His family, meaning Beck’s family. Never, ever Billy’s. The distinction was so clear, and so painful, but it was what she needed to hear. Billy wouldn’t love her. He’d never willingly choose her. “There’s something I should tell you. It will probably be a relief, but I’ve asked for, and have received, an extension on my dissertation.”
“You won’t be graduating when you planned?”
“I couldn’t get motivated, couldn’t get anything done. I’d just sit at my computer and stare at the screen and it made me feel worse about things, and life’s too short for that.”
“You should have told me. I would have gotten help. I could have reached out to Ellen and asked if she’d be interested in coming over every day—”
“I’m happy to have a break. I need it. Ever since February, I’ve been tied up in knots, feeling torn, feeling guilty, and I’m over it. I just want to feel good for a bit, I just want to feel okay.”
“You were almost done, Erika. You were so close.”
“Not close enough. And I’m not walking away forever, just pushing away from the desk for now.”
“It feels like you’re quitting. Quitting is never okay.”
“Says he that wants to get back on a bucking bull and break what’s left of his body.”
He ignored the jab. “I feel like I let you down. I’d promised you’d be able to work—”
“And you did give me time to work. I was the one who didn’t want to be alone in the bedroom. I wanted to be with you and Beck.”
Billy looked at her a long moment, his disappointment evident. “You weren’t missing anything, sweetheart. Beck and I would have been here when you’re done.”
“But that’s not true. Once you’re strong enough, you’ll be back on the rodeo circuit, back to Mr. VIP, everybody’s favorite cowboy.”
“I’m no one’s favorite cowboy.”
Her eyes smarted. She struggled to smile. “Not so,” she said huskily. “You’re mine.”
He looked at her a long time before kissing her forehead, and walking out the door without a word.
*
Dinner was almost normal that night. Beck had just started on his first food—baby cereal, and they’d taken turns trying to feed him, laughing at the enthusiasm he applied to the bites. Beck loved food, just like his dad, Erika teased.
Billy had wrinkled his nose. “Not that food,” he answered. “Steak, potatoes.”
“Eggs,” she chimed in.
“Eggs,” he agreed.
After dinner, Billy had cleaned Beck up and had gone to put him to bed. Erika was doing the last of the dishes. It had been a nice evening, surprisingly fun. Things had been so serious between them for the past few weeks it was good to hear Billy laugh, to see his smiles. He had the best smile.
Erika turned off the faucet, listening to the pinging noise coming from the living room. It was Billy’s phone. He was getting texts, one after the other. She stood at the sink trying to ignore it, but at the same time, unable to focus on anything else. Who would be blowing up his phone on a Saturday evening? He didn’t normally get a lot of texts, at least not that she’d heard, and it crossed her mind it could be one of his brothers, and then she worried that maybe something serious had happened. Maybe something to his mom, or grandfather?
Drying her hands, she crossed to the living room and the side table next to his chair and glanced down at Billy’s phone. It was face up, revealing new messages. She could only see part of them but the texts were from two different women, Carrie, and a Michelle. It was the one from Carrie that kept pinging, the latest text reading, “OMG! So bleeping excited to see you for the Fourth!!!” And then while she stood there, another new one arrived. “I wasn’t sure you’d be riding after your accident but happy I’m going to see you.” Followed by a bunch of emojis Erika didn’t want to see.
Erika put the phone back down and returned to the kitchen. She reached for the skillet, intending to wash it next, but once her hands were submerged in hot water, she couldn’t do anything.
He was going to be competing again. He was planning on returning to the circuit by the Fourth. Meaning, the Fourth of July?
Her hands shook as she scrubbed the skillet and then rinsed it and set it on the counter. She was trying to stay calm but her temper flared. She didn’t know what upset her more. Saturday night texts from a Carrie and Michelle, or discovering that Billy planned to be competing again soon. The Fourth of July was less than two months away. And that was crazy. He couldn’t even use his left arm completely. How could he ride, rope, or worse, risk more injury? It was beyond stupid. It was insane. And she was livid.
She’d known he would, but in her mind it had been in the fall, or maybe even next year. Not in a mere matter of weeks. How could he possibly think he could go back out there when he wasn’t 100 percent? And why did Carrie know this and not her?
Why was he even texting with Carrie right now? And Michelle? And God knew who else?
Erika was so angry she couldn’t even think straight. She gave up trying to dry the remaining dishes and stood in the kitchen, staring out the window over the sink, seeing the sliver of moon in the sky, feeling cheated. Betrayed.
And yet, had he ever promised her more?
They had no relationship. They had no bond. Just because they’d kissed didn’t mean there was anything serious between them.
But still, it made her feel sick that she was fantasizing about a life with him while he was texting other women letting them know he couldn’t wait to be back on the road so he could see them.
She swore under her breath, curse words she never used, even as she blinked back hot stinging tears, tears of shame and rage. How naïve had she been? How stupid was she?
Her gaze fell on the highchair that needed wiping down, and she sniffled, holding back tears. What about Beck? How could Billy put himself in danger again so soon? It was selfish. Reckless. Beck deserved better. Beck deserved a father who was planning on sticking around, whole, intact, healthy. A father that would be available for Beck’s needs, not in hospitals, not in bed, not in casts or slings, not with a walker or wheelchair. Billy was the only one who could decide to be that father. He was the only one who could choose to do the right thing. And the right thing was for him to get well, stay well, and take care of his son.
Billy emerged just then from Beck’s bedroom, wearing just a pair of gray flannel pajama pants. He was holding his shirt in his hand. She could see the scars from his recent surgery, the dark pink skin where he’d been patched back together, skin still tender and healing. He walked toward her with the shirt dangling from his hand. “I think I played a little too hard with him. He spewed some of his milk on me.”
She just looked at him. Her expression must have told him she wasn’t happy because he stopped, gave her a long, wary look.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What’s wrong? Maybe the fact that you’re planning on competing in less than six weeks. Maybe the fact that you’re planning on being up in Calgary for some stampede—”
“How did you find out?”
“Is it true then?”
“That’s neither here nor there. Who told you?”