Own the Wind

by Kristen Ashley

  He demonstrated this by turning to the clerk and saying, “The first pair and this one, ring ’em up.” Then to me he said, “We’re done.”

  I could really only afford one pair, but since Shy bought them (after a brief verbal tussle at the counter), I got two. Part of letting this go was that I bought Shy all three pairs of his new jeans and two of his four thermals, so I thought that trade-off worked. Anyway, I knew I was pushing my luck just with him agreeing to go shopping, therefore I didn’t push it further.

  So just then, we were walking through the mall, Shy with his arm around my shoulders, me with my hand shoved in the back pocket of his jeans.

  Things were still great, even after the Natalie debacle. She hadn’t called and she didn’t pick up any of my calls or return any of my messages, but when I expressed my concern to Shy, he just said, “Keep tellin’ you, sugar, she’ll come back to you. Just give her time to burn it out.”

  I took his advice, as difficult as this was, and decided to focus on riding the happy wave that was us.

  That said, Shy was getting impatient with us keeping our relationship under wraps. He’d informed me of this two days before.

  “At the Compound, gotta fake it with you. Bite my tongue when I wanna say something that would expose us. Life’s too short to fake it this long, babe. We both know that shit. We’re solid. We gotta come out.”

  He was right. As time wore on, it was beginning to seem less an effort to test the waters of us, which were totally solid, and more a lie. However, considering Natalie’s reaction, I wasn’t all fired up to move on to the next portion of sharing the news and what that might bring. So I’d begged for another week, just one, then I told him I’d start the process by telling Tyra.

  He’d relented but he didn’t pretend to like it.

  In that time, I’d been rehearsing what I was going to say to Tyra and this was what I was doing, my mind going over my speech, when she came out of a store and we ran right into her.

  Literally ran right into her.

  Rosalie.

  Shy went solid even more than bumping into someone would make you go solid.

  She had her eyes aimed the other way, she turned to us, starting, “Oh, sorry—” then she saw who we were and went solid too.

  Crap.

  The instant her eyes hit Shy, her face paled and my heart clenched, seeing her expression.

  She was into him, big-time.

  Still.

  Shy breaking up with her had marked her. Even over a month later, the pain was close to the surface, right there for anyone to see. She didn’t even have it in her to hide it.

  Oh God.

  Her eyes moved over his face, hair, shoulders, the kick-ass necklaces he was wearing, and she also didn’t try to hide the longing that infused her gaze during this journey.

  I was selective about my country music listening and one of the artists who made the cut was Jana Kramer. I’d never been dumped, but she looked exactly like what Jana’s lyrics to “Why You Wanna?” put out there.

  Hideous.

  Shy recovered first and muttered, “Rosalie.”

  She started, and her eyes darted to me then back to Shy.

  “Shy, uh… hi. Wow. You’re, um… shopping.”

  She looked at me and, without knowing how to handle this, I decided to try to smile a gentle smile. I was uncertain if I managed to pull this off before she spoke.

  “And you must be Tabby,” she stated, lifting a hand my way. “Shy and I are, uh… old friends.”

  This was killing her but, I had to admit, she had it going on.

  “Yeah,” I pulled my hand out of Shy’s pocket and took hers. “Hi.”

  Totally lame, but what else did you say?

  “Hi,” she whispered, then looked at Shy. “You, uh… look good.”

  “You’re lookin’ good too, Rosie,” Shy replied gently.

  Fail!

  I knew, and I was sure if the kick-ass country singer Jana Kramer was there she’d confirm, that was the wrong thing to say. That kind of thing would make a girl wonder, if her ex thought she looked good, why he broke up with her in the first place.

  I figured I was right when she dipped her chin to hide her wince, tucked her hair behind her ear and mumbled, “Uh… gotta be somewhere.” She slid her gaze between Shy and I, still mumbling and also, I was guessing, still lying, “Good to see you Shy, and to meet you, Tabby.”

  Then she took off.

  Shy didn’t move. He also didn’t watch her go. He just stood there for a few beats, staring into space, and I gave him that time.

