Page 51 of Eight Seconds to Fly

It was a bustling trail head, but instead of walking me toward the well worn track, he led me around the back of the parking lot toward a man in a khaki uniform. The man’s face lit up when he saw Dylan. “Hey man. It's good to see you.”

They did that weird man-hug thing and then Dylan grabbed my hand and pulled me over. “Pete, this is my girlfriend, Tessa. Tessa, this is Pete. I met him while I was riding in Denver a few years ago. He knows all the best trails.”

I waved because I didn’t think I could use my tongue. I’d swallowed it when he called me his girlfriend. Dylan Montaigne had called me his girlfriend. They were talking, catching up, and then Pete was giving Dylan directions. “If you go this way, you’ll find a mountain goat track that will lead you to an open area above the falls. If you hit the split tree covered in moss, you’ve gone too far.”

Dylan thanked him, promised to catch up with him for a beer while he was in town and to message when we came down from the falls.

We set off into the trees while no one was watching, disappearing before anyone got an idea to follow. We found the mountain goat trail easily, and while the incline was steepish, it was nice and clear.

About half a mile in, a beautiful half mile at that, I was beginning to puff. “Dylan?” I called, and he looked over his shoulder at me. “I feel like now is the right time to warn you that I am not known for my endurance fitness. I am a sprinter, not a stayer.”

He laughed and stilled his feet. “According to Pete’s directions, we should almost be there. Come on, Baby Girl, I’ll piggyback you the rest of the way.”

Years of societal expectation told me to turn him down, to insist I was too heavy. My burning lungs suggested fuck that. He shifted his backpack to the front, and I felt a little guilty. But I never turned down a piggy back ride. I climbed onto a fallen log and wrapped my legs around his waist and arms around his neck. “Hang on,” he said, setting off. He didn’t seem to be straining. I may have hated him as much as I liked him at that moment.

He climbed the last half mile with me on his back, barely breaking a sweat. Not going to lie, it was hot as hell. Finally, we got to the clearing and it was beautiful. It looked down over the falls and I could see the people, but the angle meant we were hidden from most of the crowd.

Dylan set down me and his pack and I turned around in a circle. The voices from below flowed up the rock faces, but it didn’t affect the calmness of the location.

When I turned back around, Dylan had a blanket laid out and two bottles of water and two sandwiches laid out.

“You packed a picnic? When did you find the time to do that?”

He laughed, opening a bottle of water and handing it to me. “You take long showers and there's a convenience store across the road from the hotel.”

I sat down on the blanket beside him, our bodies pressed close. “This is very romantic, Dylan.”

“Well, I have to make my niche somewhere, you’ve got Frankie the best friend, Branch the overprotective one, Beau the nurturer. I intend to be Dylan, the romantic one who makes your heart race and sets your body on fire.”

I laughed softly and rested my head on his shoulder. “Well, I think you are doing a damn good job, you overachiever.”

21

Ididn’t tell the guys what Dylan said about not choosing. About becoming a family unit with me at the center like some kind of horny nexus. But I couldn’t deny what he said made sense. We settled into a domestic arrangement, having dinner and breakfast together, talking about our days and what we were going to do that week. We chatted about the different bulls and how we’d ride them, arguing about the legends of the sport and what we’d do when we retired. That one we could all agree on. A patch of land, just wide open space. When I’d asked Frankie if he wanted to go back to Brazil, he’d shaken his head. “To visit, but my home is here now.” The look he’d given me had made my heart swell in my chest.

A part of me imagined us all retiring to the ranch, breeding bulls for the sport we loved. Branch wanted to start a bull riding school. Frankie wanted to bring kids up from Brazil to learn in the US, so they could be better prepared for what was to come. They all agreed that was an amazing idea. We could do it, together.

The sun was just lighting the horizon on Thursday morning when Branch knocked on the hotel room door. I was up and dressed, and Frankie blinked sleepily from the bed, looking adorably ruffled. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Branch says we’ll be back tonight. I’ve left the keys to the truck on the nightstand,” I whispered. He just nodded sleepily, squeezing my hand before going back to sleep. Frankie was not a morning person.

I kissed Dylan’s cheek too, though he slept through the whole thing. I'm pretty sure he could sleep through the running of the bulls.

I opened the door to a fresh faced Branch. He looked like sex on a stick and I wanted to eat him whole. “Ready?”

“Lets go,” I whispered, shutting the door with a barely audible click. Beau was standing in the doorway to their room, a mug of coffee in his hand. “Mornin’ Beautiful.”

His hair was mussed and his eyes still sleepy, and I mentally apologized to Dylan for lying. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved these men. It might have laid dormant for awhile, but now they were here, it had roared back to life like an inferno. The realization must have played across my face, because the look Beau was giving me was so earnest that it was breaking my heart. I walked over and kissed him.

“I know, Sweetheart. Take your time,” he whispered against my lips, and I felt the hot gaze of Branch against my back. I wrapped my arms around his waist and sank into his warmth. He gave me a tight squeeze then released me. “You guys better get on the road. It's quite a drive.”

I frowned and locked eyes with Branch. “Where are we going?”

He firmed his jaw. “We’re going home.”

My heart fell to my feet, weighed down by dread. “You can do this, Tessa. It's time. We got you. Branch has got you,” Beau whispered behind me, and I swallowed hard.

Tessa May Everett wasn’t a runner, even from the demons of my past. “Let’s do it.”

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