Page 51 of Redemption

“Go on now.” Mrs. J gives me a little shove. “You know where everything is.”

“That I do.” I nod. “Wish me luck.”

They both laugh as they get in the truck. I let myself into the house and look around.

“Pres? You in here?”

She doesn’t answer, so I check the kitchen and family room before heading upstairs. As I get halfway up, the reason she’s not answering becomes obvious. The shower in the hallway bathroom is on. I tell my dick to ignore the fact that Presley is naked right behind that thin piece of wood and head down the hall to the last bedroom. The door is cracked, so I push it all the way open and stand there in shock.

It’s like I jumped in a time machine that spit me out right in this very spot. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, considering nothing else in the house has changed, but this room is exactly the same as the last time I saw it. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with the same purple and white quilt her grandmother made for her sixteenth birthday. The oak dresser and desk are still set against the opposite wall, matching nightstands on each side of the bed. Her cheerleading pom-pom is still wedged between the mirror above the dresser and the wall, its blue and yellow strands flopping over the reflective surface. Damn, the room even smells the same, like that honey and orange blossom lotion she favored.

There’s a corkboard over the desk with miscellaneous pictures and show ribbons tacked to it. I step closer and glance at the photos. There are a few of Presley with her parents or Clayton, Pres riding Mag, Pres showing Mag, and... shit, I haven’t seen this thing in forever. I trace my finger over the image of Presley looking like my teenage wet dream. She’s wearing her tiny cheerleading uniform, hair pulled up high, tied with an oversized navy bow. I’m right next to her, dripping with sweat from the game, with my flattened hair plastered to my forehead, but Presley didn’t seem to mind. She’s curled into my side as close as she can be, beaming at the camera. God, we were so fucking happy. We were always so fucking happy until the one day it all went to hell.

“I loved that picture.”

“Shit.”

I’m surprised she was able to sneak up on me. My hearing isn’t nearly as good as it used to be, but I can usually sense when someone’s at my back. I’ve been trained for it, for fuck’s sake. I think being in this room is throwing me off my game. When I turn around and get my first glimpse of Presley, I have to focus on not gaping like an idiot. She’s leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, long wet locks hanging over her shoulder. Her hand is clutched where the towel is knotted at her breasts, which only draws my eyes to them more. My fists clench as I fight the urge to wipe the stray droplets away.

“What are you doing here, Beckett?”

It takes me a second to realize she said something. “Your folks let me in. I’m about to head out for a ride and wanted to see if you’d join me.”

Her delicate brows draw together. “On a horse?”

I smile. “Well, I suppose we could take my truck somewhere if you wanted... or maybe a quad. But I’d prefer the horses.”

Presley shakes her head. “I don’t know if I remember how to ride.”

I laugh but quickly cut it off when I figure out that she’s not joking. “Wait... you’re serious? When’s the last time you rode?”

Surely they had stables somewhere within driving distance from New York City.

Her greenish-gold eyes fall to the floor. “A little over twelve years ago? The last time we went, whenever that was.”

My jaw does drop this time. “How is that possible, Pres? You love riding.”

“Loved,” she corrects. “I didn’t leave the city much when I lived up north. And if I did... well, let’s just say my husband isn’t a fan of the country, or anything remotely resembling country living.”

I grind my teeth together at the mention of that bastard. Standing in this room, Pres wearing nothing but a towel, it’s too easy to forget things have changed. Sure, she said she’s leaving him, but nothing is ever set in stone until she no longer has his name.

“Beckett?”

“I’ll let you get dressed.” I motion to the door, so she gets the hint and steps aside. “If you want to give it a try, I’ll meet you out there. I’ll probably head out in about thirty minutes.” I give Pres a wide berth and start heading down the stairs.

“Wait.”

I pause mid-step and look over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

She gives me a soft smile. “I’ll meet you out there in fifteen.”

“Yeah?”

Presley nods. “Yeah.”

Well, okay then. I guess we’re going riding.

Chapter Thirty

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