My balls tighten at the thought alone.
Yep. I’m a damn voodooed man. Who would’ve known it’d feel so good to be under a woman’s spell.
I’m starting to feel cracks in the ground beneath me because Hell sure as fuck is starting to freeze over.
I set the picture down, glancing one more time at it with a shake of my head. Nice, Ry. A sly removal of Tawny and subtle claiming of me.
And fuck if I don’t like that claim. Who would’ve thought? Huh. Stranger fucking things have happened over the past few months I shouldn’t be so shocked by feeling so okay with this.
Those baby steps of mine have turned into full on leaps. I guess I should start practicing for the long jump if this shit keeps up.
I wander out of the office forgetting the article from Race Weekly, so completely lost in thought. And then I see the woman who holds them captive. She’s out on the patio in deep discussion with my mom and Quinlan over something.
And it’s fucking weird how perfectly she fits here, there, everywhere in my life.
Jesus, I sound like a fucking Dr. Seuss poem.
“How come you’re not at the track?”
My dad’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I immediately realize I forgot to grab the article for him, distracted by Ry’s bait and switch. And then I wonder how long he’s been standing there watching me watch Rylee.
“What? Why would I be at the track?” He’s lost me. It’s Sunday, a non-race day and no testing scheduled, so why the fuck would I be at the track?
He looks me in the eyes like he always has to judge how I’m doing from what he sees there since talking’s not really my forte. And for the first time in forever, he gets this ghost of a smirk and just nods his head like he knows something I don’t. He stares at me a moment longer and then hands me the bottle of beer in his hand before sitting down in one of two leather chairs facing the fine-ass view in front of us.
Of the ocean and the women.
“Sit down, son.”
Famous fucking last words. I suddenly feel like I’m thirteen again and about to get read the riot act for something or other that I most likely deserve to get punished for. I take a pull on the beer, enjoying my last meal before the sentence is handed down.
I sigh and plop down next to him and repeat my question. “Why would I be at the track?”
“Because that’s where you go when you need to think things through.”
I look over at him like he’s lost it because he sure as fuck is losing me. “Is there something you know that I don’t? Like what exactly I’m supposed to be thinking through?”
“You know life is one big scavenger hunt,” he says before falling silent. I stare at him as he looks out the window and try to follow the bread crumbs he seems to be dropping here. “Fate hands you a list of things to experience. Ones you never expected, ones that break you, ones that heal you. So many of them you swear you’ll never even attempt or want to cross off your list. You get caught up in the day to day, moment to moment, and then one day you look at your list and realize you’ve unexpectedly completed some of the tasks. It’s only then you realize that the brutal truths the scavenger hunt has made you face has not only made you a better person, but has also given you an unforeseen prize when all is finally said and done.”
Has he been hitting the bottle today when I didn’t know? He’s gone from the track to a scavenger hunt. I get he’s talking about my life in some context, but I need help connecting the dots here.
“Dad.” I sigh the word, part question, part exasperation. Throw me a goddamn bone here.
Rylee laughs and the sound floats inside causing me to look back at her.
Always back to her.
“I’m not going to lie, your list has had some pretty fucked-up shit on it, son.”
The way he says it, like he blames himself for the shit he couldn’t prevent, stabs at the parts deep inside of me. Parts I’d always thought dead until recently. The kid in me starts to apologize and then I stop myself. Can’t apologize if I don’t know what the fuck I did wrong, so I just sip my beer and give a noncommittal sound, not wanting him to feel guilty for the demons that came before he could protect me.
“I just think it’s time that you look at your list. Take stock of all of those things—expected and unexpected—and look at what extra things you’ve earned for crossing those items off.”
Silence falls between us as his words and what I think they mean start to sink in. The weight that has been lifted from my shoulders. The poison exercised from my soul. The new chance at life without the demons snipping at my heels.
All because of the defiant as fuck contradiction of a woman my eyes keep drifting back to.
“Sinner and saint,” I murmur without thought. My dad either doesn’t hear me because he just pulls the beer to his lips and takes another sip or chooses to let my comment slide. And as thoughts connect, puzzle pieces begin to fall in place. “Dad?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look at me, just keeps his eyes forward when I slide a glance his way.
“What is it you think I’m thinking about?” My voice doesn’t sound like mine when I ask it. It’s cautious, quiet, and I don’t care because all I want to know is his answer.
“How you’re going to ask Rylee to marry you.”
He delivers the statement so matter-of-factly that it takes a moment for me to register that I’m choking out, “Fucking Christ, Dad!”
Disbelieving laughter follows right behind my words. I scrub my hands over my face, more than aware of his scrutiny, and yet my mind races with his comment. Parts way down deep that I’m not sure I want to acknowledge flutter to life like nerves right before the green flag is waved on race day. Nerves that tell me my adrenaline need is about to get its next fix.
A fix.
A necessity.
Something you can’t fucking live without.
Rylee.
Dots connected. Bread crumbs scattered and gone so I can’t find my way back again.
The question is, do I want to?
Shit, I’ve got Becks chewing my ear about it and now my old man starting in. Fuck yes, the thought has crossed my mind. But shit I just realized I’m capable of loving someone, let’s not shoot the gun without loading it first.
Ruin a good thing by fucking it up with something that’s so bad for so many.
And things are good between us. Like fucking stellar. We’ve never talked marriage. Never even brought the word up. I told her I wanted to see what life hands us and she was cool with that. Didn’t say first comes marriage and shit.
So why all a sudden is the idea mulling around in my head when it’s a finish line I swore I was never going to officially cross.
Fuck me running. C’mon, Donavan. Speak the fuck up. Assert yourself. Say hell no instead of wondering what it would feel like to have her name be Rylee Donavan.
“Well, I don’t hear you saying no, now do I?” He glances my way, raises his eyebrows, and then leans back to put his feet up on the coffee table.
Ah fuck, he’s getting comfortable. I know what this means.
Can’t we just back the hell up here? I prefer the guessing game. I can fill in another answer we can get stuck on. Anything but this because it’s causing me to think of things I shouldn’t be thinking.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I try to wish the conversation away. And when I do, all I see is that goddamn vision of Rylee in a white dress that Becks’s comments at the pool party caused me to think of. And shit, that vision comes back with a vengeance. Veils and rings and shit I shouldn’t be thinking of. Shit that’s getting way too comfortable as a visitor in my thoughts lately.
I shake my head. Need to clear this nonsense. Rid it of the road this man is never going to race down. So why do I see the metaphorical finish line at the end of the track all of a sudden?