He looks at the ground as he listens.
“Before I knew it, we were talking all the time, laughing, sharing food, and getting comfortable with each other.” My voice cracks. “I need you to know that he tried to stop it. He tried to keep me at arm’s length, and I wouldn’t let him.”
“Right.”
I turn to face him. “He did, Cabe.” The tears start burning again. “I wanted him, and I came on to him.”
Silence.
When I finally look up, Cabe is watching me differently.
I laugh bitterly. “I fell for the ornery cowboy.”
Cabe freezes.
Actually freezes.
“Fell? As in fell in love?”
I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“You’re in love with him?” he asks with disbelief.
I shrug. “Apparently.”
“I thought you two were just messing around.”
I look away.
“He’s a bull rider, Jo.”
“Trust me, I’m aware.”
“He’s on the road ten months out of the year. He lives in sleazy motel rooms and busted RVs. He’s twenty-nine years old,and his longest relationship was a four-day weekend with a barrel racer in Reno.”
That one almost makes me laugh.
“What the hell were you thinking, falling in love with him?”
The tears spill over.
I throw my hands into the air. “Nobody chooses to fall, Cabe. You run, and you trip and fall.” My voice shakes. “You hit a hole on your bike, and you fall.” I swipe at my eyes. “You climb a tree, and the branch breaks, and you fall. You get bucked off a horse or a bull, and you fall.” My gaze finds his. “It’s exhilarating and terrifying, but if you never take the chance, then you never run.” I take a shaky breath. “You never ride a bike or climb a tree or ride a horse.” I swallow hard. “You never love anything or anyone.”
Cabe just stares at me. “And you love him.”
It’s not a question; it’s a statement.
“Him,” he repeats.
I laugh through the tears, and the sound comes out broken. “I love you both.”
His brows pull together. “Just different. You’re my best friend, and you always will be. He’s …” Cabe’s eyes narrow. “More.”
The word lands between us.
I nod, and a tear slides down my cheek. I wipe it away.
“So …”
