Page 22 of Cruel Summer

“When I was eighteen, I went down to California, pissed as hell at my old man, bound and determined to have a whole different life. If I were stuck in that choice, I’d be living in a shack down by a beach somewhere, surfing, drinking beer and trying to pick up college girls.

We shouldn’t be held to the decisions we make when we’re eighteen.

Hell, we aren’t the same people this many years on. ”

In some ways, she agreed. But that wasn’t how a long marriage worked. You grew and changed together and made a life around those changes.

Isn’t that what Will is doing? Growing and changing, and you just don’t like it?

No. She maintained that if your changes violated your marriage vows, they weren’t fair game.

“I get that. But I don’t want everything to change. I want my life back.”

“What life, Sam, the one you had or the one you pretend to have?”

The words landed hard, like a bullet to the gut, right as they entered the neon parking lot of The Painted Lady. There was a classic cowgirl neon sign, a woman kicking her leg up as she reclined in a skirt and boots, her hand on the hat on her head.

The building itself wasn’t as fancy as the sign.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” she said.

“For God’s sake.” He got out of the car ahead of her and slammed the door behind him without bothering to wait for her.

She scrambled out and followed after him, into the building.

It was dim and disreputable inside. There was a jukebox and a cleared-out section of floor where people were line dancing.

In the corner was the mechanical bull, which had drawn a crowd of balding men and young drunk girls, which seemed to draw a firm line beneath her earlier point that she was back in her twenties.

Or someone’s twenties, anyway. Since she’d already been a wife and mother at that point.

Logan was at the bar, and she saw him hold up two fingers while he was talking to the bartender, as if he was ordering two drinks in spite of the fact that she had clearly pissed him off.

The place was packed full, and she looked around, seeing that if she wanted a breather from her tour guide, she was going to have to line dance or ride the bull, and she wasn’t feeling especially keen on either one.

But she decided, with all the cash in her pocket, that if she was going to do something…it was ride the mechanical bull.

So she waded through the crowd and went to stand in the line, behind a tall wiry cowboy type with gray hair. Older. Except she was forced to admit, probably not that much older than she was.

“First time riding the bull?” he asked.

“Yes indeed,” she said, watching as a lithe blonde mounted the back of the beast and drew all eyes for what was more of a simulated sex show than anything else. Until she was unseated, and went flying onto the mats below.

“Still want to do it?” the man in front of her asked.

“Oh yeah. I’m ready.”

She watched the bull brutally unseat many a middle-aged man. She realized she was a near middle-aged woman signing up for the same, but oh well.

Then it was time for the cowboy in front to go, and he conquered the bull, to the cheers of the crowd.

“Just keep your focus,” he said to her as she paid for her turn. As if she was playing in a championship game and not about to do something usually reserved for drunken shenanigans only.

She walked over to the bull and gripped the leather strap, hoisting herself up. “Don’t embarrass me,” she said, patting the headless beast’s shoulder.

It said nothing. Of course.

It wouldn’t have even if it’d had a head and was an actual bull.

Then it started moving, and she gripped it as tightly as she could with the one hand, and her knees, and she tried her best to keep the other arm thrown up in the air like she was a real bull rider, when what she actually wanted was to lie across its back and wrap both arms around it and cling to it like she was a baby possum.

She could feel herself starting to slip, and then she went flying. She landed inelegantly on the mats below, and realized belatedly that the dress probably wasn’t doing much of anything for her modesty.

Go her, for riding the bull in a dress. She wasn’t even a drunk girl and she was giving high-key drunk girl vibes, as her kids would say.

Or at least it’s something they would have said at one time. It might all be passé now. She wouldn’t know.

She realized she was still on the mats, feeling a little dazed, and she got herself back up. The cowboy met her at the edge of the mats holding a five-dollar bill.

“I’ll pay for your next ride.”

“Yeah,” she said, because she’d already done it. She’d already been thrown off unceremoniously in a dress. Why not try to emerge victorious? “Yeah, I’ll do it again.”

She got back in line and took a deep breath. That was when she felt it.

Him.

Looking at her.

She turned her head and saw Logan, sitting at the back of the bar at a table for two with a diet soda can in front of the empty chair across from him. He was drinking a beer, his gaze sharp as it cut through everyone in the room, hitting her with exacting accuracy.

She turned away and set her eyes on the bull.

She didn’t want to see his anger.

His anger wasn’t fair.

She was married to Will. There was nothing wrong with wanting that to work out. There was everything right with it. He was supposed to be Will’s best friend. Why was he even Will’s friend if he thought so little of their life?

He wasn’t fair.

It was her turn on the bull again, and again she went. She was unseated even faster this time, but she was not deterred. Even before her cowboy friend held up another five, she’d been determined not to let it best her.

She didn’t know why.

She had no idea what she was trying to prove. To herself. To anyone. But she was damn well going to prove it. She got on the back of the bull and went down again. Then took another five and went again. And again.

Finally, on try number five, she did it. She conquered that bull. She stayed on the whole damned ride, and she didn’t care if was stupid, she’d done it. She’d needed to do it.

She was sweaty in her victory, but she was completely okay with it. All of the hair and makeup she’d done had likely at this point been for nothing.

But she had vanquished the bull.

Which she’d decided mattered, and if she had to make challenges to also create victories, why the hell not.

That was when her cowboy…touched her.

Like full-on wrapped his hand around her arm. “What do you say we go somewhere a little more quiet?”

“Oh.” She blinked. How was this happening to her? How was another man hitting on her in the space of a few days?

Well. She never went to bars. She didn’t actually know what she could expect from a normal evening out.

She was creeped out by him touching her like that, and she pulled away. “I… No.”

“I paid for all those rides for you.”

Anger rushed through her, hot and swift. “I was unaware that was transactional. You didn’t lay out your terms and conditions. I would have said no.”

“No need to be a bitch.”

She was about to do something, haul off and hit him, when suddenly a hand shot out from behind her and gripped the man by his arm. She turned and Logan was right behind her, his eyes icy, his lip curled. “Take your fucking hands off her.”

“Hey, buddy, I—”

“Shut your mouth,” said Logan. “Walk the other way.”

She stepped out of the space between them, and the older man lunged at Logan. Logan punched him. Once. Just once. And laid the guy out flat.

She looked at Logan and down at the floor. “Did you just… Is this a bar fight?”

He looked around the room. “Let’s go.”

No one was moving to help the guy, presumably because they’d all witnessed his behavior.

“Let’s. Go.” Then he took her hand in his and started to lead her from the bar, and the combination of things was too much for her to come up with a way to mount a resistance.

She still couldn’t believe any of that had happened—from the fight in the car, to the bull, to the punching—and now he had his hand wrapped around hers. Like he just could.

They got out into the parking lot. The air was dry and dusty and warm even with the sun long gone. She turned to him, all lit up in the neon and ready to say something, but he spoke first.

“That was just the dumbest shit. What the hell are you doing?”

“What…what?” she asked. “None of that was my fault, you victim-blaming asshole. What did I do?”

“You don’t know anything, do you? I’m not saying you owed the guy anything, but I am saying that if some dude is throwing dollar bills at you in a shithole dive bar, you maybe don’t keep taking the dollar bills.”

“You were being an asshole, so I needed something to do.”

“I was…” He shook his head and took a step back from her. “You’re incredible, do you know that?”

“What?”

“There it is,” he said. “The denial. The round eyes. The absolute picture of fucking manufactured innocence.”

Her heart stumbled over itself. “Logan…”

“You know what I mean. You might have tried to forget, but you know. The thing you’re in denial about is us.”