by Julia London
It was weird, reaching a milestone like this at his age without anyone to really share it with. Sure, his family was waiting for him to celebrate. But it wasn’t the same. He gave Brittney a sympathetic smile. He might have had someone like Brittney to share this moment if he’d allowed himself to think past Hallie Prince for a single moment.
But he never had.
“Probably not,” he admitted.
Brittney put her sunglasses on. “One more time for old time’s sake?”
He was tempted. Sorely tempted. But it didn’t feel right. He had no real interest in Brittney, and he didn’t think she had any in him. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it. “I don’t think so.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
“Yeah, okay,” she said with a laugh. “When a guy starts kissing you like a grandpa, it’s over. Good luck, Rafe!” she said cheerily, and started walking backward, away from him. “Maybe I’ll see you at graduation! Or after! I’m going to call you and see how it’s going!”
“I hope you do,” he said, and waved. Brittney turned around and jogged to catch up with a group of classmates.
Rafe watched her go, but he wasn’t thinking of Brittney. He was thinking it was long past time that he got over Hallie and started thinking about his future. He’d go to Chicago, set up shop. Maybe meet a woman there—this time, for real. But one thing was certain—the next time he had sex, he wanted it to mean something. No more Brittneys.
Rafe looked around the campus once more. Nope. Nothing was different. Just him. He was embarking on a whole new life. But there was one last thing he had to do first.
Yesterday, standing in the drive at Three Rivers Ranch, listening to his dad and Mrs. Prince argue as Hallie had apologized to him, he had realized something. He had to let it go, this thing he had for her. Because he’d meant what he’d said—it was not going to work. But he needed her to understand why. He needed her to understand how important she was to him, too, and how he needed to preserve that, because the alternative was too grim. He didn’t want this secret between them anymore. He wanted to come clean and clear the air, so she’d understand and maybe, just maybe, he could get on with his life.
Yeah, he had a few things he needed to say, but he’d chosen instead to walk into the ranch house and break up the fight between Mrs. Prince and his dad about the horses.
* * *
• • •
His family was waiting for him at home. They’d decorated the house with streamers and shiny letter placards that spelled out Congratulations. His nieces and nephew were bouncing off the walls with excitement, even if they didn’t understand the occasion. “Grandma made a cake!” Izzy shouted at him.
“Fantastic,” Rafe said, and swung Izzy up on his shoulders before they went inside.
His mother greeted him with tears in her eyes. “First an Army Ranger, now a college graduate. My son is a college graduate!” She hugged him tight.
His father, usually a very stoic man, greeted him with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, son,” he said, shaking his hand. “Now you go to Chicago and get that place up and running. You might need to support your mother and me.” He laughed, but Rafe could see the worry around his father’s eyes. The row he’d had with Mrs. Prince, he’d said, was “a doozy.”
The kids and Angie had made a homemade mortarboard for Rafe to wear. He wore it to join David out back for a beer while Rico sipped a soda. The three of them laughed about Mr. Creedy and his cows, and talked about the playoff prospects for the Cowboys.
His family had made this party just for him. They were all so proud. So proud. And all Rafe could think of was Hallie. He wanted to text her, he wanted the funny little GIFs she would send about his last final. But he didn’t see the point. The careful cocoon of friendship he’d spent years spinning around them had unraveled.
He looked at Rico, who was swinging his nephew around like an airplane. His nieces were bouncing around him, begging for a turn. The truth, which Rafe would never admit to anyone, was that he’d been so pissed when he saw Rico and Hallie together on the lawn. What they’d done was stupid as hell—but that’s not what made him so irrationally angry. What had made him angry was how incomprehensibly jealous he’d been at their laughter. It had reminded him of all the times in his life he’d seen Hallie with another man—a boyfriend, a friend, a fiancé—laughing while he stood on the sidelines, forcing down his envy.
That afternoon he’d been full of resentment at how fun loving and carefree Rico could be, how easy it was for him to make friends or to make a girl laugh. And there Rafe stood, always the guy in the background, the nice guy, the respectful guy, the guy who always, always did the right thing.
He didn’t text Hallie even when a bottle of champagne was delivered from the big house, the card signed by Mrs. Prince on behalf of all the Prince family. “She’ll probably take that out of my paycheck,” his dad had said, and everyone laughed.
Rafe appreciated the gesture, but he’d thought something would come from Hallie. It didn’t. He didn’t know if he should be offended—after all, he was the one who had firmly closed the door he’d fought for years to keep open.
He’d done the right thing. Why, then, did he feel so miserable?
He heard nothing the next day, either, and spent the day out on the ranch with a couple of hands on a range check, out in places where people, cars, and phones didn’t work. When he rode back into cell range, there were no messages.
The day after that, he stopped in at Jo’s Java on his way into San Antonio to see John Horowitz.
“I hear we have a new college graduate in town,” Jo Carol said. She poured him a cup of coffee and put a donut the size of a dinner plate in front of him. “That’s on the house. We’re proud of you, Rafe.”
