Page 5 of Riding the Line (Willow Ridge #2)

Cherry

I hold my phone between my ear and shoulder as I stir my coffee, listening to Montana’s endless apologies for bailing on me today.

The day we were supposed to kickstart my bucket list for the summer with probably one of the most nerve-racking items – aside from the chaotic second half filled with sexual experiences that I’ve been trying to forget Duke saw last Friday.

As if him catching me giving Montana a lap dance wasn’t embarrassing enough. He looked downright appalled at that half of the list.

Either way, today was going to be a great distraction from that humiliation – Montana and I were supposed to get tattoos.

‘I just couldn’t say no, Cherry,’ Montana continues explaining, and even though I can’t see her, I bet she’s blinking her big doe eyes at the phone. ‘Austin turned up out of the blue, with the whole day already planned, and activities booked and paid for, bless him.’

I wish I could be annoyed at her, but this might be the first time Montana’s actually found a decent guy who wants her beyond her looks.

This Austin guy seems to adore her and the last thing I want is for her to get hurt again.

So, if that means allowing her to flake on me today, then I guess I’ll just have to suck it up.

I’m sure we’ll reschedule the tattoos soon, anyway. I know I could go by myself, bite the bullet and ride it solo. But if I was brave enough to do that, I probably wouldn’t need this silly bucket list at all.

‘Honestly, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,’ I say, knowing it’s hard to expect anyone else to understand why this list is so important. I sip my coffee quickly, its warmth dissipating through me. ‘It’ll give me more time to think about what tattoo I’m gonna get, anyway.’

‘Okay, as long as you’re sure. You’re the best.’ She makes a kissing noise through the phone.

‘I know,’ I joke. ‘Have a great day together.’

‘Thanks, girl. Oh! You’re still okay to cover my shift tomorrow, right?’

‘Yeah, all good. Just let Duke know.’

‘Will do. Have I told you how much I love you?’

‘Not enough,’ I jest, hearing her giggle in response. ‘Now, go get ready for your hot date, and voice note me all about it later.’

‘Thank you! Talk later, bye!’

I put my phone down with a sigh, leaning back against the counter to bask in the unfiltered country sunshine pouring through the windows this morning as I reassess my plans for the day.

I should probably get to updating my interior design portfolio if I want to start applying for jobs and land myself a position at an interior design firm in the city where I can help to make people’s spaces as supportive to their lives and dreams as possible.

When you spend enough time in the same rooms, lying on the couch or in bed because you’re recovering from a seizure or struck down by bad cramps like I did growing up, you come to realise the influence interior design has on you –how the presence of bright paintings can lift your mood when its sunk to its lowest after a month of multiple seizures when you’re fourteen, how less clutter can ease your already overwhelmed mind, how a rose-pink wall can provide the calming warmth and comfort you need.

A passion and personal mission that became the one silver lining to many of those days as a teenager.

I’ve still got a bunch of photos from renovating Wyatt and Rory’s ranch retreat, Sunset Ranch, last year that need editing, as well as some possible designs to turn one of their old barns into a wedding venue should they ever be interested in that.

Which, I really hope they are because there are plenty of unused buildings on that ranch, and my mind goes wild with renovation ideas whenever it finds a place in need of some care.

Plus, I might as well make the most of this spare time before my period is due in the next day or so, since that means the rest of the week will be a write-off anyway.

Just as I go to close my eyes and relish the quiet warmth of the moment, my mom walks into the kitchen, humming to herself. Her grin lights up when she sees me. ‘Morning, sweetheart.’

‘Morning,’ I respond, raising my mug with a smile.

‘Was that Montana you were on the phone to? Where are you two off to today?’ Mom asks, filtering through the rack of jackets by the front door until she finds her bag.

I roll my lips together. I’d rather not start my day with a lecture about how pain can trigger seizures, even if I’ve already researched it plenty to make sure there’s no scientific proof that a tattoo can cause such. So, instead, I answer, ‘Um, nowhere anymore. She’s busy now.’

