Page 36 of A Photo Finish
I grunt, mind racing with what she could mean by that statement. How much does she know? Maybe she saw my last messages? The ones I tried to delete, but the damn app wouldn’t let me. The ones I sent when I realized she wasn’t coming back. That I’d fucked up beyond repair. I wanted to be mad at Pretty_in_Purple for ghosting me, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t blame her.
I’d leave me too.
I clear my throat, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole during what has otherwise been a surprisingly enjoyable outing. I also don’t want to think about the bouquet on the kitchen counter. About some shmuck bringing them to her, doing nice things for her, when I’ve done nothing but be growly and awkward in her presence. I see red at the prospect. The truth is, I don’t know how to act around Violet, how to handle the feelings she pulls up in me. Feelings that make my dick twitch and my possessive side rear its ugly head.
So I change the conversation to work. The number one conversation boner-killer next to the weather. “How about you? What’s the plan for everyone’s favorite jockey?”
Violet looks around the room in response, and I wonder if maybe she didn’t hear me. I’m pretty sure the country music playing isn’tthatloud.
“I don’t know.” Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip as she looks back at me. Her entire body heaves with the weight of her sigh. “I’m kinda pissed off, you know? Last season was like a dream come true. Like I just fumbled my way into this once-in-a-lifetime situation. Billie. DD. Hank. Just the whole thing was so . . .perfect.”
I nod, remembering a time when my life felt the same. The perfect family. The perfect girlfriend—according to everyone else. My future set in stone and paved in gold. And then my dad died, and everything went to shit. I let it.
“But I still feel like I need to prove myself. The other jockeys. . .” She gestures down at her leg. “They obviously don’t like me. I waltzed into those wins. I didn’t earn them. Iwantto earn it. I don’t want to be coddled and set up for success. I’ve had that my entire life. I want to struggle and come out better on the other side. You know? I want to prove that I can overcome and still be the best. And only for myself. I need to know that I can do it. My success so far just feels . . .” Her face squishes up, and her eyes go distant as she searches for the word. “Incomplete. And now I’ll be behind. I’ll have lost fitness, hours in the tack.” Her shoulders droop, and she looks down into her beer like she’d like to drown herself in it.
“I can help you work out.”
Her head flicks up. “Really?”
“Sure.” That’s an offer I shouldn’t make, but I can’t stand seeing her look so downtrodden over an asshole like Patrick Cassel. “There’s lots you can do that doesn’t include using your leg.”
She blinks rapidly at me, as if she thinks I might be some sort of illusion. And to be frank, I can’t quite believe myself either.
“Okay,” she breathes.
“Patrick is going to pay for that move he pulled.”
Violet rolls her eyes. “That’s what Billie keeps telling me. It’s under review right now. But who cares? He’s out there riding, and I’m here. Doing—” she waves a hand over the table, “this.”
My mouth quirks up in response. The odd smile feeling more natural every time I do it. I double tap the table with my fingers as I lean back with my pint in hand and shrug. “This isn’t so bad.”
* * *
It’sdark out and pouring rain by the time we leave Neighbor’s Pub.
“Wait here,” I say to Violet as I duck and run to the truck.
No point in both of us getting soaked. I jump in, turn the key, and hear it roar to life as I immediately drive to the front door to pick up a very confused looking Violet.
She pulls herself in awkwardly and wipes away a drop of rain from the tip of her nose. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrug, pulling away from the bar. “I know.” But I’m in a good mood, and I wanted to. I’m internally shocked I had a great time tonight. I even ate chicken wings in that questionable establishment. They might be the death of me, but I must admit they tasted pretty good. I hardly go out anymore. I mean, nobody asks me—but I don’t welcome the invites either.
My mom drags me out for coffee now and then, which always strikes me as a way to soothe her guilty conscience rather than to spend time with me. I let her do it anyway. Vaughn got pimped out on her dream dates with country club girls, and I got awkward coffee dates with Mom. As far as I’m concerned, I got the better end of that deal.
She went off the rails when Dad died, lost herself in the bottom of a martini glass for a while—or so I hear. Something she hasn’t forgiven herself for, obviously. I wasn’t here for that part. As soon as I could, I put a ring on my girlfriend’s finger—because that seemed like the right thing to do—and then enlisted. I joined the army and got the fuck out of dodge. I stayed in for twelve years and kept myself safe and unscathed until the last month of that final tour.
Then an already numb existence went blank. Flatlined. But tonight, I’ve felt the odd blip of a beating heart, like maybe I’m not entirely down for the count after all.
“Thanks,” Violet says quietly. “That was fun.”
“It was.”
Her smile is shy as her focus moves away into the distance. I wonder who else gets to soak up those smiles when I’m not around, and it makes me irrationally jealous. Enough so that I say, “Nice flowers you got today.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I hate myself for even saying them. I shouldn’t care if some guy is bringing her flowers. And I definitely have no right to be jealous about it. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been niggling at me all evening.
Her lips roll together like she’s trying to clamp down on an even bigger smile. “Yup. Hank is a sweetheart.”
