Page 18 of Eight Seconds to Fly

"It's my fault. My fault. My stupid dream ended his damn life, because I was stubborn and pigheaded. But I was too damn selfish to stop. I'm here, disrespecting his memory, because my dream meant more than his life."

Branch was making a growling noise, and the sexy rumble of it against my cheek was oddly soothing. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. Your dad would be so fucking proud of you, Nugget. So damn proud. You were the light of his life, and he would have wanted you to do what you loved. He could never say no to you. None of us could."

I let out a shuddering laugh, but it was a sad, bitter sound. "You did."

He sighed against my hair. "I know. For years after your accident, I blamed myself."

I pulled back, looking up at him with puffy eyes. "How were you to blame?"

He dragged me back into his eyes. "I thought that if I had just marched you to your dad, he never would have let you ride. Or just kept kissing you until you forgot about everything but me. It didn't matter if I'd missed my ride, you would have been safe. Guess we are both selfish like that. If I'd done that one thing different, you never would have gotten in that wreck."

I dragged a calming breath through my nose, calming my ragged breathing. "That's ridiculous, Branch. You couldn't have prevented the accident."

He pulled me away. "Exactly, Nugget. It was a terrible accident, and we can both what-if til the cows come home, but it doesn't change a thing.”

The heavy sigh that passed my lips held a world of feeling. “I hate it when you’re fucking right,” I grumbled.

He chuckled low. “Me too.”

I stepped away, and part of me, a part I was studiously going to ignore, wanted to move back into his arms. Someone cleared their throat, and I peeked around the corner of the alcove. Frankie was right there, concern making his dark eyes an endless abyss.

“Bem?”

I gave him a watery smile. “I’m all good, Frankie. Sorry.”

“Ah, Tessa, you never have to be sorry for feeling too deeply.” He held out his arms.

Branch stepped back, letting me step around him and into Frankie’s arms. I resisted the urge to stop and gape at him, instead heading to the comforting arms of my best friend. He whispered rapid Portuguese into my hair, of which I only picked up like ten percent but made me feel better anyway.

At least until I noticed Beau and Dylan at the end of the hall, twin looks of concern on their faces. I groaned into Frankie’s chest. “What are the chances of me just disappearing into the floor right now?”

He chuckled low and kissed the top of my head. “Hold your head up. You are fierce, but the greatest warriors are tempered by pain. It's just part of the process.”

I sighed and straightened my shoulders. “Okay. Less self pity. More tequila. Then bed.”

Frankie laughed. “Tequila and then bedtime with a beautiful woman? I am living the dream.”

I slapped him on the chest and motioned him to lead the way out of the crowded hallway. The girls waiting for the bathroom gave the guys lustful looks, but their eyes narrowed when they took in my puffy eyes.

One woman with huge red hair was looking like she was three seconds from whipping out the mace she was definitely carrying in her purse and kicking one of their asses. I gave her a small smile and the girl nod. The nod that said, “Thanks for having my back, Sis. But I’m all good.”

She smiled, and fanned her face. The universal sign of, “Damn, they are hot. Get it, girl.”

Little did she know, I was getting it with none of these fine men. I was going home to rub Arnica cream into every part of my body that hurt, climbing into an oversized shirt and sleeping by myself.

Sad really.

By the time I got to the bar, Beau had a row of Tequila shots racked up. The girl with the huge boobs behind the bar was murmuring something in his ear and I resisted the wave of jealousy. Dylan was permissible. At least I’d had sex with Dylan. Jealousy, while not warranted, would be understandable.

But Beau? I had no claim on Beau. He gave me my first kiss, but I hadn’t seen him in nearly five years. I was pretty sure he wasn’t a damn monk in all that time. He might not have been a rider, and therefore have a buffet of women throwing themselves at him because he rode bulls, but he was tall and broad, had dark brown hair that basically begged for you to tangle your hands in it, preferably while he was trapped between your thighs.

Ugh, on that note. I stepped forward and threw back the shot of tequila. I winced at the burn. Eesh, it tasted like regret and that one time I almost died while having a drinking competition with a bronc rider.

“Cheers,” I gasped out and Dylan laughed, throwing his back too.

Everyone else finished their shots as well, and I could feel the steady rush of alcohol in my veins. It took the edge off my embarrassment. Took the edge off the stress. I looked down at Dylan’s tight ass. For a brief moment, I wondered if I shouldn’t do another shot and blame it for the bad decisions I wanted to make.

Instead, I sighed and looked toward the door. “We better go. Long drive tomorrow.” I looked over at Frankie. “You can stay if you want. I’ll take the first driving shift so you can sleep off the booze and cheap perfume,” I teased, and Frankie gave me a lopsided grin.

---