I discarded the hairdryer in the sink. Thought better of it and moved it to the small edge of the vanity before staring at myself in the mirror. I ran the brush over my head, pulling my hair completely off my face. Shockingly, it stayed that way.
Scott had used hairspray liberally over his shorter new haircut. I decided I would too. I didn’t want to look like a heathen in his wedding pictures.
“Clean up pretty well, don’t I?” Scott asked, standing close to the window of his old bedroom. Much like I had done over the last thirty-six hours, my focus went to Scott, who was attempting to hide his nervous energy with a cocky attitude and a faux confident swagger.
Vulnerability had his brows permanently furrowed. Anxiety flushed his cheeks and neck. But he looked good in the modern cowboy garb. Decked out pretty sharp in his all-black attire consisting of a crisp black cowboy suit coat, matching vest, and a pair of brand-new dark pressed jeans. The dress shirt he wore was cinched with a timeless family heirloom: an iconic scorpion bolo tie passed down through the generations of stylish men in his ancestry.
The effort he used to perfect his hair in the mirror was about to be ruined by the dark Stetson waiting on the edge of the bed.
“Sure do,” I quipped and resisted the urge to continue the competition between us by stating I look better.
His shiny new Tecovas boots were the same as mine. A dark, almost black color. He did look great. I’d worried about the cash I spent trying to find clothes to match his. I wore dark ironed jeans, about the same color as our boots, and a pressed, charcoal pearl-button, long-sleeve dress shirt. Luckily, I didn’t have to wear a hat or bolo tie. I didn’t like the way cowboy hats made me look, and I’d sworn off anything that needed a knot around my neck.
“Fuck, I’m nervous. What if I can’t handle all this? Lauren wants to be taken care of, and I want to support my family, but what if I fail?”
Since it was a conversation we’d had over and over today, I was set to dish out some motivational pep talk, but he cut me off with a hand on his stomach. He began to pace.
“Talk about somethin’ else before I hurl…”
I started to speak but he caught me instantly off guard with his next words.
“You’re doin’ better every day. You already seem like your old self. That’s a fast improvement.” He shot me a pointed look.
I just shrugged, not in the mood to chat about what was happening to me. I recognized the change inside me. I liked it. That was enough for now.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re still processin’ it all in that noggin of yours. I’m glad to have you back, though. It’d suck to be doin’ this without you.” He abruptly jerked his head to the closed curtain window. I didn’t know why. “It bugged me when you moved, then even more when you came back. Remember how you’d sprint across the roof to get outside?” His penetrating gaze came back to mine. “I have a secret I’ve never told you.” He pointed at me. “And you’re never going to throw it up in my face again.”
I nodded, but there might be, to be honest, the jury was out on that promise. It might slip out again depending on what he had to say.
“I seriously have a fear of heights. I’d follow you because I couldn’t let you win, but it bothered me every time.”
“I win.” The words were said automatically, but I didn’t mean them. He acted like this was a shocking revelation. We’d known each other too well. Scott didn’t have secrets from me, and I didn’t have them from him—the very reason for Dash’s current presence in Alabama.
As I prepared to tell him how closely I’d studied him and fought my own fears in order to keep competing, I switched tactics and fanned the flames of that spirit inside him instead.We’d both be better for it in the end. “Just so you know, when I leave here and head to Dallas, I’m gonna kick your ass financially. I was readin’ that UPS drivers make serious bank…”
“Wanna bet?” Scott muttered.
My distraction worked and I held back my grin. He came at me as if we were wagering on different boxers to win the championship belt.
“The commission I earn is endless. I’ll make more money than you as long as you don’t use your boyfriend’s coattails.”
Oh man, he’d hit below the belt. “Bet.”
His hand shot out to shake mine.
Something deeper ignited within me, bubbling up beyond the emotional damage I’d endured. “I’ll get healthcare, holidays off, and most weekends, and still make more money than you.”
A knock at the door drew both our attention. Mrs. Lee, Scott’s mom, gave a time update through the closed door without waiting for us to open the door. “Five minutes. She’s here.” Even though I couldn’t see her, I could hear the excitement in her voice.
He locked an unwavering stare on me. “Dollar for dollar. W-2’s compared. We’ll settle the rest once this wedding’s done. Every year is a separate win.” Since our hand grip continued, he shook mine aggressively and with certainty.
“Starts the beginnin’ of next month,” I shot out cockily. “You just made my wins so much sweeter.”
The ultimate challenge. I saw the same fire building within him that flared inside me.
“Better learn to tuck your tail between your ass cheeks.” Unafraid of anything now, Scott went closer to the shut bedroom door, waiting to go out.
I laughed at his unwavering confidence. And patted myself on the back for manipulating him in his quest to always be ableto provide for his family. The door pushed open, bouncing off Scott’s face in the swing open. I laughed at that too.
