by Erin Noelle
“No!” I say sharply to the sulky girl in the mirror. “You’re not that girl. You’re not weak and dependent. Stop being ridiculous.”
Rolling my shoulders back, I stick my chest out and lift my chin, at least pretending to believe my own words. Then, cinching the belt of my robe tight around my waist, I march down the hall and into Hudson’s room to get dressed, determined to at least try to have a good time today.
The first roadblock I run into is what to wear. If I’m going to be in a good mood, I need to wear something bright and cheerful, something that I’d usually wear to an outdoor summer party. But as I sift through the clothes in my younger sister’s closet, I realize that’s easier said than done. I’ve never noticed it before, but everything she owns is either black, brown, gray, or army green. There’s not a single stitch of yellow or orange in the entire assortment.
Grumbling, I glance down at my bags from the trip on the floor, in the exact same place I dropped them Monday afternoon when I got here, completely untouched. All the clothes I brought from home are in there, plus the things I picked up on the road—all washed and folded by the hotel laundry staff and begging to be worn. Especially that pineapple romper. But I still can’t bring myself to unpack it quite yet. The memories are still too fresh, too raw. I know the minute I see each thing inside there I’ll remember what day I wore that with Levi and what we did. And then there’s no way I’d ever make it outside.
“Kota, you almost ready? People are starting to arrive, and Grams needs your help frosting cakes.” Hudson’s voice startles me from my pitiful thoughts, and I snap my eyes over to where she’s standing in the doorway. Her expression is full of sympathy and compassion, and even though I haven’t told her everything that happened or the extent of my feelings for Levi, she knows something’s up.
The most generous and selfless of all the Shavell sisters, Hudson—who’s almost three years younger than me—and I just recently got close at the end of last year, when she became interested in Crew Elliott, her now serious boyfriend. We bonded one night over her guy troubles, and even though at the time I was living with Nali and Juno, our two older sisters, Hudson and I started hanging out quite a bit, and became pretty close.
“Yeah, I’ll be ready to in fifteen minutes.” Nodding, I offer a faint smile. “I just need to decide what to wear and put my hair up.
“You can wear anything of mine you want. My denim shorts are in the third drawer over there,” she offers, pointing at the dresser across the room, “and there’s tanks and tees in the top one. Whatever you find . . . knock yourself out.”
“Thanks, sis,” I reply as I abandon the prospects in the closet, hoping for something a little more vibrant in the dresser.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, I’m bounding down the steps of the front porch, off to the lodge to help Grams. My hair’s piled on top of my head in a messy knot and I don’t have a stitch of makeup on, but hey, at least I’m out of bed and dressed. I even managed to put together a somewhat-patriotic-themed outfit that includes a vintage Rolling Stones tee with an American flag tongue logo, faded blue jean cutoffs, and white All-stars. It was the best I could do with my options and lack of enthusiasm.
“Dakota! There you are, love!” Grams exclaims gleefully when I shuffle into the commercial-grade kitchen that my family uses to cook daily breakfasts and Sunday dinners for the resort guests. It’s also where we do all our holiday party preparations as well. “Come put an apron on and grab a spatula. The cakes off to the left are cool and ready to be frosted.”
“Afternoon, Grams.” Kissing her cheek as I walk by, I do as I’m told, slipping the apron over my head and picking up the offset spatula. “Where’s the rest of the fam?”
Ignoring my question, she scuttles over to the refrigerator to get something, but appears to forget what it is when she gets there, because she walks back over to the bowl she’s mixing in then goes back to the fridge and grabs the milk. The entire time she’s talking to herself, but I can’t understand what she’s saying.
“Grams!” I call her name out sharply, causing her to startle and look at me. “Is everything okay? Did you hear me?”
Shaking her head, she furrows her brow with confusion. “I feel fine. Why? You asked me something? I didn’t hear you say anything.”
“Yeah.” I tilt my chin to the side, studying her face. “I asked where the rest of the family was, but never mind that right now. Are you sure you feel okay?”
