Page 85 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)

LOLA’S

My heart is soaring high today after several long weeks of rebuilding this place, the entire town volleying for us, putting in the extra time and manpower necessary to get the studio back in working order for Lola.

These people, with such massive hearts, stood by us every step of the way.

From the court hearing, which was sped up substantially thanks to Lemmon’s own father pushing to get it over with, to the nail-biting days of waiting for a decision where Russ was released with a year of community service because ultimately, he'd only gone along with his mother's plans so he could retrieve the dog he’d adopted after Lola left. Not that we returned Nugget to him.

It was Russ’s cousin who did all of Amy’s dirty work, sneaking onto the ranch to take photos of us and burn the barn down.

We learned he lived less than an hour away and was actually the guy in the image I received with Nugget.

He had a warrant out for his arrest already as a result of several other crimes he’d committed, and thanks to Teddy, he’s behind bars.

Turns out Teddy was a bounty hunter in his past life and put those skills to good use, getting back at the family that left him on my living room floor with a concussion.

Lemmon is in a facility, receiving the psychiatric care she needs to help heal from her past traumas.

And Amy is locked up in a cell somewhere in Texas, never to bother us again, working through her own divorce after everything came to light and her husband desperately wanted out of their relationship.

The emotional strain, coupled with Lola struggling through some medication changes that had her more fatigued than ever, was painful to watch, and it makes this moment of pure bliss that much more incredible.

Her symptoms have improved significantly, and it shows in every step she takes, each sway of those grabbable hips and the distinct lack of a wince when she rocks onto the balls of her feet.

The last several weeks have felt more like months with how much was packed into them.

We made time for ourselves, too, acting like recluses, hiding away from everyone for a while to process our emotions, with the help of Talia and my grief counselor, Samuel.

I made sure that, above all else, I took care of my wife, giving her the space and time she needed to focus on healing, both emotionally and physically.

Nothing about her wide smile and bright, glittering eyes gives away how much she’d shattered after the adrenaline had worn off and the realization that things could have ended so much differently sank in. The entire experience broke my goddamn heart.

Through it all, we felt an outpouring of love and support holding us up, pushing us from one day to the next.

My gaze flits around the room, landing on the overjoyed faces of the people who’d made all this possible, getting us through the utter hell we’d been served.

Sebastian is swiveling his hips to “ Bailando Bachata ” by Chayanne, dancing circles around his husband, Jeremiah.

Their heads are thrown back, joyous laughter pouring out of them as Jeremiah does his best to shimmy and sway.

Each day, we were woken up with lattes from Grind that had Lola purring into her mug as I rubbed her feet and calves.

It became the perfect morning ritual, especially paired with the baked goods from Bake My Day that Caitlyn would drop off.

The Ryde or Dye book club has taken it upon themselves to pair up with the singles who came to class today, and they’ve shocked, I think, everyone with how good they are.

For a bunch of bikers in leather, they’re pretty smooth.

I, for one, am extremely grateful they didn’t have anything to do with the strange occurrences around town.

It would’ve killed me. Thankfully, Bexaida’s instinct to trust them was right, as usual, and they worked every day to make sure our home was always stocked with romance reads, the barn cleaned up quickly and ready for repairs as soon as we were.

Even the lovely ladies at Wigs & Waffles, the newly opened drag brunch spot, brought us meals to get us through each week.

They had never met us, and they still jumped in to help, as if they’d lived in this town their entire lives.

That’s the beauty of Hidden Valley: once you’re here, you’re family.

So it comes as no surprise that the studio is at max capacity.

We even had to turn our parents away. There was barely room to breathe, let alone dance.

They’re set up outside the open barn doors in folding chairs, happily watching Lola take on her first class in the finished studio, no threats of arson hanging over our heads.

And god, my wife is beautiful.

I’ve never seen a more magnificent sight than Lola Lima in her element, dark-red lips stretched across her cheeks, curls cascading down her shoulders, and skin shimmering in her fire-engine-red outfit.

Music plays loudly overhead from the upgraded speakers Zeke helped me install, and Lola’s hips sway, re-explaining the basic steps of Bachata to the class.

She’s gone over it a few times, explaining it in different ways and using me as her partner for her demonstration, making sure to change how she teaches to fit different learning styles.

It helps that Karmella and Yanet, her close friends and the co-owners of Fuego Fusion , came to cheer her on. They’re assisting her, moving through the room to correct form and offer tips.

I move through the crowd when Lola holds out her hand for me, my pulse speeding with the knowledge I’ll get to have her in my arms any second.

I grasp her small palm in mine, curling my fingers around it and tugging her to me. She twirls into the movement, winding up until she’s nestled against my chest, her sweet scent overwhelming my senses.

“Everyone, grab your partners and hold them close. We’re going to have a little change of pace for the last few minutes of class,” she says with a sly smile aimed at me. “My husband is going to help give you a better idea of how to mesh the steps we’ve been learning.”

God , it still feels so good to hear her call me that.

“Dos Locos” filters through the speakers, a few people whistling when they recognize the upbeat song. Lola presses her chest against mine, bringing her arms up in an arc over her head as she twists her hips, bringing her arms down to wrap around my shoulders.

“This one is fast-paced, with a 4/4-time signature, so if you miss a beat, just count out loud until you and your partner fall back into it, okay?” she asks, and I dig my fingers into her hips, loving the feel of her body against mine and simultaneously willing my dick to remember where we’re at.

“Who’s ready?!” she shouts over the music, dancing backward and away from me for a moment, clapping her hands to the rhythm.

She rolls her shoulders, bending her elbows and shimmying toward me, her feet continuing the fast pace the song has set.

It’s as if her body has a mind of its own, reacting in time to the pulse of the music around us.

