“Which is?”
She glances over at me. “Eventually? Major motion pictures. Directing, hopefully.” Her expression turns bashful. “A pie-in-the-sky goal, I guess.”
“You can do it.”
She turns to face me now. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re here at the crack of dawn putting in the hours. You’re the last one to leave at night. It’ll happen.”
She snorts, as though she’s amused by my belief in her. “You sound like my dad.”
Any bull rider in the world would be honored to be compared to Gabriel Silva. “Do I now?”
“When I was little, I asked him what he’d do if he couldn’t be a professional bull rider. And he told me in that lilting Portuguese accent of his that he’d direct action movies.Mission Impossible. Top Gun.Movies with explosions and stunts. But where he didn’t have to put himself at risk. He knew I always worried about him riding, so now I wonder if he only said that to pacify me.”
She chuckles fondly, tongue darting out over her bottom lip. “But that was the same day I told him I wanted to direct movies too. At first, it started out as a little girl’s dad hero worship, but over time, it became… real. He always told me I could make it happen if I worked hard enough. Well, until…”
She hits me with the saddest smile. One that has me rushing in to patch up the wound she’s just revealed to me.
“Wise words from a wise man.”
Lines crop up beside her eyes as she squints to regard me. Like she isn’t sure what to make of me right now.
“He was a good dad.”
I dip my chin in agreement. “I have no doubt.”
She turns away, looking at the rising sun. “Sorry yours sucks. I shouldn’t be waxing poetic about mine knowing what I know.”
A snort lurches from me. “You can talk about him to me any time you want. Mine… well, he is what he is.”
“Do you see him much?”
I give a sharp shake of my head. “No.”
“So you’ve gone no contact?”
I sigh. Fucking Carl. He’s a fucking prickle in my ass. “No, not that either.”
“Why not?”
“I guess…” I grapple with my next words. “I guess after losing one dad, completely cutting out another one—shitty as he might be—feels like a big step. Gonna have to deal with some feelings that I’d rather just gloss over and ignore.”
“Healthy,” Julia deadpans.
And I find myself watching her. Wondering why I am so damn comfortable talking to her. Sharing with her.
It’s fully out of character for me. But when she’s around, I’m like a leaky fucking faucet, dripping my baggage all over the goddamn place.
“Yeah, he can be awful. Yeah, he’s hard on me. But I’m only as good a bull rider as I am thanks to him. He’s a piece of shit, but he’s a hell of a coach. And I’ve learned to endure his tirades and pluck out the useful bits of wisdom he weaves in with all the insults. It’s easier than the drama of cutting him out completely.” I shrug before adding, “Not all of us get Gabriel Silva as a mentor.”
I raise a brow at her, referring to Rhett Eaton, her brother’s friend and coach, who was Gabriel’s lucky chosen one when he first started on the circuit.
“Okay, well, when you’re ready to hate him in solidarity, let me know. I’m game for that too.” She points at her sweater again while tossing me a wink. “Team Brandt, not Bush.”
Team Brandt. Not Bush.
God, no wonder I don’t want to kiss any of the contestants.