Showing off her pearly whites in a wide smile, she nods. “I feel fantastic. My old ears must be starting to crap out on me though. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s impossible to stay this damn good looking and keep all your wits about you. If I have to give up something, I’ll choose hearing. That’s less bullshit I have to listen to anyway.”
A chuckle bubbles out of me, the first sliver of happiness I’ve had in over forty-eight hours, and as soon as it happens, she shakes her finger at me. “There it is. I knew I could get a genuine smile out of you eventually. You’re much too happy of a girl to be this sad. He must be some boy.”
My face falls at the mention of Levi and my heartbreak, and I turn my focus to the icing and the cakes. “I don’t want to talk about it, Grams,” I mumble somberly.
“Of course you don’t, darling, and that’s fine,” she coos, sliding a baking dish of brownies into the oven. “If you fed him properly, he’ll be back.”
“He couldn’t eat the goodies, because of drug tests.”
She snickers with a quick jerk of her head. “That’s not the meal I’m talking about.”
After all the desserts are iced and decorated to Grams’ satisfaction, she instructs me to run along and have some fun, which I doubt will happen, but I plan to drink enough Jack Daniels and lemonade and to smoke enough weed until I’m numb and no longer care. Call it self-medicating if you want, tell me it’s not the way I should cope with the gaping hole I feel inside me, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s my plan, and with a nearly full red Solo cup in one hand and a vaporizer in the other, I plop down at one of the picnic tables to watch the festivities around me.
Unfortunately, I don’t even have a chance to take a drink before someone steps next to me and nudges my shoulder with their hip. “Hey there, stranger,” a familiar male voice teases.
Peering up to look into Rory’s boyishly cute face, a small grin creeps up at the corners of my mouth as I stand to greet him with a warm hug. In the midst of all of my self-loathing, I hadn’t thought about him coming with Crew today.
“Hey there yourself, handsome,” I retort. “I could say the same about you, ya know? I haven’t heard from you since the night of Crew’s birthday dinner.”
He gives me a tight squeeze and a chaste kiss on the cheek before releasing me and settling into the empty spot next to me on the bench seat. “Yeah, sorry about my great escape that morning. Something came up and I had to go, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“No worries about that.” I wave my hand in front of my face. “You made sure I was well taken care of, but I haven’t heard from you since. You doing okay? ”
“Yeah, when I got back in town, Hudson told me you’d gone on an impromptu road trip with a girlfriend from high school, so I didn’t see any point in bothering you. Plus, I’ve been crazy busy with work and family shit.” His explanation is cool and casual, much like the aura that always surrounds him. It’s one of things that first attracted me to Rory. That, and those damn dimples.
I pull a long hit from the vape then offer it to him, which he graciously accepts. “Yeah, I’ve been home a couple of days, but I haven’t felt like doing much of anything except lie around. Just taking it easy before I head back to my apartment this weekend.”
Cocking a skeptical eyebrow, he hands the smoke back to me then takes a drink of his beer. “The Dakota I know doesn’t do a whole lot of taking it easy. Did you party nonstop for two weeks, or what?”
“Something like that,” I murmur.
At the m
ere mention of the trip, memories of Levi flood my mind and the false pretense of a good mood is stripped away. I’m ready to go back inside and get into bed.
“What’s his name?” Rory asks, his voice soft and understanding.
My eyes cut over to him as I hiss in a sharp breath. I hate how obvious I am to everyone. How they all know how weak and utterly ridiculous I am over a guy who is probably balls deep in some track rat right now, or worse, in that twatwaffle of a manager or agent or whatever the fuck she is. Either way, I’m sure James Levi is making fireworks of his own today.
“It’s okay to fall for someone, Dakota. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, resting my head on his chest. “And just so you don’t feel completely alone, I’ve been crazy fucking nervous about seeing you today, because I need to apologize to you.”
“Apologize? For what?” I tilt my head back to look up at him.