  Then he set us to moving again, muttering under his breath, “Didn’t wanna come this time, not fuckin’ shoppin’ again. Ever.”

  I decided the wisest response to that comment was not to respond at all. I just shoved my hand in his pocket again and walked as close to him as I could get.

  We were in my car on the road when, from behind the wheel, Shy broke the long silence, “Need a fuckin’ drink.”

  “Okay, darlin’,” I replied. I could see the run-in with Rosalie cut him deep. I had to admit, seeing that wasn’t real comfortable.

  We drove a good long while and ended up in a honky-tonk between Boulder and Denver that still managed in that populated area to be out in the boonies. I’d never been there before. And since it was just going on four in the afternoon, when we pushed through the door, I noted the honk and tonk had not yet been injected. The jukebox was playing low, and there were three other people in the bar, two of them bartenders.

  Shy guided me by my hand to the bar then, as was his way, he firmly guided my behind to a stool.

  The bartender came over and Shy spoke immediately, “Two Coors drafts, one shot of tequila.” The bartender jerked up his chin, moved to fill the order, and Shy looked down at me. “I get slaughtered, you drive.”

  Uh-oh.

  I didn’t have a good feeling about that.

  He blew off Rosalie for me and, fresh from that, he didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Not at all. But I just saw close-up that she was gorgeous and she looked pained. Obviously what they had ran deep for her, and Shy’s need to drink now said that, perhaps, he’d been denying that what he felt for her ran deep too.

  And, if that was the case, I didn’t know how I felt about that except not good.

  The beers arrived, the shot arrived, Shy downed it in a gulp then said to the barkeep, “Another’a those.”

  He got another, he downed it and chased it with beer. Then he stared at his mug.

  I sat beside him and worried. This went on awhile, and I was about to wade in when he spoke.

  “Mom left Dad.”

  Okay, one could say that was not what I expected to hear.

  “Pardon, darlin’?” I asked quietly, and he turned just his head, his body stayed hunched over the bar and he pinned me with those green eyes.

  “I was ten. Lan was eight. We got home from school, she had suitcases packed for us, said her and Lan and me were stayin’ with Grams for a while. Lan asked if Dad was comin’, and I’ll never fuckin’ forget her face when she said, ‘No, hon, you’ll see your dad on the weekend but Momma needs a little time with just Grams and her boys. Okay?’ ” Shy shook his head and finished on a muttered “Fuck.”

  He turned back to his beer and threw back a slug. I lifted mine and sipped.

  When I put it back to the bar, I asked carefully, “I’m glad you’re sharing but, sorry, darlin’, I don’t understand why you’re sharin’ particularly this, Shy.”

  “Lan and me had no clue,” he continued, looking at his beer, and I knew he had to get his story out without interruption. “Came outta the blue. They were the kind of parents that hid any bad shit. They didn’t yell at each other in front of us. They didn’t even shout at each other in their room when we were in bed, or at least if they did, we didn’t hear it. He was, Dad was, fuck, I was a little kid and I knew he was into her. Always kissin’ her, her mouth, cheek, neck, shoulder. Touchin’ her ass, he
r waist. They walked, he had his hand on her back or his arm around her or he held her hand. She walked through the livin’ room, he’d grab her and pull her into his lap. They laughed a lot. Gave each other looks a lot. We’d go to bed, they weren’t camped in front of the TV, but sittin’ at the bar in the kitchen, sittin’ close, talkin’. Not about heavy shit, air wasn’t like that around them. Not ever, that I can remember. They just got off on talkin’ to each other. It was fuckin’ cool. I loved that shit. Made the house feel safe. So I had no clue why she’d need time from Dad.”

  “Obviously she went back,” I prompted when he stopped to take another tug off his.

  He stopped hunching over the bar, straightened and turned to me.

  “Yeah. She went back,” he confirmed.

  “So that’s good,” I noted stupidly.

  “Heard her talkin’ to Grams.”

