“But Theo?” She tugs me closer, hand sliding up my chest.
“Yes?”
“I really think the plan should be for you to win this year and next year.”
Winter hasn’t told me she loves me, but this comment tells me she does. That she wants me to do things that are important to me. That she’ll be here when I do them. That she’s not here to hold me back. That she doesn’t just need me around to help with Vivi—she understands that I need to feel accomplished.
Vivi tugs on my jeans with some garbled sentence.
I crouch back down to her instantly. “Is that so? I’m going to miss you too. Very much.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s only a couple of weeks. It’s going to feel like a lifetime. I bet she’ll be bigger when I get back. Walking around with no problem, not just for a few steps between her mom and me.
One of her tiny hands pats my cheek in response.
I’m an emotional mess. These last two months have put me through the fucking ringer, and I’m not sure I’ve completely processed it all. I dove into the deep end and started swimming.
So, I cup my daughter’s cherub cheeks and tell her what my dad used to tell me before he’d leave. The last words he ever said to me.
“Te vivo, baby girl.”
She bats her eyelashes and studies me, her little bow-shaped lips turned up in a smile that strikes me as wise beyond her years. Months?
Then she blows a raspberry on the inside of my arm and the moment evaporates. Amused, she turns the other way and blows one on Winter’s bare leg. She goes on practicing like she’s learning a new instrument.
When I glance up at Winter, her head tilts. “What does that mean?”
“What?” I ruffle Vivi’s hair and push back up to standing.
“What you just said to her.”
“Te vivo?” Winter nods. “It’s Portuguese. My dad used to say it to my sister and me. Sadly, it’s some of the only Portuguese I know. It means ‘I live you’ or something along those lines.”
“You mean I love you?”
“No.” I scrub at my stubble and glance down at our daughter, who is now amusing herself by playing her favorite game of fetch with Peter and his miniature rubber chicken. “It means . . . I live you. Like I see you everywhere, you are in everything. Our connection is more than physical.”
“Hmm.” Winter sighs, glancing down at our daughter. “I love that. But also . . . why is English the least romantic language in the world? Tell me more things in Portuguese.”
“I wish I knew more. My dad was so focused on immersing himself in North American culture that we really didn’t get a lot of his heritage.”
A small frown touches Winter’s face. “That’s a shame. Maybe we can go one day.”
“Where?”
“To Brazil. Teach Vivi about her grandpa.”
No, Winter may not say the words, but she expresses her love in different ways. She embodies it so effortlessly.
When I finally pack up to head to the airport that afternoon, I fold her in my arms, kiss her hard, and whisper against her ear, “Te vivo, Winter Hamilton.”
I push away all the instincts that want to drag me back into the house to be with my girls and make my way down the front steps. I told myself I wouldn’t look back at them. I already know Winter has Vivi propped on her hip. I already know she’s waving one tiny hand while Winter leans against the door frame, looking too fucking good with her toned, bare legs on display in a soft T-shirt dress.
I told myself I wouldn’t look back.
But when I hear Winter’s voice, all thick and raspy, say, “Te vivo, Theo Dale Silva. Kick some ass this weekend,” I fail miserably.
Haven’t been able to keep my eyes off that woman from day one, not sure who I was kidding thinking I’d be strong enough to start now.
33
Winter
Winter: Good luck tonight. Break a leg.
Theo: That’s not always the best thing to say to a bull rider, Tink.
Winter: I didn’t say break a clavicle.
Theo: Hilarious.
Winter: If you win, I’ll give you road head next time we go out.
Theo: This brand of motivation REALLY works for me.
Winter: Lol. Awesome. And Theo?
Theo: Yeah?
Winter: I miss you.
“Good,” I say as a man I don’t know gets bucked into the dirt like a lawn dart.
“Winter, you scare me.” Sloane laughs.
Theo has been gone for two days and I’ve been playing it cool. But I’m a barrel of nerves over his first competition back. My ability to turn anything into a competition has really come out to play by dating an athlete.