“Thanks,” Rafe said, grinning. It was a little cold today, so he took a seat inside and looked at the Christmas lights strung over Main Street while he worked on that donut. A figure appeared on the street, striding toward the coffee shop, and as the person came closer, Rafe realized it was Nick Prince. Nick was walking past the window when he spotted Rafe sitting inside. He lifted his hand and walked in the door.
“Hello, Nick, you handsome devil, you,” Jo Carol called cheerfully. “Want a coffee?”
“Thanks, Jo. I take it black,” Nick said.
“You like it as plain as your father. He did not like the fancy drinks I make now. Complained how long it took to get a cup of coffee.” She laughed jovially.
“He had his quirks, that’s for sure.” Nick threw a couple of bills on the counter and walked to where Rafe was sitting.
“Hey, Nick.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all,” Rafe said, and gestured to the chair across from him.
Nick sat. He grinned. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yep.”
“Dude, that is awesome,” Nick said, and reached across the bistro table and squeezed his arm. “I always knew you’d be the one to get out of this town.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You had that thing, you know?”
“No,” Rafe said, grinning.
“I don’t know how to explain it. But you could always tell which guys were going to stay in Three Rivers forever, and which guys were going to go on and do something with their lives. I honestly thought you’d stay in the army and be a general. But I should have known you’d want to get into social work. You always had a knack with kids.”
Rafe smiled, pleased that Nick remembered.
“You’re lucky, man.” Nick tapped his cup to Rafe’s. “Here’s to seeing the world.”
“Well. Chicago, anyway,” Rafe said. “What about you?”
“Me?” He shrugged. “My dad left us in a bind. Looks like I’m not going anywhere any time soon. We can’t even keep our payroll up.” He sighed, glanced out the window a long mo
ment.
Rafe inwardly winced. It was hard to imagine Three Rivers without their majordomo, but he was beginning to suspect his dad was right—he was working on borrowed time. “Are you still flying?” he asked Nick.
“When I can. I flew Hallie up to Aspen yesterday, but that’s about as much flying as I’ve done in a couple of months.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
Rafe took a sip of his coffee to hide the fact that his heart had abruptly stopped working. What an idiot he was. Here he’d been waiting for a text, hoping for it. But she was in Aspen. Moving on with her life. Working things out. He was such a chump.
“When are you leaving?” Nick asked.
Rafe looked up. “Ah . . . after the first of the year. We ran into a little permitting problem, so things are behind schedule. I hope to be there sometime in January.”
“Gonna keep helping us out until then?” Nick asked, referring to the ranch. “We need all the help we can get.” He smiled ruefully.
“As long as I can.”
“I appreciate it. You’re a great help. So is Rico.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes at the bank. Ought to be lots of fun.” He looked up. “Congratulations again.”
“Thanks, Nick.”
Nick stood and put his hand on Rafe’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, then walked away. Rafe heard him speak to Jo Carol on his way out. He watched him walk down the street to the fancy offices of the Saddlebush Land and Cattle Company as he thought about what Nick had said. And Hallie being in Aspen.
Everything around him looked the same again today, but really, nothing was the same.
When Rafe finally made it home that day, he was exhausted. His mother insisted on heating up some leftovers for him, and after he ate, he went into his room to surf the internet.
He was looking at Aspen when Rico popped his head in. “Hey, got a minute?”
“Sure,” Rafe said. He closed his laptop and pushed it aside. “What’s up?”
“I need to borrow some money,” Rico said, and glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he feared someone was listening.
“For . . . ?”
“A little road trip,” Rico said with a wink.
“Trip,” Rafe repeated suspiciously. “I thought you were working for Dad.”
“I am. I’m just taking a few days off, that’s all. A week. Ten days, tops.”
“Why?” Rafe asked. “Where are you going?”
Rico stepped into his room and closed the door. His eyes were shining, and Rafe immediately wondered if he’d been drinking. “Aspen,” Rico said.
The air swept out of Rafe’s room. He had to swallow to make himself breathe. “What?”
“Yeah, man, I’m going to Aspen. Going to do a little skiing.” He mimed skiing.
Rafe’s tongue felt as if it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed again and closed his laptop. “With Hallie?”
Rico grinned. He sank down on the end of Rafe’s bed. “I don’t know about that. But she offered me a place to stay if I brought her dog.”
Rafe stared at him. “She honestly asked you to bring her dog?”
Rico laughed. “No, man, that was my idea. I called her up and told her I was headed that way and would bring him if she liked.”
“What do you mean, you’re headed that way?”
“I might have said I was checking out a job in Wyoming.” He grinned, like he thought that was clever.
“And she offered you a place to stay?”
“For a couple of days.”
He felt nauseated. Light-headed. He forced himself to ask the question burning a brand in his brain. “Are you two . . . together?”
“What? No, dude,” Rico scoffed. “Come on, Rafe, it’s Aspen. And she’s staying at her uncle’s house. He owns all those car dealerships. You know that’s got to be a house, right?”
Rafe slowly released the breath he’d been holding. There was a shift in him—a tectonic shift. He put aside his laptop and stood up. “You’re not going anywhere, Rico.”