Mom brings her bag to the table to rifle through it, not looking up as she asks, ‘What were you going to do? Some shopping? I can always come into town with you before my shift starts if you still want to go. Maggie said your meds were in the pharmacy, so we could pick them up.’ She looks up once to perk an accusatory brow at me.

‘Not leave them for weeks like last time you were back home. Even she said she hopes you’re better at remembering to take them at college. ’

I close my eyes for a moment, letting a long breath filter from my nose.

Growing up in a place like Willow Ridge means everyone knows your business and looks out for you, not just your family.

Which is great when you’re younger, but not so much when they still act like you’re that thirteen year old that had a seizure while horse-riding eight years ago.

Even if I know everyone’s worrying is only a symptom of how much they care about me, it’s hard not to feel like a kid when I’m back home. Like I can’t take care of myself.

I blow another gentle breath out and force a smile. ‘Uh, no it’s all good, we weren’t going shopping, but thanks anyway, Mom. I’ll grab my meds later, once I’ve done some work on my portfolio for college.’

‘Oh, what were your plans, then?’ Mom still questions, clearly not sensing my tone, and rummaging through her bag, then pulls out her wallet with an aha!

The coffee hasn’t given me enough of a buzz yet for my brain to work quick enough.

‘Cherry?’

Anyone would laugh – here I am complaining about my family’s constant worrying making me feel like a child, when I’m too afraid to tell my parents about a tiny tattoo … Not quite the assured version of myself I’m striving for. Maybe this could be a good baby step.

Swallowing, I admit, ‘We were going to get tattoos.’

My mom drops her purse back into her bag. ‘Oh.’

And with perfect timing, my dad waltzes through the front door, already back from an early morning working on Lucky Star Ranch – Sawyer’s family ranch.

He takes off his hat and wipes his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand before giving my mom a kiss on the cheek in greeting. ‘Mornin’. How are we?’

‘Cherry’s going to get a tattoo,’ is how my mom decides to respond, the words coming out a little exasperated. I, personally, was thinking we’re great, thanks , would’ve been a more appropriate response, but apparently Mom’s ready to dive straight into it.

I settle my mug down and brace myself for the onslaught of questions.

‘Is it safe?’ Dad starts, eyebrows pulling together, the wrinkles on his weathered forehead deepening. ‘We’ve been so careful with your epilepsy recently, Cherry. No seizures in two years is a record – do we really want to risk that now? For a little tattoo?’

‘Dad, it’s fine. There’s no links between tattoos and seizures whatsoever.’

‘Remember what happened last time we thought your seizures were getting better – a whole year without one, then one late night at your friend’s birthday and you missed your junior prom.’

One night of staying up gossiping a little too late and saying no to a sip from the bottle of wine Willa Cole stole from her parents had my whole junior year without seizures coming to a crashing end, only a few days before junior prom.

And if having a seizure in Willa’s kitchen wasn’t humiliating enough, then soiling myself during said fit in front of too many popular girls in my year who made sure everyone knew about such afterwards was the cherry on top.

Because I stupidly thought for a second that my life wouldn’t forever be ruled by my epilepsy.

That I might be able to live a completely normal life like all the other girls in my year.

Instead, I got too cocky, and life proved me wrong.

Just like it does every time I think my epilepsy’s getting better.

I realised then, sitting in the dark in my living room on the night of my junior prom, dress beside me because my parents decided it would be better for my health to stay at home, watching videos of the night on my friends’ social media knowing I’d never be making the same memories as them, that my epilepsy would always be with me.

And at sixteen years old that felt like the end of the world, but now I can’t help but think, if a whole year of being careful still wasn’t enough to stop a seizure, is it really worth holding myself back so much?

Is it really worth not going through the rite of passage of getting a tattoo I’ll probably regret in a few years’ time when something far less threatening could trigger another seizure probably just as easily?

My dad runs his fingers across his thick moustache with a ‘hmm’, tanned face creasing even more. ‘Maybe we should call Dr Wells and ask. Better to wait for his thoughts before we decide.’

Because apparently my life is a group decision. My jaw hangs open, but I don’t get a chance to reply.