“Come on. Tell me you don’t curse at every guy that gets the puck past Jasper.”
“Fair.”
“Aren’t you nervous?” Summer asks from the opposite end of the couch.
“Yes. I want him to win so badly I can barely sit still.”
“No, like about him getting hurt,” my sister clarifies. “I could barely watch Rhett get on a bull without feeling like I was going to barf. Him coaching now is perfect. Maybe Theo could coach.”
“No chance.” He can’t win it all if he falls back into coaching.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s not old and washed up yet. Let the man live, Summer. He doesn’t need another mom,” Willa pipes up.
She’s sitting on the carpet with Vivi and Emma, who are busy playing with a full set of My Little Ponies. Apparently, Cade can’t stop buying them for Emma, which means there is an alarming number scattered across the floor.
A whole fucking herd of rainbows and sparkles.
Loretta laughs, sitting in the armchair that has become hers. Peter is curled in her lap. The thought of her leaving soon makes my chest hurt. I know she has her own life in Emerald Lake, but she’s filled a gap in my heart these past weeks.
She feels like the mom I should have had.
I’ve decided I’ll soak up all the time I can with her while Theo is away. She’s helping me plan Vivi’s first birthday, but she’s leaving the next day. She says it will be a fun and celebratory way to mark her departure.
But I’m not so sure it will work for me.
“Theo is very capable. He knows his body.” Loretta’s eyes fall to mine. “He’s grown up a lot in recent years. I think he’ll make smart choices up there; he’s got a lot of reasons to come home safe.”
My throat feels tight. I assume her husband had a lot of reasons to come home safe too.
But he didn’t.
“There he is!” Sloane leans forward in her chair, and I follow suit, my eyes raking over the big screen in our living room.
I see Theo climbing up the metal panels. The cream shirt he’s wearing does nothing but good things for his tan skin and alluring dark features. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat, but he has a black helmet in hand.
He trades them off with Rhett, who is propped up on the gate beside him. I can see them exchanging words, but I’m too taken aback by the sight of Theo to attempt to lip-read.
He looks fucking hot, like an entirely different person. Like . . . an entirely different experience than I’ve been getting at home.
Theo’s chaps are a creamy blue with black stars on them, and his protective vest is black to match his boots. His face is pure focus—with a tinge of vicious.
Like I’d lie naked in the dirt for this version of him.
“Okay, it’s my turn to say good now that Emmett didn’t stay on.” Summer pulls my attention away from Theo and Rhett in the background to the blonde cowboy stomping out of the ring.
“Why?”
“Cause Emmett Bush is a douchebag.”
“Emmett, who you almost let take body shots off your tits?” Willa asks right as she pops a chip into her mouth from the bowl on the table.
Summer turns bright pink. “I was pissed off that night.”
We all laugh because we’ve heard the story. Pissed off is code for: she was trying to make Rhett jealous. Based on the way she blushes every time it comes up, I’m going to assume it worked.
I turn my attention back to the TV and end up kneeling on the floor behind Vivi. “Look.” I point to the TV. “There’s Daddy.”
Her head turns, and I swear she peers a little closer.
I rub her shoulders just to give my hands something to do as I watch them load up a rather ugly white bull with pink skin around its eyes and a black splatter pattern all over its coat. It looks mean.
The harder they buck, the better chance he has at getting a good score, so I decide it’s a positive thing.
My palms sweat. I bite my inner cheek hard enough to make it bleed as Theo lowers the helmet over his handsome face. The cage obscures most of his features, but I see those onyx eyes glaring around until they feel like they’re right on the camera.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s searching for me. I want him to be. I wanted to be there, but two weeks on the road living in hotel rooms with a toddler, eating out for every meal—it just wasn’t in the cards. It wasn’t the focused setting he needed, and that didn’t offend me.
If it means him succeeding, I’ll do it. So, I kneel on our living room floor, twisting my hands and watching the live stream.
The people around me chat and laugh like nothing important is happening right now, but my stomach is in my throat.