Losing Romeo (6 page)

A glimmer of hope that his life wasn’t doomed to suck forever rose up in him. Hope could be dangerous, though. Because when everything turned to crap, like it inevitably would, you were left stunned and alone.

And he’d rather choose to be alone than have it forced on him any day.

***

Rosaline stepped around a stack of tires, moving closer to Bryson as he picked through old car and truck parts. Every time he lifted one of the scraps, he studied it with a very serious look on his face, as if the right one would hold the secrets to the universe. Sorting through all the broken vehicles was more fun than she’d thought it would be. Part of her wanted to buy some of the metal junk just to give it a good home. But what would she do with a bunch of broken, greasy parts?

She lifted some kind of dial and ran her fingers over the smooth glass. “Once, Clara and I took my watch apart, trying to figure out how it worked. It was broken anyway, so we ripped it open and messed around with the tiny parts. Of course we couldn’t figure out how to put it back together—totally destroyed it—so then we dropped all the pieces back in, put the watch face on, and I wore it like that for a good month. Whenever people would ask me what time it was, I’d just show them my watch with all the parts floating around inside. They didn’t seem to think it was as funny as Clara and I did.”

Amusement flickered through Bryson’s features, and he gave her a lopsided smile. After making a fool of herself with her earlier breakdown, she was determined not to think about the news that Romeo and Juliet had become inseparable—and apparently Juliet didn’t hesitate to kiss.

So she focused on the point she was trying to make. “Anyway, I was thinking how cool it is that you know how to take the parts and actually put something together.”

“Watches are tricky,” Bryson said. “Lots of tiny parts that are hard to hold on to without the right tools.”

“But motorcycles are easy?” she asked, jerking her chin at the part in his hand.

“Not so much easy, but I’ve had a lot of practice. I do most of the maintenance repair on the machines we need to run the farm, and then I contract out jobs, mostly on dirt bikes, because they’re what I really like working on.”

“So do you have a…dirt bikes are motorcycles, right?”

He nodded. “I’ve got seven right now that I’m working on, but only three of them are mine. My Honda CRF450R is practically new. It’s only been in two races, but I’ve been putting titanium valves in to make it lighter. After that I might mess with the cam shafts.”

Was she supposed to follow all that lingo? It’d take her a week just to memorize the motorcycle’s name. “So, you race the bikes?”

“Used to. Before…” He looked down at his leg.

“Oh. Is that how you…?”

“Nope. But it made it to where I can’t race any more. Not even really ride.” He tightened the grip on the part in his hand and stepped past her. Obviously it wasn’t a subject he cared to discuss. Of course she wanted to push it further, wanted to know what had happened. But he’d been so nice to not bring up her drama again, so she decided to return the favor.

Plus, there was something about Bryson. The way he listened, his half smiles. He was still distant at times, and he always angled the scarred part of his face away from her, either on purpose or self-consciously. From the way he’d said girls weren’t much better, she got a feeling he’d been hurt before, too.

Over the phone, Clara had asked if he was cute and if she liked him. Of course she wasn’t thinking about that—she was swearing off guys. As they entered the office and he held the door open for her, though, she thought,
Yep, he definitely is cute
. The part of his face he didn’t keep hidden with his hair had a rugged handsomeness to it, and his dark blue eyes held secrets in their depths, which gave him that irresistible mysterious vibe.

It was a shame, really, that part of his face was marred by that scar. She wondered how he’d been without it. If he’d been more confident? Happier?

“What?” he asked, eyebrows lowered.

Oops. She was staring. “Nothing. I’m just…I’m glad you let me come.”

“Anytime.”

“You know, I might take you up on that.”

She got the lopsided smile again. “I hope you do.”

Chapter Eight

Through the door of the bathroom, Rosaline could hear Dafne giving the report to Mom and Dad.

“…helping me in the office, and she’s adjusting well.” There was a pause, then, “I’m not letting my guard down. I’m only saying that I think you—” She sighed. “Look, you sent her to me. Either trust my judgment or have her come back home.”

Wow. Nothing makes you feel wanted like hearing people argue over who
has
to take you.
Rosaline reminisced about how things used to be. Shopping trips with Mom and golf lessons with Dad. Sitting around the table discussing their day. Over the past year things had changed, though, and she didn’t think it had been all her fault. Sure she’d been busy with friends and school, but she’d still tried to please her parents. Obviously she’d failed. As much as she tried to joke it away, it stung. They still wouldn’t hear her out—didn’t care what she said about the night she’d ended up in handcuffs. The trust was gone, and she was a problem child they didn’t even want to be around anymore.

And now she’d just peed in a cup so Dafne could test it for drugs. She pushed open the door. “I’m done.”

Dafne stepped inside the bathroom to check the results, and Rosaline sat on her bed.

And I get to do this once a week now. Awesome.

Where did they think she was going to get drugs here? She was in the middle of nowhere, always around Dafne, and it wasn’t like she’d stashed some in a teddy bear or false pocket of her suitcase. When she’d made the same argument to Dafne, her aunt had said, “Sorry, but this is the way it has to be for a while. Your father and mother made it clear that it’s one of the conditions.”

