Page 51 of From the Ashes
“It’s the least I can do, Phoenix.” He digs his fingers into the left side of my shirt while his injured right forearm is wrapped around my neck. I couldn’t tell you how we got this close. “I can’t go back and save your ride, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone think you forced yourself on me that night, or that I didn’t want it just as badly as you. Jonas may not have had all the details, but his insinuation that you somehow took advantage of me made me sick.”
I drop my forehead to his in a moment of utter weakness and vulnerability.
“Please don’t do this,” I choke out.
“Do what?” he asks, full of innocence.
“Make me fall for you.” I swallow hard. “It’ll never work. My life is here, yours is in Texas. You don’t want to come out to that crowd, Walker. All the reasons we stayed in the closet back then are still valid reasons for you now.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” he asks as he brushes a hand down my cheek. Against my better judgment, I lean into his touch and of course Hudson comes into the kitchen at this exact moment and turns the corner of the hallway we’re in, headed for the bathroom, no doubt.
“Fuck, Phoe. You too?” Hudson laughs. “You and Jake keep macking on these hot guys and before long, Knox and I’ll be making out in the corner...but don’t tell my wife.”
I jump away from Walker, startled by my best friend’s presence.
“Don’t stop on my account. I just need a quick trip to the little boys’ room.” Hudson points down the hall.
I scrub a hand down my face and walk outside before I say, or do, something else I’ll regret.
Two hours later, Walker and I say our goodbyes to the group. When I get to Cassie, she cups my face and holds me captive with her beautiful eyes. “You’re the best guy I know besides my brother, PhoePhoe.” I hate the nickname, and she’s the only one I let get away with using it. “Maybe it’s time you take something for yourself.”
Outwardly, I smile and nod. Inwardly, I beat my head against a wall because I already did that. And the something I took was the ass of a barely-eighteen-year-old virgin who got under my skin and in my head in the span of four hours…and who’s shown back up in my life as a man that apparently, I still want.
Jesus Christ.
I kiss her cheek without another word and climb in my truck.
When we get back to my house, I go straight to my room and stare at the ceiling.
I finally rollout of bed at five a.m. after getting a grand total of fifteen minutes of sleep last night andfuckdo I feel it. These long, southern summer days have the sun already bringing a small amount of light to the sky outside my window.
I get dressed in barn clothes since I need to prep the stalls for the broncs to come home today, and then I stop outside Walker’s door. I briefly think about waking him up since he’s here to help, but ultimately decide that he’ll have plenty ofmornings to wake up early and I can manage today alone in an effort to let his body heal.
Heading downstairs, grateful for the auto-start feature on my coffee pot, I notice a light on in the barn.
Strange, since I haven’t been out there in a couple of days. Maybe Trisha came back and forgot to let me know her plans changed.
I pour my coffee and head out to start my day.
I quiet my steps as I approach the barn. If thereisan intruder, I’d rather they not know I’m coming. But when I quietly slide the barn door open a little wider, I see the back of Walker’s cowboy hat. I watch as he tries to manage the pitchfork with just his left hand.
He gets a scoop of horse shit up on it, but the weight requires him to steady it with his right hand and he must apply too much pressure.
“Ow! Fuck!”he hisses, dropping the shit—and the pitchfork—back on the floor.
“Don’t hurt yourself. I can do this part,” I say, coming into the barn, finally making my presence known.
Walker whips his head around at the sound of my voice. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry, I just…” I trail off. “Don’t make your wrist worse. I can clean the stalls out. Do you mind feeding one scoop to each of the horses currently in-house? Watch Jasmine, the Palomino. She’s impatient and has nearly taken my arm off on morning feedings more than once.”
“Yeah, well, she can have the right one. It’s fucking useless anyway,” he grumbles.
Injuries are hard on riders. It prevents us from doing the thing we love. It can feel terribly isolating because all of our friends continue to travel and compete, while we’re left behind.
I feel for Walker because I’ve been there, and it’s the only reason I let my guard down just a hair.
“Hey, I know this really fucking sucks, but you’re going to get better and you’ll be back at it, stronger than ever for next season. Try not to let your physical injury impact your mental game, okay?”