  Uh-oh again.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “To this day, I thought it was stupid shit. He wasn’t steppin’ out on her, gamblin’, drinkin’, takin’ his hand to her, hidin’ money from her. And since they died, I always had this pit, this poison pit in my gut ’cause we were at Grams’s for three weeks. She lost three weeks of Dad just two years before they both bit it and, fuck, the reason why was so goddamned stupid.”

  “Okay,” I said when he stopped again.

  “What it was, I get now, was woman shit. As stupid as it was to me, it was not to her. It drove her from him. It meant somethin’ to her. Enough to put all that good they had in jeopardy. So it actually wasn’t stupid. It was serious as shit.”

  I wrapped my hand around his thigh and gave it a squeeze, guessing, “And you were reminded of that when you saw Rosalie and it was so obvious that she, uh… wasn’t good about what went down with you two, and you’re thinking you misjudged the situation?”

  “Yeah,” he bit off. “She looked exactly like she looked a month ago when I broke it off. No healing. Nothin’. Same pain. Same hurt. She hadn’t moved on at all so, yeah, Tab, I misjudged the situation.”

  “That sucks, darlin’, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. She’ll move on. It just may take more time than you would imagine.”

  “Yep,” he murmured, turned to his beer, sucked back the dregs then caught the bartender’s attention and jerked up his chin to order another. He looked back at me. “So, when you figure it out, and you’ll figure it out ’cause I know you haven’t yet and I’m about to lay it on you so you will, after that shit went down with Mom, after seein’ Rosalie, I got a bad feelin’ the pain is gonna stick with you and drive you away from me.”

  How did we get here?

  No, strike that, what on earth was he talking about?

  “Shy, I don’t—”

  “You blamed his ass and I shoulda come clean about it then. I didn’t. I’m comin’ clean about it now.”

  I tipped my head to the side, confused.

  “Blamed who about what?”

  “That guy,” he stated.

  “That guy? What guy?”

  “Your dead guy.”

  Something struck me then and it hit me like a sledgehammer.

  He never called Jason by his name. He was never mean about him, never cast aspersions, was totally cool when I talked about him and when he guided me through my grief or wayward thoughts.

  But he never, not once, said Jason’s name.

  I felt my stomach knot.

  “Shy, I’m not understanding where you’re leading me,” I said quietly.

  “You said that you were back to you, I led you there, you weren’t you with him or before. You weren’t you for a long time. And you gave me credit for helpin’ bring you back to you without cottoning onto the fact I was the one who took you from you in the first place.”

  I blinked and asked, “What?”

  “That shit, Tab, that went down with us four years ago when I acted like a dick and did and said serious-as-fuck stupid shit that drove you away from me? You changed after that. I did that to you and I don’t want that shit to come back up, you to figure it out and—”

  I got it then.

  “I’m not leaving you, Shy,” I cut him off to say firmly, giving his thigh a firm squeeze.

  “Shit festers, Tab, and—”

  “Shut up,” I ordered and his head gave a slight jerk.

  I ignored that and kept going.

  “Shy, I was nineteen. I had no idea who I was. I still haven’t discovered all of me. You didn’t see it but between that time and when you came back in my life, I went through a whole load of phases. Music. Friends. Places I’d hang. Clothes I’d wear. I don’t know why I did it.” I grinned at him. “I do know it was fun.”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” he returned. “That shit started when I came down on you unjustified.”

  I felt my grin leave me and I leaned in in an effort to cushion the blow when I admitted, “Yeah.”

  I watched a shadow drift over his face so I went on quickly.

  “But Shy, darlin’, it would have happened anyway. Maybe differently but anyone at that age goes on a journey to discover who they are. You did and it took you to Chaos. I did and, in a roundabout way, it brought me back home and to you.”

  The shadow lifted but only slightly before he said softly, “First, what I gotta live with is it took you away from me and led you to that guy. Yeah, babe, it led you back to me but I almost lost you and, in the meantime, you had to suffer losing everything. Second, and what’s on my mind right now, I do not want you goin’ back there for any reason and lettin’ what I did get under your skin.”

