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She shrugs. “So? I’m using him for the same reasons.”
“Why are you doing this?” Even as I ask it, I know why.
I see myself in her face. Her eyes. Eager. Hungry. Fierce. She wants out of Resurrection as badly as I did.
She pulls one knee up to her chin, letting her other leg dangle. “I want to be the best.”
“You’re the best there’s ever been, Fallon. And I mean it.”
She shakes her head and twists the top off her Coors Light. “I’ve won every other event. I want to win this. I want to ridebulls with the boys. I want to win the PBR Championship. Like Polly Reich. I want a million dollars.”
I inhale a breath. “It could kill you.”
“Everything will kill you.” She wiggles her brows. “That’s why you gotta choose something fun.”
I groan at her absurd logic. “I don’t like that, Fallon.”
“I know…but…Lawless needs surgery with cash I don’t have. I have tomove, Dakota. I have to make it out. I want to find Mom. I want those wild horses in Arizona.” Her eyes take on a faraway glaze. “Staying here…it’ll be worse than dying on the back of a bull.”
I remember a fortune teller at the State Fair telling Fallon she had nine lives, and she’s believed it ever since. Since then, she’s been counting down. Defying death multiple times. Jumping off cliffs into the lake, drag racing on the back roads, getting trampled by her nag Lovely. And from then on came a never-ending list of injuries. Broken wrist. Shattered clavicle. Two concussions.
It all started after our mother left. That reckless search for something she hasn’t yet found.
I don’t want this for her.
But she wants it.
“I have a secret,” I say and bite my lip. “I found Mom.”
Surprised, she blinks at me. “Where?”
“Vegas. She’s a dealer at a shitty casino off the strip. At least she was three years ago.”
Fallon picks at her label, her eyes on the chipped wood of the picnic table. “Did she—did she ask about me, or anything?”
I debate lying to her. Then, my heart aching, I say, “No. I’m so sorry, Fallon, she didn’t.” I reach out and squeeze her hand. “She barely knew who I was.”
Fallon nods, then takes a long hit of her beer. Her fierce hazel eyes shimmer with anger and sadness.
“I want you to know I’m staying in Resurrection.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want you to stay for me.”
“I’m not. You can leave because I’ll be here. I want The Corner Store,” I announce and she looks up in surprise. “I want to turn it into a bakery. I want to call it the Huckleberry. We’ll be that one shop—a destination. But not just for tourists, for our town. The best bake shop. We’ll be open from five a.m. to noon. I’ll have the best lemon bars this side of the Mississippi, and when the rodeo comes to town, I’ll have a booth. And I’ll serve hand pies and make everyone pitch in, even you, when you’re in town. Except in the summer.”
“What happens in the summer?” she murmurs. Fallon has her eyes closed, lulled by my rambling fantasy.
I smile. “In the summer, we’ll sell soft-serve ice cream and stay open past nine p.m.”
“Hmmm,” Fallon says, cracking an eye to look at me. “That’s the dream.”
“That’s the moon.”
We both turn toward the setting sun. I lean back, warmed by its rays, thankful for this time with my sister. I feel breathless, victorious. I’m safe here. I belong here.
And I’m happy here.
“I’ll talk to Dad,” I say, looking over at her.