Jeez, I know I’m not perfect—that I did give them reason to doubt me—but they actually think I’m a drugged-out kid. They really don’t know me at all.

“It’s clean.” Dafne re-entered the bedroom and extended the phone to her. “Your parents want to talk to you.”

“No. They want to talk
at
me. To lecture me on being a failure.” Tears lodged in her throat. “Or maybe I’ll get the threat of military school again.”

Dafne looked sympathetic but still pressed the phone into her hand.

“Hello,” Rosaline said into the phone. She wondered if they’d heard her, and part of her hoped they did.

“You think you can break the rules, go against everything we’ve taught you, and not have any consequences?” Dad asked, his anger seeping through the phone and pressing against her.

So they had heard. Now she wished they hadn’t. “I’ve said I was sorry again and again. I never wanted things to be like this between us, even though they’ve been like this for long before I got into trouble.”

“So now it’s our fault? I’m done, Rosaline. Done with the attitude, done with you making excuses.”

“Yeah, I got that from you sending me as far away as possible.”

“Both of you, stop it right now,” Mom said. It was rare for her to ever chime in on an argument between them. So rare, Rosaline held her tongue.

Dad kept on going, though. “I won’t calm down. Her choices affect us, too. Did you know that before your little stunt I was planning on running for office?”

What? Suddenly he had political aspirations? “How would I know that, Dad? You never talk to me anymore. Besides, I thought we left that to the celebrities these days. And if we’re going by their standards, a daughter who got arrested once is pretty mild.”

“I’m glad it’s all a big joke to you. I have to change my plans for my future, and you’re making snide comments. It’s a good thing you’re not here right now, because I don’t think I could control my anger.” A slam echoed through her ear, then ringing silence.

She was about to hang up, sure Dad had disconnected, when Mom said, “Your father is under a lot of stress right now. It doesn’t help that you never take anything seriously. He had people backing him, promising they’d support him if he decided to run. He’d made them promises, too. Then he had to ask them all for favors to help get you out of trouble.”

Rosaline hung her head, all the fight going out of her. “It was my mistake. I don’t see why it should affect whether or not he decides to get into politics.”

“He knows his opponent and the media will use it against him. Even if voters aren’t influenced by it, he doesn’t want to put you through getting your name dragged through the mud.”

Going to a religious school, she’d been trained to feel guilty about everything, and it was hitting her hard now. “I wish I could take it back.”

The line fell silent for a moment. “We expected better of you, Rosaline.”

Those words slammed into her, radiating through her chest. She’d rather take the yelling from Dad than hear the disappointment and sorrow in Mom’s voice.

After saying a croaky goodbye, Rosaline lowered the phone and stared at it, Mom’s words ringing through her ears.

She’d expected better of herself, too. Guess she was disappointing everyone.

***

Dafne swiveled her chair to face Rosaline. “I guess we might as well wrap up for the week.”

Rosaline stacked the invoices she hadn’t entered into the computer system yet. Quitting time on a Friday afternoon should be reason to celebrate. A couple weeks ago it meant she’d be headed out on the town with Clara and Sophie.

Friday night without plans seemed more pathetic than any other night without plans. Or friends. She’d thought she and Bryson were getting to be friends, but he’d been MIA for several days. She was starting to think that it wasn’t her kissing or lack of kissing that got rid of guys. Maybe it was just her. Her and her big mouth.

Dafne moved away from her computer. “I’m going to step into the study to make a quick call to Winslow, make sure there’s nothing else urgent; then we’ll walk home.”

As soon as Dafne stepped out of the office, Rosaline hovered her hand over the mouse, wondering if she had enough time to message Clara.

“Hey,” a male voice said, and she spun around, sure guilt was written all over her face. Bryson stood in the doorway. “Is Dafne around? I was going to talk to her about the new manager.”

Of course. He came to talk to Dafne. Not her. “She said she’d be right back.”

Bryson’s eyebrows drew together. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just…” She shrugged.

“Just what?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s still tense with my parents, and it’s Friday, and I get to spend it hanging out with myself, and as cool as I am and all…” She tried to smile, but couldn’t pull it off. She dropped her head into her hands.

Bryson put his hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. I’ve been meaning to teach you to ride—don’t want you to get lost again—and the horses will know the way home, even if you go too far. I don’t have any other plans tonight, so might as well teach a city girl to ride a horse.”

She looked up, staring at him through her hair. “Riding sounds nice. I just have to ask Dafne.”

“Ask me what?” Dafne asked as she re-entered the room. She looked from her to Bryson, and he dropped his hand.

“I thought Rosaline and I could saddle up the horses and go for a ride. She should know how to do all that if she’s going to be here for the summer. And like I told her, the horses know the way home, so it’ll be safer for her to take them out than to wander alone.”

With each sentence he’d added, Dafne seemed to soften. “All right. But not too late.”

