Page 15 of Riding the Curve

“After the suitcase hit you, I texted your brother. I assumed he’d be the one picking you up, so I explained I was on the same plane and that I’d take you home. As the foreman of the ranch, I know he has his hands full, and we both know he doesn’t like to burden others with his duties. Hell, he’s just as stubborn as you. We’re both going in the same direction, so I figured I’d save him the trip.”

“Well, it would have been nice if both of you would have given me the choice. It seems like no one lately thinks I’m capable of making my own decisions,” she grumbles.

I realize my gesture didn’t exactly hit the way I’d intended it to. I’d hoped it would give us more time to catch up, but now I’m realizing this might be a huge mistake.

“You can’t just walk back into my life and assume that everything will just be like it used to be.”

The guilt twisting in my stomach deepens. “You're right, I’m sorry. Let’s get you another rental car.”

She stares at me for what feels like minutes, mouth parting slightly. Her face is still heated with anger, but I notice her shoulders relax. “No,” she sighs, “I’ll just ride with you. It makes the most sense, and we are going in the same direction.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” She lets out a huff of air. “But I appreciate you thinking about Ryleigh and helping him out. He really has been under a lot of stress. I know he’d drop everything and come pick me up, so you offering to help him means a lot.”

“Of course, Hen. You know I’d always do anything for you both.”

She raises a brow. “Do I?”

I don’t know how to respond, so to not anger her more, I just keep my mouth shut and start walking. A few grumbles erupt from the tiny volcano behind me as we make our way to the rental car booth. We walk through the parking garage until we reach a sleek black BMW. Pulling the key from my pocket, I click the unlock button and open the trunk.

“What, no Porsche?” she scoffs, satisfaction written all over her face at the dig she thinks she’s made.

“It’s pronounced ‘Porsh-uh’ by the way,” I reply with a smirk, jabbing a dig right back. Which only fires her up all over again. “Just because I drive one for a living doesn’t mean I don’t have an appreciation for other cars.”

I begin putting the luggage into the trunk, one grunt at a time, because Henley’s weigh a ton. When I’m finished, I slide into the driver’s seat. Glancing in the rearview mirror as I adjust it, I catch a glimpse of her pacing back and forth. She shakes her head, then drags her body around the side and slips into the passenger seat.

“Buckle up,” I say, pressing the ignition then adjusting the steering wheel to accommodate my long legs. Glancing to my side, I watch her slowly click the buckle in and toss her bag onto the floor between her legs. Leaning back into my seat, I put the car in reverse and pull out of the garage.

We’re on the freeway for a while when I realize she’s going to continue to give me the silent treatment, so I turn up the music. I’ve never done well with silence.

I’m pretty sure her plan is to ignore me the entire hour drive home, until she rolls down the window and turns the entire cabin of the car into a whirlwind. Her hair flips wildly around her face. A few strands lash against my cheek and the rest fly over my eyes, partially blinding me.

“Henley, close the damn window! What are you thinking?” I yell, swatting away her hair from my face so I can see and we don’t crash.

“I can’t. I—need air.” Her words come jumbled and slow, making my hackles rise. I glance at her just in time to catch her olive skin blanch. She looks moments away from passing out.

“Oh shit!” I hiss, swiftly changing lanes and swerving to the side of the road. Before I even put the car in park, Henley leaps out of the car and heads straight for the bushes. Falling to her knees, I make it just in time to grab her hair before she expels the entire contents of her stomach.

Making a tentative decision that there’s nothing further left to be discarded in the bushes, I help her to her feet and safely back to the car.

In the back seat, I rummage around in my backpack to find what I need, then crouch beside her open door. Wind whips her hair back and forth around her face. Gently, I tuck the unruly tendrils behind her ears. Unscrewing the cap of the water bottle, I place it in her hands. “Small sips, you don’t want to anger your stomach again.”

She peers behind me at the bushes and winces, then follows my advice, tentatively sipping the water. Using the napkins I gave her, she cleans off her face and hands. Meanwhile, I unwrap the gum and place it in her palm. “Thank you,” she breathes meekly before tossing it into her mouth.

“Cinnamon?” Her eyebrow arches, and I avert my eyes to the ground. Shit.

She knows I used to only chew on mint gum. Anytime she’d offer hers—which was always cinnamon flavored—I would always say no. When she’d ask why, I’d tell her it was too much spice, and I hated the way it burned my tongue.

It wasn’t until the night all those years ago, when I got a taste of her, that I began to crave all things cinnamon. Suddenly, I desired the burn. Like a moth to a flame, it became an addiction that I haven’t been able to quit. When my gaze flicks back toward her, her eyes are lit with curiosity, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.

“What happened back there?” I ask, motioning to the bushes behind me. Her pale cheeks bloom a pinkish hue.

“Motion sickness. It happens when I’m on a long drive. I have some gum and some Dramamine, but with everything going on, I just⁠—”

“Forgot?” I interrupted.

She nodded. “Honestly, I thought I’d be okay, that’s why I didn’t search for them in my bag after you told me to buckle up. I haven’t really ridden far distances in the car in a long time. You know, living in New York and all. I’m okay on the subway if I chew gum, but we didn’t really do a whole lot of driving. Carson and I never really ventured too far out of the city, so a taxi ride here and there never really seemed to be a problem.”