Page 51 of Don't Take the Girl
"You already did. The question is, are you man enough to fix it?"
That's a good fucking question. I want to be, but some things can't be fixed.
Chapter 15
LANEY
"Oh my god, I swear my father's goal this summer is to keep me from having any fun," Asha says, throwing herself into a cushioned patio chair as Sydney and I share a pitcher of sweet tea.
I've been working in the field all day with a filly named Pria. I had high hopes for Pria when I watched her race last season. She was every bit as fast as her male counterparts. Female horses aren't necessarily a rarity in races, but they're not the norm either. I really want to see her go somewhere she can train. Pria has so many good years left in her. She has a willingness to learn, but her temperament is holding her back at the moment. That's not to say she's a bad horse; rather, she's a product of the habits ingrained into her. She can change, but she needs to adjust to a new routine and unlearn habits that no longer benefit her. It's that last part that has Pria pulling at my heartstrings. Old habits die hard.
"We can't lie beside the pool all day," I say, pushing Sydney's chair with my foot.
"Listen, I can do marketing from anywhere," Sydney prattles, adjusting the straps on her swimsuit. "Today, it just happened to be poolside." Then, she looks around, pushing her sunglasses up farther on her nose. "And intentional."
"You're shameless," I tease. "You're working, alright. Working on getting laid."
"Hey, staying at Fairfield instead of a hotel has its advantages. Between owners, trainers, and grooms, there's a constant flow of sex on a stick walking around this place."
I turn to Asha, mouth agape. "Are you hearing this? You're procuring the goods, and she's not paying."
"Yeah, my pimping services aren't free." She rises from the chair she claimed seconds ago. "Looking will cost both of you three spoons, two pints of ice cream—cookie dough and confetti cake—and one king-sized bed for gossip. My dad texted…" She holds up her phone. "He wants me in his office."
"It's okay. You're not missing much. I'm leaving soon too. We'll catch up tonight," I say as she sorely walks inside.
Sydney pushes her glasses on top of her head. "Okay, but seriously, her dad is one of the hottest guys here."
"He has, like, twenty years on you…" She shrugs. "And he's seeing someone."
"Who isn’t seeing someone? Guys like him always have a girl on their arm. It doesn’t mean they plan on keeping them." She waves her hand as if it's no big deal.
"Sydney," I scold. "Since when did you become a home wrecker?"
"I haven't. I can look. I never said I'd touch. I'm just saying the brooding, the midnight-blue suits that fit immaculately, and how everyone who approaches him comes prepared or not at all is a turn-on. Call it a kink unlocked." She sits straight up in her chair. "Seriously, do you know I watched two staffers walk toward him only to turn around, realizing without words that whatever task or issue they thought they had was menial and not worthy of his time? It's not the money. We both know I don't need it. It's the man. But enough about my wandering eye. How do you feel about returning to the ranch and seeing London?"
"Well"—my phone pings as I pull it out—"I'm not going there to see London."
I cried myself to sleep the night of the wedding. At first, rage coursed through my veins—rage at him, at her, at the knowledge he'd been breathing the same small-town air as me. I tried convincing myself I was over it, over him choosing her, over the crippling guilt I've carried for the burden I believed he shouldered. Still, once the anger fizzled out, the grief rushed in, an all-consuming wave of realization that cut deeper than any knife: he's been here without me all this time.
That's the thing about grief. It's merciless. We don't get to choose if or when it strikes. It hits without warning just when you think you've found solid ground. I don't want to want someone who doesn't want me back. That's why answering Sydney's question is useless. I can say I'm fine and mean it with every fiber of my being, but the second his eyes connect with mine, it could all fall away. All I know for sure is I can't hide from it, but more than that, I don't want to.
"Who is that?" she asks as my thumb hovers over the screen.
"Noah," I answer dejectedly. "He wants to visit before he goes back to Willow Creek to help manage the businesses since his dad is heading into an election year."
"Let him come," she says with a glint in her eye. "Inviting Noah kills two birds with one stone. You'll make it brutally clear to him that hooking up a couple times over the years was not a betrothal while simultaneously igniting a familiar fire in London's veins. If London Hale has an Achilles' heel that will make him forget his carefully constructed control and whatever fake bullshit life he has here in Bardstown, it's that man. I swear the moment London sees you with him, that perfectly maintained façade will fracture. Just you wait and see."
"I thought we've been over this. I'm not trying to get London back. Secondly, London isn't Noah's favorite person. Noah finding out could be bad for London, and while I might be mad and hurt, I've already spent enough time feeling guilty for what happened. I don't care to repeat the night I watched him get hauled off in the back of a cop car."
"Have you ever Googled London—I mean, his case?"
"No," I say, reaching for the pitcher of sweet tea.
"Well, I did last night, and guess what…" She leans forward with her elbows on the table. "He doesn't have one."
I spit my sweet tea, and she tosses me her pool towel. "How is that possible? You were there. You saw what happened."
"I was there, Laney, but I didn't see what happened," she gently reminds. "But that night, when Sheriff Townsend asked what happened, you said Noah and London shared a look."
