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“Most attention she’s ever shown me.” I laugh. Keena retreats to the corner and watches us with dark eyes. With my fork, I break off a piece of cake and lift it up. “Look,” I tell Davis. “The crumb’s perfect.”
“Actually, hold up.” Wyatt’s lazy southern drawl rings out. He’s sitting in a rocking chair, arms crossed, long legs kicked out. “I got somethin’ for the game.”
I freeze, the piece of cake perched precariously on the tines of my fork halfway to my mouth.
“Fallon’s turn,” Wyatt says, and all eyes swivel to her. “Truth, dare, drink, underwear.”
My gaze slides to my sister, who’s gone still like an animal caught in the headlights. I wonder if she’ll back down, take an out. I pray she does.
“Dare,” Fallon says icily.
Wyatt makes a buzzer sound with his lips. “Try again.”
Nostrils flaring, Fallon tips her chin. “Fine. Truth.”
Nobody moves. It’s like one of those ASMR videos. The only sound is cutlery clanking awkwardly.
“Your new trainer,” Wyatt begins, and my stomach tumbles. Davis tenses beside me. “Who is it?”
Fallon and Wyatt stare at each other. A kind of manic energy radiates between them.
“Let’s just eat the fucking cake,” Charlie growls.
For a brief second, Fallon’s panicked eyes meet mine. But she swallows and says, “Pappy Starr.”
A soft muttered shit from Davis at that.
Wyatt blanches. “Bullshit. He doesn’t—”
“Rep girls,” Fallon interjects with an eye roll. “And yes, we know all about your chauvinistic male standards, so please spare us the theatrics.”
Ford’s frowning. His long fingers run over his jaw in quiet contemplation. “He doesn’t work with barrel riders, cowgirl.”
“I know it.” Fallon steels her spine. “I’m training with Pappy to ride in the PBR.”
Silence. One second. Two.
Wyatt rockets to his feet. The veins in his neck charged with anger. “The fuck you are.”
“That’s funny.” She scoffs, her eyes grinding him to dust. “I mean, I can’t think of anything you have a say in less than my life.”
“You don’t support this, do you?” Wyatt demands, wheeling to me, to Davis, to the room. He rips a hand through his hair, grips the back of his neck.
Charlie’s pale, trading a concerned look with Ford, who stares at Wyatt.
No one likes it, but it’s Fallon’s choice. No one can talk her out of it except herself.
“It’s her decision,” I say, and Fallon flashes me a grateful glance. I back my sister. Always.
“Wyatt, sit the fuck down,” Davis orders in his scary Marine voice.
But he doesn’t.
I watch Fallon flinch as Wyatt thunders toward her. Which is strange because my sister doesn’t flinch. Not when a horse runs at her full throttle. Not when she falls off the back of a bull.
It’s not fear.
It’s something…dangerous. Powerful.
