The Wild Ones (The Wild Ones #1)(57)
Author: M. Leighton

I go straight to Lucky’s stall. His head is just tall enough to clear the top rail. I stroke his velvety nose. And I bawl.

My breath is coming in hiccups and I can barely see. I’m letting it all pour out, everything I have left.

My body is shaking so badly I can’t stand, so I let my knees fold and I crumble at the foot of the stall. It’s there that Sooty finds me.

He puts one leathery hand on my shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

I shake my head. I’m crying too hard to talk. He squats down beside me and puts his arm around me. I lean over against him and cry all the harder. If only I had a father who acted like this, who cared like this and who showed it like this, maybe I wouldn’t be in this position.

I’m sitting in the dirty stable floor soaking Sooty’s shirt when Jenna finds me. She rushes to my side.

“Ohmigod, Cami, are you okay?”

Her eyes are darting back and forth between Sooty and me. It would have been laughable if I weren’t so miserable.

“Please just get me out of here,” I plead.

She helps me up and I dust off my butt. Sooty stands, too, and I see the enormous wet spot on his shoulder.

I look him in the eye. I want to thank him and apologize, but the tears come again. Sooty smiles in that sweet way he has and he pinches my chin.

“Don’t let anything get in the way of what you want. Not even pride.”

I want to take exception and explain to him that I’m not standing in the way of what I want, that what I want simply doesn’t want me, but Jenna starts tugging at my arm.

“Thanks for looking out for her until I could get here,” she says and starts leading me toward the back bay doors.

I look around for her car, but don’t see it. “How did you get here?”

She nods to a place halfway between the house and the stable. There sits Rusty’s car, idling, with Rusty watching us curiously through the windshield.

“I’m so sorry, Jenna! I know you wanted to stay out of this, you and Rusty. I’m so sorry.”

The tears start to fall again.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she whispers comfortingly. “No guy is gonna keep me from my bestie when she needs me. But he didn’t even try. Not this time. He knew it was serious.”

“He won’t tell Trick, will he?”

“No. He doesn’t talk to Trick about much of anything these days. Today’s the first time they’ve really hung out in forever.”

I stop. “He was with Trick today? At the race?”

Jenna nods. “Yeah, they came back early and Rusty surprised me.”

“But he’s…”

“No. You’re fine. Come on. He’s taking us to his garage for a while. Once I sober up, we can go to my house and you can spend the night.”

“O-okay.”

When we get to Rusty’s car, this time something I think might be a GTO, Jenna opens the passenger door. She pushes the seat up and I crawl into the back. Jenna flops down in the front seat and slams the door shut. When we don’t move immediately, I start to wonder why, but then Rusty turns around in his seat.

The outdoor lights that surround the stable illuminate the car enough that I can see half his face. It lacks its normal fun-loving grin and relaxed brow. Now, it’s wrinkled in concern.

He reaches back and palms my knee, wiggling my leg back and forth. “You okay, girl?”

Rusty’s touch is in no way inappropriate or slimy; it’s the equivalent of a gentle pat on the back. I have no doubt whatsoever that he’s actually concerned about me. I know from this second on, he’ll be permanently endeared to me. The brother I never had. And Jenna the sister.

I give him a watery smile and nod. My assurance is a total lie, but if I start talking to him about Trick, I’ll lose it.

He sort of slaps my knee a couple times, nods and turns back around to shift into reverse. No one talks on the way to the garage. The silence plus motion of the car and the soothing road noises are more than enough to put me straight to sleep.

Hushed voices stir me, but between the tequila and the emotional exhaustion, I don’t even bother to open my eyes. I much prefer the peace and solitude of sleep. I prefer oblivion.

I can’t tell if it’s a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours later when I hear the voices again. This time they’re followed by a click and a bright light shining in my eyes. I squeeze my lids shut and turn my face away. I want to cuss and fuss and scream that I want to be left alone, but I just don’t have the energy. I’d much rather sleep.

That becomes practically impossible, however, when I feel fingers wiggling their way beneath my shoulders and knees. Then someone is folding me up like a napkin and dragging me from the back seat. Just when I’m about to make my displeasure known, in a very nasty way, I’m cradled in strong arms against a hard chest. Something in the back of my mind niggles for me to wake up and take notice. I ignore it to snuggle in deeper.

But then I smell his soap. It’s unmistakable. Clean and lightly scented. It’s Trick.

I open my bleary eyes and squint against the light. It’s not bright light, but it’s offensive nonetheless. I blink a couple times until I can focus. We stop moving when he looks down at me. His expression is blank. I can’t decide if it hurts or not. Right now, I’m just too happy to be looking at him again, so close, and to be held by him. I never thought I’d feel his arms again.

“Trick,” I say hoarsely.

“Shhh,” he whispers as he starts walking again.

Regardless of everything else—all the pain, the disappointment, the doubt, the loss—I’m content to be with Trick, even in this situation. I don’t think the circumstances would matter. I just want Trick. Period.

I wind my arms around his neck and lay my head against his shoulder. He pulls me in tighter for just a second. Like a hug.

Did that just happen? Or am I imagining things? Maybe he was just getting a better grip.

I like the next thought much better.

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Drink makes me brave. It always has. So it’s no surprise that I find the courage to pull my arms tighter around him and bury my face in his neck. I hear a noise. Like a hiss. Could be one of disgust. Or frustration. But it could also be one of something else. There’s only one way to find out, so I press my lips to his skin.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, but I don’t really care. I just think there’s a part of me that believes this is a dream.