  I shook my head and leaned so close, my breasts brushed his arm and I lifted a hand to rest on his chest. “Shy, that’s done. All of it. Jason’s gone and that’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just what life had in store for me. And we’re past that bad history we had. It is not gonna come back.”

  “The shit Mom left Dad for he did to her in college. Over a fuckin’ decade before she left him for it.”

  There it was.

  “I’m not your mom, darlin’,” I told him carefully.

  “Shit festers,” he repeated.

  “They died,” I announced and that pain he thought he hid behind grins or casual conversations, shot through his eyes. Still, I pushed on, “They didn’t leave you, Shy. They died. I promised I wouldn’t leave you and, honestly, you strong-arm my landlord against my wishes and haul me around where you want me to be, and if there were reasons for me to be pissed, for us to butt heads, somewhere along the line in the last month, with our personalities, they would have come up. But I get that’s you. You get whatever it is is me and we both know what we have. We also know how it feels not to have it, so we don’t let that shit get in between.”

  His brows went up. “You don’t like it when I haul your ass around?”

  “At first, it freaked me.” I grinned again. “Now, I think it’s kinda hot.”

  He studied me a moment before his eyes cleared and his lips twitched.

  I let my smile fade and pressed my hand into his chest.

  “I’m not leaving you, Shy. You’re not gonna lose me, because to do that I’d lose you, and that isn’t going to happen.”

  He held my eyes two beats, I saw his turn warm and intent then he whispered, “You’re the fuckin’ shit, Tabby.”

  “I know,” I told him airily on another smile. “My man tells me that all the time.”

  His eyes dropped to my mouth and his lips ordered, “Kiss me, baby.”

  There it was. All was good.

  I leaned forward and did what he told me.

  He tasted of beer with a hint of tequila.

  All Shy.

  All mine.

  All amazing.

  * * *

  We stayed at the honky-tonk for more beers, dinner, and ten games of pool. I won four, Shy won six. However, the bet we’d waged this time was a lot more interesting and included me sucking him off regularly.

  Since I did it regularly already and
I liked it, this was not a hardship, and I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I threw that last game purposefully.

  I was thinking about giving him his winnings when he let us into my apartment, my thoughts so pleasantly occupied I didn’t notice the kitchen light was on. I also didn’t notice Shy stop dead until I ran into him.

  “Shy, darlin’, what on—?” I started, stepping to his side and following his gaze toward the kitchen.

  What I saw made me go statue-still.

  Kane Allen, my dad, was sitting on a bar stool.

  I was his daughter, but Dad was hot in a way that even I knew he was serious hot. Dark hair salted with a bit of silver. A kick-ass biker goatee that was long at the chin that also had some light in it. He gave me my eyes, sapphire blue, his, I knew, could be warm or piercing. He had a big body that his good genes kept fit, since he sure as heck didn’t work out and drank and ate what he wanted. He also had lines going out from his eyes that I loved because they deepened when he laughed.

  He was not laughing now.

  He had his heels up to the highest rung on the bar stool, his legs splayed wide, elbows to his thighs, a bottle of beer held loosely in both hands and his eyes to us.

  He knew. I knew he knew by the feel of the room and the look on his face.

  He knew.

  Oh God.

  “Dad—” I started, taking two steps toward him.

  “Pete told me,” he cut me off, and his tone made me stop dead. “My daughter didn’t tell me. Pete came by here yesterday mornin’ for a visit, saw Shy leave. Saw you two suckin’ face by Shy’s bike. Pete sat on that for a night, wonderin’ if he should tell me. Then he told me.”

  I pulled in breath and opened my mouth to say something, but Dad got there before me.

  “Lied to me. Lied to Tyra. Your brother. My brothers.” His eyes moved to pierce Shy. “Your brothers.”

  My blood ran cold and I began, “We just—”

  “Lied,” Dad clipped, putting his beer bottle next to the three that were already on the counter indicating he’d been there for a while and then he straightened from the stool, his eyes going back to Shy.

  “She’s my fuckin’ daughter, man.”