“The last time we were together, I had feelings for someone else,” he confesses, genuine regret in his eyes. “Not like I had a girlfriend or that I’m even dating anyone—I would never do anything like that—but nevertheless, there’s another girl who I’ve met recently and I really like, and I shouldn’t have been with you when someone else was on my mind. That’s a real asshole move.”
Exhaling a sigh of relief, afraid some crazy-ass jilted girlfriend was going to be searching for me, I reach up and pat his cheek. “Oh, sweet Rory, you are one of the good guys. You don’t need to apologize to me, but tell me more about the lucky girl. Is it someone I know?”
He chuckles nervously, releasing his hold on me to swallow back what’s left in his bottle. “It really doesn’t matter. Nothing will ever come of it . . . just a hopeless crush.”
“Don’t say that! You never know what will happen, especially if you don’t give it a try,” I argue.
“Then why aren’t you giving it a try with your vacation guy?” he shoots back, aim directly on point. “I know you well enough to know that whatever happened while you were gone, you made a real connection with someone, and unless he’s just a real fucking douche, he’s probably all torn up over you right now.”
Adamantly, I shake my head from side to side. “No, I’m pretty sure he isn’t, and even if he was, it doesn’t matter. His life is there and my life is here, and neither of us should have to sacrifice our goals to be with each other. It’s as simple as that.”
“Nothing is ever that simple, Kota. You know better than that.”
“We’re that simple,” I contend, moving my hand back and forth between the two of us.
“And we’re not in love.” Smiling, he taps the end of my nose with his index finger. “Love is all about sacrifice and compromise. It’s about doing whatever you have to do, giving up whatever is necessary, to be with that person, because you can’t stand the thought of living your life without them. Even for couples like your parents, who are still crazy in love after all of these years, they both sacrifice constantly to work for the greater goal of them as a couple and you guys as a family. To truly love someone is the ultimate act of selflessness.”
Wow. Who knew the cute, dimpled bartender that’s good in bed was a relationship expert too? What other secrets is this guy hiding?
“Then, I guess I don’t love him,” I state meekly, unsure if I believe my own words.
Rory stands and tosses his empty beer into the nearby trashcan then grabs my hand and hauls me off the bench. “My guess is you’re just being stubborn and prideful, but we’ll save that lesson for next time. I’m up next on cornhole, and you’re gonna be my partner.”
Hours later, once everyone has gone home and I’ve washed the smell of barbeque out of my hair and the dirt out from under my fingernails, I find myself in the exact same place as I was earlier today—wrapped in a robe, looking for something to wear. My mood is definitely improved after Rory and my sisters forced me to play games all afternoon and pop fireworks for most of the night, but the dull ache in my chest remains.
Dropping to my knees next to my luggage, I inhale a deep breath through my nose as my fingers find and latch onto the zipper. My chest expands as I hold the air in my lungs, unzipping from one side of the bag to the other. And then, with a whoosh, I blow the breath out of my mouth and flip the top open simultaneously, displaying the contents.
Tears form and fall almost immediately, as the first thing I see on top of all my clothes is his riding jersey and an envelope with my name on it. He must’ve stuck them in here when I was in the shower the last morning in New Orleans.
I rip the robe off in a matter of seconds and quickly slip the silky material over my head, instantly feeling a sense of closeness to him. Not quite ready to open the envelope, I tuck it in the side pocket of my bag. Baby steps tonight.
Crawling up in the bed, I contemplate texting him a thank you, but decide against it. Maybe Rory’s right. Maybe I am stubborn and proud. Or maybe I’m just a girl afraid of losing herself if I sacrifice it all for love.
MONDAY, AUGUST 27
IT’S BEEN EXACTLY EIGHT WEEKS since I’ve seen or heard from Dakota. Well . . . kind of. Emmy Sue has taken it upon herself to secretly send pictures and updates at least once a week when she and Dakota get together for dinner and drinks, helping me keep tabs on my Sunshine. As our biggest cheerleader, Emmy knows exactly how I feel about her friend and about my plans to move to Breckenridge after the World Championships to claim my girl once and for all.
