Song for a Cowboy (Kings of Country #2) - Sasha Summers Page 0,1
phone and Krystal. His gaze was pinned on her.
“I’m…” Her voice broke. She was what? “I…” No better. Just stop. Pull it together. This was silly. “Hi.” She forced a smile. “So…” She could do this. Talk. Breathe. In and out. Easier said than done.
His mouth opened, then closed and the muscle in his jaw clenched tight. The staring continued. He just stood there, rigid, wearing an odd expression on his face. A face that, all weirdness and near-death experiences aside, she knew well. All too well.
Adrenaline was kicking in now. Enough to get her moving, anyway. And that’s exactly what she was going to do. Move. Away. The sooner the better. “Okay.” She hung up her phone, shoved it into her pocket, and started walking—do not run—toward the stadium door. No looking back. Just moving forward.
Did she almost slip? Yes. Did she go down? No. Had she managed to save a shred of dignity? Probably not. She pulled the door wide, stopping just inside to scan the signs and arrows for the bathroom. Her phone started ringing. She didn’t have to look at it to know it was Krystal. She waited until she’d closed and locked the door on the family restroom before she answered.
“Emmy?” Krystal asked. “Are you okay?”
“I didn’t get hit—”
“I know, I know but…it was Brock.”
Yes. Brock. She shrugged out of her raincoat and sat in the chair placed next to the diaper-changing station. Her pulse was still way too fast, and her stomach was all twisted up. “I know.” Sitting wasn’t good. She stood, smoothing her pale blue blouse and staring down at her jeans. Her raincoat had left a perfect line midthigh. Above the line, slightly damp. Below the line, saturated. She wiggled her toes in her rainboots, water squishing.
“This sucks.” Krystal cleared her throat. “I wish I were there.”
“I do, too.” She stared at her reflection. “But I know what you’d do if you were here.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“You’d remind me that I already spent too many years and too many tears on him.” Which was true. Their breakup—rather, his sudden and complete disappearance from her life—had almost broken her. She’d cried until she was sick, and Krystal knew it, too. Krystal was the one who pushed her to get up, to keep going, every day. Krystal was the one who told her it was okay to be angry with him for deserting her without a word. And when Emmy Lou was more herself, Krystal had turned all the tears and sadness and anger into their double-platinum single “Your Loss.” “And you’d be right.”
“True.” Krystal paused. “But after I was done telling you all that, I’d get up in his face and chew him out for almost running you over. And that’s just to start.”
Emmy smiled, using toilet paper to dab away the smeared makeup from her eyes. “I’m sure you would.”
“Then I’d tell him to stay the hell away from you,” she snapped. “Like away away from you. And I’d tell Sawyer to punch him in the face. Or the gut. Or wherever it would hurt the most. I’d leave it up to Sawyer to decide—he’d probably know.”
Brock had made a habit of staying away from her, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Starting six years ago—when she’d still been sending letters to him, begging him to tell her why he was suddenly cutting her so completely out of his life. She covered her face with her hands, her stomach knotted and aching. Humiliating, pathetic letters. They should have been burned, not mailed.
“Emmy Lou. Is there anything I can do?” Krystal sighed. “I mean, besides booking a flight home—which I will do as soon as we get off the phone—”
“You will not.” She sighed. “You and Jace are coming home in a week, right? I’ll be more upset about you two cutting your vacation short than running into Brock.” Which was mostly true. “I’m not going to fall apart. I’m not. Okay, he’s here. Now I know. The chances of us running into each other again are slim. Promise me you won’t come home. Finish your vacation.”
Krystal sighed. “Where is Daddy, anyway? Why isn’t he with you?”
“He and Momma had a therapy session this morning—I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Besides, I had Sawyer. Well, until Travis called. I’m fine.” She tugged the band from her hair and twisted, wringing out the water. “You’re right. I do look like a drowned rat.”