid them of the sting of rope burn. My anger mounts, and I imagine with fear and revulsion the sound of my old man’s nose shattering beneath my fist.

I shake my head furiously. Fuck that.

And fuck him.

I pause at the back end of the barn, stopping to rest my forehead against the wood and try to rein my temper in. The familiar scent of wood and animals clears my head, but as soon as I open my eyes again, my frustration comes right back.

I'm still here. Still training for the circuit even though I only half wanted to. Still thinking about Oakley, still trying to come up with some way to get her to give me another chance.

And I still have no clue how to make that happen.

My fist smashes into the worn wood siding of the barn. Splinters of wood scrape against my knuckles as I yank my hand back, glaring down at the new hole in the siding.

One more thing for me to be mad at myself about.

I’ll have to offer to fix it myself if I don’t want to pay a fine or risk getting kicked out of the training ring. My dad would be pissed if we had to travel to train.

I whirl on my heel. My teeth grind as I try to stop myself from shouting. I don't even have anything to say, no words to describe how upset I am. I hardly even know what the hell I want to yell at.

My hand throbs, but I ignore it and do my best to focus on clearing my head, to calm myself down. It's just as futile as it’s always been. As soon as I have a free second, my mind invariably turns back to Oakley. Every time I blink, I see her smiling face, hear the way she snorts when she laughs, feel her hand in mine.

I haven't stopped thinking about her since the day she left.

Hell, if I'm being honest, I haven't stopped thinking about her since the day I met her.

And now it seems like the only thing I can do about it is be mad. I'm mad at Savannah for laying a hand on me, but I'm even more furious at her for hurting Oakley. I'm pissed at Oakley’s family, at Phoebe, even though I know they're only refusing to pass on my messages because Oakley doesn't want to hear them. I can't stop seething every time I look at my dad.

Every other word out of his mouth is something disparaging about Oakley, as if my whole life going to shit isn't painful enough. As if I'd ever want to hear a word against her.

“I know, Dad, but I'm only asking for a loan,” I argue, holding my hands out pleadingly. “I won't even be gone long enough to miss the circuit, I just…I need to see her. I have to explain all of this, I have to fix?—”

“You don't need to do shit, Jamie,” he yells firmly, staring at me disappointedly. “And for the last time, I'm not giving you money to chase after some dumb-ass girl. Get over it and move on.”

My lip raises in a snarl, and I ball my hands into fists at my side. I hate when he talks about her like this, like she's something other than the most perfect person I've ever seen in my whole life.

“She's not dumb, Dad!” I shout. “She's the smartest person I know, and she's the love of my life!”

He just snorts out a laugh at me, taking a scathing glance over me.

“Maybe you're the dumb one, then,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Jamie, your life, and your responsibilities, are out here. On the circuit. You're going to stop moping around and start practicing, and you're going on tour. That’s final,” he says, brooking no argument. “I'm not about to let you embarrass me by chasing after that Montgomery girl.”

I grit my teeth at the memory. I let out an exhausted sigh as I close in on the edge of the property. I used to come out here asa kid at night to watch the stars and listen to the crickets. Back then, everything was easier, but maybe the routine will calm me down now.

My whole body aches as I take a seat on one of the worn down stumps near the trail head. I groan as I settle into a more comfortable position.

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