I’m smiling too big by this point to comment on his sudden and proper use of riding slang. I wouldn’t want to ruin the moment anyway. I’m breathing deep on the back of my horse, unencumbered by anxiety or memory, and the only response I can give is an honest, “I think I’m ready.”
The pride in his eyes brings hope and confidence to my soul. I don’t know what it is. Maybe I did just need to prepare better. Take it bite by bite. Maybe it’s just the magic of Justin. Whatever the reason, I feel a sense of calm in my core. Justin pushes himself up onto the fence, his eyes never once leaving me, and I turn to face the first barrel.
My heart begins to race, but this time, not in fear. It’s excitement that hums through my veins. Justin believes in me, he thinks I can do this. I intend to prove him right.
“Let’s show him, girl,” I tell Oakley, nudging her flank as I cluck my tongue. “Ride!”
Wind, my old familiar friend, kisses my cheeks and tangles my hair as Annie and I take off. Her hooves pound a rhythm as old as time and a smile crosses my face as we near the first barrel. For a split second, doubts enter. Fear has stolen this moment from me twice before, and as we approach the turn, I close my eyes, hoping instinct and memory take over.
When I open them again, we’re headed toward barrel two.
“Yeah!”
Justin’s scream of approval echoes through my ears and I laugh aloud.
Holy crap! We actually did it!
The second and third barrels go just as easily, just as naturally, and by the time I come to a giddy stop in front of Justin again, I can barely feel my fingertips. I’m simply one huge, numb ball of shock and awe. No, I didn’t race nearly as fast as I once did. But, I did do it. Oakley and I both did. Thanks to Justin, that is.
“Hell yeah!” he yells again, and his feet barely touch the ground before he’s running toward me, a smile as wide as the Texas sky on his face. I shake my head at the sight. The whole world, or at least the population of Fairfield Academy, only ever sees the bravado, the mask he wears to disguise the tender, vulnerable heart hidden inside. Oh, there’s no denying that Justin Carter can be a touch overconfident at times. He’s a showboat to end all showboats. But in this case, damn did it work in my favor. “I knew you could do it! Didn’t I tell you that you could do it?”
My smile matches his when I reply, “Yeah, yeah. You may’ve mentioned it.”
His enthusiasm is contagious and I bite my bottom lip, so many emotions now surging through me that I feel restless. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to hop off Oakley’s back and tackle Justin to the ground—but that would be highly inappropriate. So, instead I rock back and forth in the saddle, feeling more alive than ever before.
Justin watches my exuberant display and chuckles. “Let me guess, you want to go again?”
“Again, and again, and again,” I answer, a swell of gratitude rising within me. This is how it feels to get a part of your life back. There are no words in the English language powerful enough to thank him for this. “Justin, I don’t know how to—”
He places his hand over mine, silencing me. For once, I don’t try to move it. “You don’t need to say anything.” His eyes betray his words, as they’re filled with so many things left unspoken between us. But instead of giving them voice, he squeezes my hand and says, “Just ride, pretty girl.”
And that’s exactly what I do.
JUSTIN
SWEET SERENITY RANCH 7:35 P.M.
The loud crunch of gravel smothers Peyton’s laugh and the toned muscles of her thigh turn to stone beneath my palm. My dopey-ass grin falls. Shielding my eyes against the glare, I turn to see who’s barreling up the road behind us, thinking my luck’s about run out.
It’s not Coach; there’s not a shot in hell he called practice early, not two days before the Semi-finals. He won’t come home until at least ten, spending the night surrounded by empty pizza boxes and scrutinizing game footage, and normally, I’d be right there with him. Instead, thanks to my injury, I found myself here, listening to Peyton’s laugh and hoarding her smiles like they’re Cadbury cream eggs at Easter.
And damn if it doesn’t feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Nut burgers.”
Peyton’s voice is pitched low and sort of breathless, so I glance at her before looking back out at the road. A dark blue truck roars past us, jerking to a stop in the field next to the barrel course. I catch her hand clenching in my periphery, another one of her anxious tics, and when I raise my eyes again, I watch as her gorgeous smile slips from her face.
Fuck that.
“Hey.” I squeeze her hip and her gaze darts to mine before flitting away. It doesn’t take a genius to know who it is… or what she’s thinking. “Baby, you did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to hide here, so there’s no reason to feel guilty.”