Page 87 of A Photo Finish
“Honestly, Billie. What is with you and the nicknames?”
“Way to deflect.” Billie flops back down onto the blanket.
I feel safe between these two women. Co-workers turned friends—best friends. I’ve never had this before, and it warms me to my core. Without a mom or sisters and living on a ranch, I always felt isolated. Not cool or girly enough to feel like I belonged with other women. But Billie practically plucked me up and told me we were friends, and Mira just slid in. She started out cool, maybe a little standoffish, but we carried on like we didn’t notice and now... “Here we are. Sisters from other misters.”
I meant for that to be an internal thought, but the other two women don’t laugh. They shift closer to me, elbows touching mine, feet flopped over against each other.
I’ve been numb for the last few days and have thrown myself into Pippy’s training. We’ve got her running the track pretty comfortably after that first blip on the radar. I want to call Cole and brag about her.Myproject. Living, breathing proof I’m not just the lucky blonde that got handed a championship horse. I’m an exceptional horsewoman. I want to crawl under the covers and tell him about it. I want his smell to wrap around me, and the light dusting of hair on his chest to tickle my lips as they move, telling him about my day as we drift off together.
I want him with me. I want him there cheering me on. I don’tneedthose things. But I need him to be mine. And I decide, as I’m lying here with two of the strongest, most accomplished women I know, that I’m going to make sure I tell him. I’m not going to be shy about what I want. I won’t make it easy for him to walk away.
Because Billie is right. More than anything else, I’m terrified of losing him. And I’m going to tell him. Even if he can’t tell me back.
* * *
I walkalong the gravel roads with a flashlight in my hand. I’m too inebriated to drive, and I have, once again, underestimated how long the walk is. With every step I take closer to the blue farmhouse, doubt seeps in. And sobriety. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Does this make me seem desperate or brave? I can’t decide.
On one hand, how many times do I need to tell this man I want him for him to believe me? On the other hand, if I don’t lay it out to him in plain terms, face-to-face, I know I’ll regret it. If I let this thing we have fizzle without trying, I’ll never forgive myself.
Still, my feet feel heavy, like someone put lead in my pink and white checkered Vans. It would be easy to turn around. A relief even. But I made it my goal a few years ago to take risks, to take chances, tolive.And this is that. Staying true to myself. Or at least the girl I want to be.
I walk up to the house and pause at the base of the few steps that lead to the porch. It’s after midnight, and there aren’t any lights on.Great, I’m going to wake him upandput him on the spot.I blow out a deep breath and look up at the sky. A silent prayer for strength.
“Careful. I hear the guy who lives there is a real dick.”
I start and spin, eyes scouring the dark yard until they land on his figure, sitting hunched over on the top rail of Pippy’s empty paddock. He takes my breath away. His inky hair in the dark almost looks like it’s alive above his glowing gray eyes.
“He pretends to be.”
“He is.”
“He’s not.”
Cole runs his hands through his hair. It’s like he wants me to hate him as much as he hates himself. But I won’t.
“You’re stubborn,” he says as he drops his elbows back onto his knees.
“Yup.” I nod my head, struggling for what to say next, aching to rush across the gravel driveway and kiss him. Hold him, run my hands over his neck, and tell him how I feel.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes look pained as he trails them over my body. He looks uncomfortable.
I give in to my urge to move closer, wanting to get a better look at him in the moonlight. “Sorry for what?”
Only a few feet separate us, and my entire body aches with the need to touch him. But I don’t give in because it would make walking away again that much harder. I’m like an addict. One more hit, and I’ll be off the rails.
He breathes heavily for a few beats, and I watch his pectorals rise and fall in his signature black T-shirt. His closet is full of them. Different neckline shapes. Same color. Arranged perfectly on hangers.
“For messaging you two years ago. For being intrigued by all your questions and sticking around when we clearly weren’t after the same things. For talking to you. Every day. All night, sometimes. For coming to rely on a woman I’d never met to make me feel good. For embarrassing you to save myself. For the way I spoke to you on the day you won the Denman Derby—not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for that one. For being a growly shithead when you came to live with me. For not being able to resist you. For being dishonest. For not telling you things you deserved to know. For not being what you deserve.” He stops, panting under the strain of the extensive list he just recited, and looks down. “Fuck. I’m sorry because I fell in love with you somewhere along the way, and now, I don’t know what to do with that.”
I thought I blacked out that day DD and I fell on the track, but that was nothing compared to right now. I sway on the spot—and I don’t think it’s the wine straight from the bottle.
“You love me?” My voice is high and uncertain. I sound like a child to my own ears. My chin wobbles.
“Yeah.” His wobbles too as his eyes meet mine.
“Then get your shit together and start loving me!” The words burst out of me in a flurry of frustration that even I didn’t see coming.
“It’s not that easy. I’m . . .” A tense growl tears from his chest as he looks away. “I’m fucked up, Violet. There’s hard work that I need to do. The shit in my head? It doesn’t just get better because I want it to.”