Rico rolled his eyes. “Come on, Rafe, don’t drag me down. When in my life am I gonna get to do something like this?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t be this time either. For fuck’s sake, you just got out of rehab! The last place you need to be is on the slopes in a party town. You owe Dad a lot of money. You owe him more than that—he keeps bailing you out, and he needs you to help him out right now.”
“I’m going to Aspen,” Rico said. “I told Hallie I’d drive that dog up there, and she is expecting me. It’s a two-day drive, so I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Call her and tell her you’ll look out for the dog while she’s gone.” He picked up his phone and tossed it at his brother. “Call her. Tell her you’re not coming.”
Rico looked at the phone. Then at Rafe. “Not doing it.”
“If you don’t call her right now, we’ll walk out of this room, and I’ll tell Dad what you’re up to. He’ll kick you out, Rico, and then what are you going to do? You’ve got no place to go.”
Rico stared at Rafe. After a moment, he muttered under his breath and snatched Rafe’s phone from his hand. He dialed Hallie’s number and listened to it ring. It rolled to voice mail. “She didn’t pick up. I’m not going to leave her hanging, Rafe. Besides, it’s boring around here. Dad won’t even let me drive into town.”
“So how exactly are you going to drive to Aspen? Dad is trying to keep you sober, Rico, don’t you get that? He’s trying to save your damn life.”
Rico’s face mottled with anger. He glared at Rafe, and for a moment, Rafe thought he would hit him. He even squared off like this was going to be a fight. “Go ahead,” Rafe said calmly. “Take a swing. But before you do, think about how much grief you’ve caused our parents the last few years. And now you’re going to just take off and drive up to Aspen, just forget the job Dad gave you when he needs you, and ski? And you’re going to borrow more money to do it. Yeah, Rico, sounds like a brilliant plan.”
“Try and stop me,” Rico sneered.
Rafe laughed. “If that’s what you want, little brother, I’m happy to oblige.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hallie had been in Aspen for four days now, and while clear thought had been slow in coming, she was beginning to see her way forward.
She’d come with a load of books, her running shoes, and a laptop to research the possibility of teaching ballet.
On the day Nick flew her up, they had lunch, and he flew back to Texas. She’d cooked for herself that night and watched a light snowfall and read from her stack of books, starting with Woman Last Seen in Her Thirties, about a woman much older than Hallie who had to start her life over when her husband of fifty-three years left her. But it resonated with Hallie—the book was essentially about the hurt of having the rug yanked out from beneath your feet, and the inevitable spring of hope and healing that comes from hard luck.
She needed this sort of inspiration if she was going to hope and heal.
Yesterday, she’d wandered around this huge mountain house, debating what to do with her life. She had reached out to the Comeback Center. A woman named Tasha had responded right away with an offer for Hallie to come in and talk about what she needed to do to finish her degree. Hallie had made an appointment for a couple of weeks away.
Late in the day, Hallie stood in the middle of the enormous living room, with soaring beams overhead and a view of the mountains beyond.
And her reflection in the windows staring back at her.
She had a memory of being here one Christmas. How old was she then, maybe fifteen? She’d stood in this very spot and had gone through a series of ballet poses, watching her reflection.
Hallie put down her teacup and moved into first position—heels together, feet at an angle, arms curved, and hands meeting at her pelv
ic bone. From there she moved into fifth position—attitude forward, attitude back, relevé, fifth position.
“Good God,” she whispered. She’d lost so much flexibility, could not put her leg up as high as it should be. It had been so long since she’d tried—her disappointment with her talent had left her without any desire to even try a few poses.
Why had she quit, anyway? Yes, she’d been bitterly disappointed and had felt like a failure. But why hadn’t she been courageous enough to think beyond what she thought she had to be to what she could be? She’d taken the candy-ass way out of her disappointment and had moped around about it. Ugh. She hated that about herself. “Coward,” she muttered.
Arabesque, arabesque, relevé, attitude devant, croisé devant.
Could Genevieve still do these poses? Probably—she had certainly moved with the grace of a ballerina when Hallie had seen her on Thanksgiving Day. Genevieve did not seem like the sort of person who would just . . . quit.
Arabesque. Hold.
Hallie studied her reflection. She was wobbly, and God knew if she could get up en pointe. But she decided then and there that she wasn’t quitting. She was going back to ballet. It was her first love, it was still her love, and ten years of mourning was enough. She would never be a principal ballerina. She was past the age she could successfully join a corps de ballet. But she could teach it. Not to potential prima ballerinas like Genevieve wanted to find. No, she was thinking more of boys and girls like her, who were never going to be the star, but who would love ballet like she did and want to learn. She was thinking of the girl with Down syndrome, who obviously appreciated ballet.
She lowered her leg and gave her reflection a critical once-over. She thought of the kids on Thanksgiving, moving awkwardly around the stage in their version of The Nutcracker. She thought of all the kids out there who would never be anything but also-rans. But she could help them discover the joy of it.
It was an idea, anyway, and she hadn’t had any great ideas in a while.
