Page 28 of Sunrise Arrows

“Come on, you haven’t seen your boy in ten years. He misses you.”

Somehow I don’t think he’s just talking about Rowdy.

CHAPTER8

Archer

My brother’s a meddlesome,conniving asshole, but I can’t deny his methods work. Where I couldn’t do much more but stare at Tinsley and step into her like a planet finding its sun, he’s able to push us together. Get us set off on a course that'll navigate us through the pendulum swings of past and present until we find our footing in the now. Because somehow, for as easy as it is to be around her again, it’s also infinitely harder than I ever thought possible. A rush of want and hurt, love and anger constantly crash down upon me and war with each other for which one wins out.

“Archer, you really don’t have to take me out,” she insists again but still accepts my hand to help her from the side by side we rode over in while Ryder held Briar’s attention with scheduling when Tinsley could come rehearse with Ellie. “I know you're busy with work. I just wanted to say thank you. Nothing else, no expectations.”

I don’t immediately let go of her hand as we begin walking. The urge to relearn the cartography of her is too strong. I want to know what’s new, what’s changed. Memorize every facet and sharpen the ones I can still recall like a picture in my mind.

Did the blisters she earned on her soft hands when she wore my denim shirt over her tank and tiny shorts like a damn cowgirl pinup while helping me muck the stalls fade into calluses?

Does the rough pad of my thumb along her pulse still make her heart kickstart?

Is it still intuitive for her to join us together the moment we touch?

But at the first shift of my hand over hers, she pulls away and murmurs an apology as if she were the one holding too long and not me.

Another time. Maybe when we get to the lake’s cove. She always did love it down there. Then again, I’m not so sure if now’s the time to show her. It might seem obsessive. At least that’s what Hunter told me it was back when I first went through with my plans the winter after she left.

“I’m really not. Tax season’s finally over, the cycle’s payroll is handled, and analyzing projections for the quarter will still be there when I get back.”

She smiles up at me, a familiar look in her whiskey eyes as she stares at me through my glasses. “Do you still love it? Numbers, I mean.”

They’re the first words she speaks inside the stables and whatever bashful answer in the affirmative ofyes, I’m still a fucking nerd who can lose hours of his day crunching numbers and playing with the marketI was going to give her is masked by Rowdy. The moment he hears her voice, his head is out of the stall and a chorus of excited whinnying begins.

Like the Arabian, Tinsley can’t contain herself. When she sees his head pop out, she’s off like a shot from a starter pistol, running down the length of my family’s private stable and calling his name to which he nickers back. Once there, she eagerly accepts his nudging head into a hug, her hand scratching behind his ears while she quietly coos to him.

When I catch up to them—the wicker basket she brought with her in my hand—I see she’s nuzzling him right back. Her head strokes up and down along the side of his muzzle, her eyes closed, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“I’ve missed you, sweet boy… so much. I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye… yeah, I know, it has been a long time… after a while I wasn’t sure I could come back, you know?”

“The only thing that stopped you from coming back was yourself.”

Her lips curl in for a fraction of a second, the only sign that what I said may have landed as harshly as I subconsciously meant for it to. Then as fast as the blip of hurt appeared, it’s gone, and I would give anything to take back what I said.

Not a single trace of the unguarded expressions and reactions she’s shown me this afternoon or from the other night remain; glimpses of her still being the girl I’ve loved all these years are gone. In its place is the L.A. artifice that’s consumed her—the pristine picture of a machine-made American sweetheart. As if the version of her that arrived at her label’s office so long ago wasn’t already a showing of perfection and more than worth the love and adoration her music has inspired.

“This was a mistake,” she decides, holding just a little tighter to Rowdy, readying herself to let go.

Shit, I’ve really screwed this up. My one shot for another chance with her and I’m already sending her running.

“No,” I insist. “It’s not. I’m just… stay,” I decide. “Please. We’d love to take you out.”

“We?”

“Rowdy I mean.”

Slowly she nods, “Right, Rowdy. Okay then, but my shoes?—”

“You worry about Rowdy; I’ll take care of you, Shortcake.”

And just like that, she’s come back to me. Her cheeks tinged with pink and her smile shy but genuine as it reflects through her eyes. Her hand absently tucking her hair behind her ear as it falls forward with her downward glance.MyTinsley Jacobs is still in there somewhere. The one that’s only ever been for me, and I hope that, with time, I can coax her back to the surface.

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