Page 91 of Sexting the Cowboy
“Yeah,” Cash says. He’s quieter when he means it. “We will.”
“We will,” Blaze echoes. Then, because she cannot help herself, “Can I tell Mac?”
“No,” I say so fast she laughs out loud.
“Not even the fun part?” she pleads.
“No,” I say, because gossip travels through these grounds on a golf cart with a megaphone, and I want to talk to Annie myself before this goes sideways in a million different ways.
Blaze sighs like I’ve taken sugar out of her diet and then brightens. “So, like, what’s the plan? Do we throw a shower? Can I pick a theme? Is this where I finally get to buy that tiny plaid onesie I saw in Cheyenne?”
“We’re not there,” I say, and I try to make it gentle even though it comes out weary. “Not yet. I screwed up with Annie, but I’m gonna make it right just as soon as we’re done here.”
Blaze reaches across the table and takes my hand before I can pull it away and be macho. Her palm is small and hot and bossy. “I like her,” she says again, without the teasing. “Not because of Mac. Because of you. You are…lighter when you talk about her. I think she’s gonna be good for you. So don’t fuck this up.”
I laugh and close my eyes because that is both a mercy and an indictment. “I feel like I woke up and remembered there was more of me than the part that lifts a rope. And I hate that it took this to make me act right.”
Cash stands up. “Alright, you two. Let’s get out of here and let him fix this shit, because our baby brother needs his dad around.”
The other two pop up, but Blaze says, “Baby brother? You mean our babysister.”
Levi grabs the doorknob. “We have three boys and one girl in this family, which means you are the outlier. They’re having a boy.”
“Pfft,” she snaps. “It’s definitely a girl.”
“What makes you say that?” Cash asks as he heads out the door.
Blaze shakes her head as she follows him down the steps. “Science. Dad had three boys, then me, which means he finally started getting the whole kid thing right. You make the prototype before you create perfection. It’s like evolution or something.”
Levi grins at the two of them as he closes the door. “That’s what we like about you, Blaze. Your delusions come free.”
When the door shuts, the trailer is quiet again, but not in the lonesome way. In the waiting way. I take a breath and let my hands remember what they’re good for when they’re not tied to a rope. Dialing a number, knocking on a door, holding someone steady when the world decides to wobble.
I just hope she lets me.
29
ANNIE
The medicine cabinetmirror tells me the truth before my stomach finishes its argument. I look like a person who has been awake for a month and lived every minute of it twice.
My skin has that dull, papery look you only see on med students in June and people who thought the Old West Fest sounded “fun,” but discover the Old West is not for them.
I brace my hands on the sink, breathe through the sour wave, and try not to curse the body I’ve depended on like a machine. “Come on. We can do this. As long as we don’t smell any fried food, we’ll be fine.”
It’s a carnival. What are the odds?
It might be morning sickness. It might be a virus. It might be exhaustion wearing a mask. Whatever it is, I’d like to get off this particular ride.
When I push back into the tent, Mac is already there with coffee. She’s beaming like a saint, holding out a paper cup with the little green stopper in the lid. “You get decaf.”
I stare at her hand and then at her face, and it’s a good thing our friendship has weathered finals and funerals, because the look I give her would get most people escorted from the premises. “Decaf,” I repeat.
She flinches a little. “You’re pregnant.”
“Sure, throw that in my face,” I agree, and then I lift the lid, inhale, and feel the betrayal hit my soul. “This is a sin.”
“Decaf is good for you. Internet says so.”