Bryson grabbed Rosaline’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Standing next to him, her hand in his, her stomach got all tingly. Which was weird. Because they were just friends. She
had
missed him the last few days, though. In fact, she’d gotten alternately pissed and worried about his not being around. He stared at her for a moment. Then his posture stiffened and he let go of her hand, turning to face Dafne. He spouted off a bunch of work terms, something about re-routing and an update on one of the office’s new managers.

After he wrapped up, he turned and asked if she was ready.

Dafne gave a pointed look to her shorts and tank top outfit. “You’re going to want pants. And you’ll need to change your flip-flops.”

“Into heels?” Rosaline joked, grinning at her aunt. All her pretty shoes were just sitting in her suitcase with nowhere to go. Poor shoes.

Dafne let out a long sigh—she really had that down now. Managed to convey all sorts of exasperation with it, too.

“Just kidding,” Rosaline said. “I’ll grab tennis shoes.”

“You’re size seven, right?” Dafne asked, then before waiting for an answer said, “I’ve got a pair of black boots in my closet. They’ll be good for riding.”

Rosaline wondered just how much riding Dafne had done. She’d ask later. Right now, she was going to try not to skip out of the office so Bryson didn’t think she was a total weirdo.

***

Bryson cinched the saddle on the horse and then turned to Rosaline. When he’d been in Kansas helping train the new manager there, he’d told himself he’d built her up in his mind. That she wasn’t really
that
pretty and
that
fun to be around. He’d only thought so because he was starved for company.

As soon as he’d stepped into the office today and seen her again, though, he’d known he’d been fooling himself. The sun shone off her hair—it was straight today—she was wearing that exotic-smelling perfume, and she looked damn cute in boots. Realizing he was staring, he cleared his throat. “You gotta make sure the saddle is on tight enough it won’t slip off, but not so tight it’ll hurt the horse.”

“Got it,” she said with one sharp nod.

“You’re welcome to take Ace”—he patted the black Friesian he’d saddled—“or Chester. The Bay.”

“The Bay?”

Bryson pointed to his reddish-brown horse and then pulled out a saddle to put on him. “Sonny over there, the Palomino, isn’t a riding horse. He, um…” Bryson dropped his gaze to the straw on the floor of the barn. “His leg is hurt. He needs to be walked once in a while, but not ridden.”

Bryson considered leaving his cane in the barn; he hated using it in front of Rosaline. After a moment of going back and forth, he slipped it into Chester’s saddle in case they decided to dismount and walk around. He could walk without it if he had to, but whenever he did, he had to reach for the pain pills at the end of the day, and he avoided taking those as much as possible.

He helped Rosaline onto Ace, showing her how to guide the horse with the reins, then pulled himself onto Chester. It was good for her to learn on her own how to guide the horse, but he wished she were behind him again, her arms wrapped around his waist. “We’ll go slow, and if you want to stop, just let me know.”

She looked a little shaky, her eyes even wider than usual. “Got it,” she said, gripping the reins tighter. “Anyway, I think I do.”

“Don’t worry. Ace is mellow. You’re in good hands.”

“But he doesn’t have hands.”

“You’re in good hooves, then.” Fighting a smile, he shook his head. The dizzying thoughts were back in his head again. The ones that said beware and go for it, all at the same time. He still wasn’t sure which instinct to follow, but looking at Rosaline, he couldn’t help leaning toward the go-for-it idea.

***

Bryson turned his horse to check on Rosaline. Her cheeks were wind-whipped, and the sun was almost down, the sky purple behind her. During their ride, they hadn’t had much chance to talk, but he’d enjoyed trotting next to her, listening to her laugh or give a nervous squeal as she figured out how to ride.
I wish the barn wasn’t so close already.

Rosaline nudged Ace with her heels, steering the horse closer to him and Chester. “So what were you doing the last few days? I thought maybe I’d scared you away.”

A foreign sensation that felt suspiciously like happiness wound through him. “You missed me?”

“You know I’m starving for social interaction.”

Bryson pulled back on the reins, slowing Chester down. “I had to go to the office in Wichita and help hire a new manager. Trust me, I’d rather be here.”
With you.

He gripped the saddle horn and dismounted, then moved closer to Rosaline so he could help her off Ace. She slid her foot into the stirrup and climbed down without needing his assistance. He put his hand on her back anyway.

“Anything exciting happen while I was gone?” he asked.

“No. It was just crazy boring,” she said. “I filed and did data entry with Dafne. Oh, and somewhere in there my parents called to remind me I’m a huge failure. Apparently my dad wanted to run for office and I screwed it all up.”

“I thought you Californians let the celebrities run your government.”

Her mouth dropped, and he thought she was going to get mad at him for his joke. “That’s exactly what I said! I mean, all those politicians have trouble kids or affairs or have been arrested themselves. I don’t know why me being arrested—” She clamped her lips, looking like she wanted to take back her words. “So, long story long, nothing exciting.” She grabbed Ace’s reins. “So just guide him into the barn now?”