When she’s back in my arms, I allow myself to let go the same way she’s been teaching me to.

I pull her into me, rolling my hips as she brackets my thigh with hers, our bodies moving as a single unit, playing off the other. Our hands roam, my fingertips trailing over her smooth, bare arms, her waist, over the curve of her ass for just a beat before she spins out of my grasp.

At the part of the song where the singers’ voices clang together in short, abrupt bursts with the words, “ Que tontos, que somos tu y yo ,” Lola wraps an arm around my neck, turning her side into my chest with one hand on her hip.

I keep an arm wrapped around her, the other on her abdomen, pressing into each of the sharp movements she makes, her body punctuating each word the same way the singers seem to.

Her skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, our breaths tangling.

My heart races with each movement as we become one.

By the time the song is over, I’m completely out of breath, with Lola’s body wrapped around mine, our noses brushing, parted lips barely a breath away, chests heaving.

Her eyes bore into mine, heavy lids telling me she wants me to take her mouth just as badly as I d?—

“This is a family-friendly function, folks. I’m not surprised I have to remind my brother of that, but Lola?

I’m disappointed in you,” Zeke’s mocking voice chimes over the speakers, effectively breaking the spell.

Lola and I pull apart, gasping for breath and overcome with laughter as the whole room whistles.

“Kiss him! Kiss him!” they chant, their shouts growing louder and more determined.

Lola tilts her head at me, her eyes leaving mine only for a second to assess the room before finding mine again.

The next thing I know, she’s catapulting herself into my arms, fingers twining in my hair as she tugs my mouth to hers, branding my lips.

The roar of the crowd gets drowned out by this single moment in time, the entire world stopping as Lola Lima, my childhood crush, my best friend, and now, my wife, claims me for everyone to see.

My pulse slows, my tongue slipping between her kiss-swollen lips for a quick taste before I pull away.

The cheers hit me all at once in the way sound returns after you’ve been momentarily deafened by a speed train.

Our quiet moment in the madness ceases, replaced by something bigger than us, something profoundly beautiful and uplifting, the product of a lifetime of love and devotion to this town, and my heart swells with gratitude.

Lola claps her hands, shaking her head as she laughs at our town’s antics. “Alright, alright. Let’s get back to work,” she says, rolling her eyes playfully.

When everyone is back with their partners, Lola nods at Zeke where he stands in the corner over the small DJ setup he insisted the studio needed. Apparently, he’s decided this is his new calling, but I think he just wanted an excuse to buy new gadgets and mess around with installation.

“Nothing in dance has to be technically perfect,” she says, addressing the room as our bodies carry us through the movements.

“The style of dance lays the groundwork, but how you choose to move your body and engage with your partner is up to you. If this song is too fast, slow it down. If you want to add some big flourishes, go ahead and give it a try. Since this is the last song before we close out the class, just give it everything you’ve got and enjoy yourself! ”

The crowd cheers, and Zeke presses play, “Stand by Me” by Prince Royce surrounding us.

Everyone takes hold of their partners, twirling them around the smooth dance floors, their movements already so much more put together than they had been during that first class in June.

Lola turns her attention fully on me, gripping my hands and taking a step back, swiveling her hips and lowering her body before returning to her full height, allowing me to pull her into me.

I slide my palms down her sides, spinning her so her back is flush to my chest. I wind my arms around her front, and she grinds her ass against my groin. I nip at the soft flesh below her ear and whisper, “Are you tryin’ to kill your husband, darlin’?”

She places her hands over mine, chuckling lightly as she smooths my palms over her body before turning to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. We lock eyes, singing along to the song, enjoying the last moments of tonight with simple movements, embracing each other.

The room starts to grow louder, people joining in, singing to each other and pointing at the nearest neighbor every time we sing the words, “Stand by me.” There’s a light feeling spreading through the room, as if we’re floating, suspended in time.

I glance around to find most everyone has broken away from their partners, no longer dancing but pulling each other in for hugs. There’s not a dry eye in the room.

Lola stares up at me with tears pooling in her eyes, and I tug her close, resting my forehead on hers as I blink away my own tears.

“I bet this isn’t how you expected your birthday to go, huh?” I whisper when the song ends, my voice hoarse.

“It’s everything and more,” she whispers back as the room erupts in cheers and shouts once more, the class coming to an end.

“I’m so proud of you, Lola,” I whisper, reluctantly pulling away so she can address her adoring fans.

“I just want to thank you all for showing up,” she starts, and several people laugh.

She waves a hand in front of her face, rolling her eyes jokingly.

“No, no. I don’t mean tonight.” Her tone shifts from playful to serious, swiping tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

The room quiets down, all eyes and ears on Lola.

“Thank you for making me feel safe and loved, free to be completely myself, even as a child. For allowing me to make mistakes and learn from them without the fear that my entire life would be riding on one mess up. You’ve all shown up for me since the very first day I arrived in Hidden Valley, and you’ve all continued to do so, even after I’d lost myself for a while.

You’ve helped me rebuild my life, sometimes twice,” she says, chuckling lightly at the insinuation.

“I recognize that for the gift it is because most people don’t have the kind of community we do.

And I just—” she peers up at the ceiling, blinking away tears, “I love you all so much. Los amo, mi familia. ”

Clapping, whistling, and a chorus of “We love you too!” envelop us, and as I tug her close for another hug, I whisper against the shell of her ear, “What’s it gonna be, darlin’? Have you finally picked a name for this place?”

“ Lola’s, ” she breathes out. “I want it to be completely, utterly mine. Just like you, Ryder Lockhart.”

If there’s one thing for certain in this ever-changing world, it’s that I am irrevocably, undeniably, and eternally Lola Lima’s.

The end.