I haven’t told her about the round-trip airfare and tickets to the World Championships that I put in Dakota’s bag the morning she left, because I don’t want her to come because she felt pressured to. I keep hoping that she’ll stop being so fucking bullheaded and dead set on finding happiness by herself or whatever bullshit excuse she’s given Emmy Sue, and that she’ll come to me on her own before I bulldoze my way back into her life.
But if she doesn’t, I’ll do what’s necessary. I know what we had together is rare as fuck, and I’m not giving it up without a fight. She needs to know what I’m willing to give up for her . . . what she’s worth to me. I’m about to be all-fucking-in.
Though, first, I have to do something I should’ve done a long time ago. Not for her, but for me.
“Hi, welcome to Steiner Ranch Steakhouse,” the young, attractive hostess greets me as I walk into the upscale restaurant. “Do you have reservations with us this evening?”
Flashing her my most charming smile, I nod and glance down at my watch. “I do. The name’s Levi and the reservation is for two at seven-thirty. I’m supposed to be meeting an associate here, but she’s running a few minutes late. Would it be okay if I grab a drink at the bar while I wait?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Levi. Just let me know when you’re ready to be seated,” she purrs up at me. Poor thing, she’s batting those fake eyelashes so hard I’m not sure how they’re hanging on.
Thankfully, the wait isn’t long. I only have time to finish half of my Shiner before I hear the fake, annoying voice of Mercedes behind me, talking to the hostess like she’s a piece of chewed up gum on the bottom of her shoe. “What do you mean I need to wait a minute for you to get the table ready? We had reservations five minutes ago.”
Good Lord, I hate this woman.
Pushing back from the bar, I stand and grab my frosty mug then turn to face my soon-to-be ex-agent-slash-manager. “Over here, Mercedes!” I call out to her with a wave. “Let me pay the tab, and then we can grab our table. You don’t need to be a bitch to the poor girl. I’m the one who told her I’d wait for the table until we were both here, and you’re the one who’s running late.”
Her jaw drops open as her eyes dart around the room, wondering who all heard me tell her off. I’m on her home turf, so I guess she’s worried about possibly seeing someone she knows.
“Did you just call me a bitch?” she seethes as her red stilettos eat up the distance between us in a matter of seconds. “In public, no less?”
Chuckling, I
take another drink of my beer as I wait for the bartender to bring me back my credit card. “I’m pretty sure that’s the word I used. Next time, I can use ‘stupid cunt’ if you’d prefer that.” So much for my plan of acting polite and professional until after dinner.
“What is your problem? Why in the hell are you acting like this?” She grabs my arm and studies my face, baffled over my behavior. “Are you drunk? On drugs?”
“No, this,” I lift the glass in the air, “is the first alcoholic beverage I’ve had in over a month actually. I’ve been working my ass off, eating right, and spending as much time in the gym as I am at the cliffs, to get ready for Munich. Tonight, though, I have a reason to celebrate.”
Her faces relaxes and her angry grip on my arms turns into a sensual caress, wrongly assuming that my getting to see her is worthy of celebration. It’s funny how quickly she’s forgotten about me disrespecting her moments ago, and is already ready to forgive me and jump into bed. Chick seriously has no self-respect whatsoever.
“Yeah, you never told me why you were coming out to Austin when you set up this date,” she purrs. “Is it just to see me?”
“It is.” I glance over at the girl who is standing off to the side, holding menus, waiting to take us to our table, then move in her direction. “Come on. Let’s sit down and I’ll explain.”
Once we’re settled in a booth toward the back of the restaurant, at my specific request, a server appears to get our drink order and then leaves us alone. I’d originally planned to tell her everything after we ate. I mean, the least I could do when firing the poor girl is buy her one last nice meal, but as I stare at her across the table, I decide I just can’t do it. I can’t sit here with her one more minute than I have to.
