Page 3 of Total Jane Wreck

He blinks as if this is a question he’s never considered. “I mean—it makes sense, right? For our families.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Reed will love hearing that.”

“You can’t tell Reed,” Melissa says, starting to stroke Betty’s neck. Betty’s not having it. She fidgets.

“You tell him, and everything blows up,” Melissa continues. “Is that really what you want?”

Betty stomps a hoof. To make her stand still, Melissa reaches up and twists at Betty’s ear. An ear twist is agony for horses. Betty makes this deep, throaty grunt-type sound. She’s in pain.

Rage swirls behind my eyes. Bile blooms under my tongue. Fury clenches at my ribs, flushing up through my scalp. My vision fizzles at the edges. The sound of Betty suffering—small, wet, pinned—is all that matters.

I lunge forward, ripping Melissa’s hand from Betty’s ear. “Let go of her, bitch!”

For a second, no one moves. I press my face to Betty’s mane, cheek to coarse hair, and try to breathe. Then my body rebels. Every cell in my stomach wants out. I retch and heave, shuddering, while they watch, silent.

When it’s over, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look at them.

“Betty’s not a toy,” I say. It sounds small, but I mean it like a threat.

Betty, traumatized, whinnies and stomps her hoof so that a line of my puke falls onto Jackson’s loafers.

“Damn you, Jane!” Jackson cries, anguish ripping through his voice—they’re his favorite shoes. “Look what you did.”

“Sorry.”

Jackson sighs. “It’s fine,” he replies, but his tone implies there’s a cross nailed to his back. “Go get cleaned up. Then we can just—” he throws his arms to the side “—put this little episode behind us.”

“Sounds good to me,” Melissa says. She starts to walk away.

“Wait,” I say. “What about Reed?”

Melissa turns, scowling. “What about him?”

I draw in a deep, steadying breath. “He’ll want to kill you both.”

Reed is a big guy. He was a bully in high school and he loves holding a grudge.

Quick as lightning, Melissa seizes my arm. “Jane Wreck,” she sneers. It’s the nickname I earned after throwing up during that infamous horse race, the first (but far from last) time I sympathy-puked when an animal was in pain.

Her nails dig into my skin. I don’t flinch. “Let go.”

“Why?” she hisses. “So you can run to Reed? He won’t buy what you’re selling. He won’t even listen.”

I try to wrench free. “Wanna bet?”

“Listen to me.” Melissa’s voice goes low and scary. “Reed’s running Adkins and Son Stables now, with me by his side. But you? You’re just the girl in the corner who talks to horses and ruins every brunch. So take my advice, Jane Wreck, and stay quiet. Count yourself lucky that Jackson still wants to marry you. He’s your last chance at respectability.”

My skin crawls. Then, I notice the abandoned paperback of Escape from the Springs, still lying on the stable floor.

Before we know it, life is over, and we’ve never truly taken a risk . . .

“No,” I say, voice flat.

“What do you mean, no?” Jackson asks.

I look at my fiancé. “Let me clarify—I mean, hell no.” Sucking in a breath, I summon all my strength and dignity. “I’m tired of being a joke and an embarrassment. There’s more to me than puking when a horse is in pain. Perhaps someday I’ll meet a man who sees me—all of me, the good and the bad. And he’ll love me nonetheless. But if not, I’m still better off alone than I would be married to you.”

Jackson’s lips curve into a sneer. “Come on, Jane. You don’t have any other options.” He chuckles. “What are you going to do? Throw all your meager possessions into your beat-up little car, hit the road, and ‘find yourself’ like a character in some pathetic rom-com?”