Chapter Twenty-Two
AMBER
Dylan asked the waiter for a bottle of champagne and a glass of water. I hadn’t drunk in front of him since he got out of rehab, but he insisted he wanted me to have a glass of champagne. The waiter asked, “What are we celebrating tonight?”
Dylan smiled. “Our engagement,” he said. “It took me three weeks to get in here, though.” The waiter smiled. Three weeks was fast for this place from what I’d heard.
“And, our families,” I added. Dylan had done what he said he would for me. He’d driven out to the ranch and had spoken to my father. My mother told me later on that when she saw them go into the barn, she didn’t think they would both come out standing. She said they were in there for over an hour, but when they came out, they were shaking hands. All Dylan would tell me was that he assured my father he loved me and would never hurt me again. Daddy told me later that all he wanted was for me to be happy, so if Dylan was it, he’d accept that. I’ve been walking around on cloud nine thinking about getting married by the lake. We’d decided on March so far, but not an exact date.
The waiter went to get the champagne, and Dylan reached across the table and took my hand. “I have one more surprise,” he told me.
“What’s that?”
“I got a call from Tuck Henry, do you remember him?”
I made a face. “The old pervert? How could I forget?” Tuck Henry is a retired rodeo clown that worked with Dylan’s father for years. One night at an after party when I used to travel to some of the rodeos with Dylan, the old man cornered me and put his nasty hands in places they never should have gone. Dylan was, of course, too drunk to defend me. I’d kneed the old guy in the crotch and caused a big scene. Dylan and I had a big fight afterwards that culminated in him telling me I was dressed like a slut and me calling him a worthless pussy. It’s one of those memories I’d gladly forgotten until now.
He grinned at me. “He is an old pervert, but he also has a lot of friends in the PRCA. He offered me a job, baby.”
“Doing what?”
“Judging. I’d have to attend a few seminars first before the next season starts, but the pay is good and it’ll be a legitimate job.”
I wanted to be happy for him, I really did, but my mind was swirling with a thousand different scenarios. “You’ll have to travel?”
He waited for the waiter. He brought the champagne and popped it open. He poured us each a glass and then he sat a glass of water in front of us both as well. Dylan thanked him and he left. Then he picked up his flute and said, “To us.”
“You’re going to drink that?”
He rolled his eyes. “One glass, Amber. It won’t kill me. There’s hardly any alcohol in it, anyways.”
I didn’t want to argue with him. I picked up my glass and said, “To us.” We clicked them together and drank. As Dylan guzzled his, I felt a little trickle of worry crawl up my spine. “Now, back to the job. You would have to travel?”
“Well, yeah, of course. But you could come with me.”
“Dylan, I have a job. I have a clinic to run. I don’t want to live on the road-”
“Okay, don’t get upset on me, okay? We’re just talking.” He poured both of us another glass of champagne. Again, I let it go as I watched him drink his. “The season is nine months long. I wouldn’t have to be at every event, so I could be home more than I am on the road. I want to do something to make you proud of me, Amber. You were right when you said I needed a job. This is something I know.”
I nodded. I could see how excited he was about it and I didn’t want to take that away. “I know, and if you really want to do this, we can figure it out.”
He grinned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” The waiter came back to take our orders. I was happy to see that Dylan hadn’t poured any more champagne as we sat and talked.
“Dad’s talking about building another house on his property,” he said.
“Really? For the ranch hands?”
“Nope, for us.”
Dylan and I had lived in that piece of shit house of his dad’s for five years now. He had only been over to our house once in that entire time. He’d sat there for an hour making digs about how bad the house looked, only he directed it all at me. It did look like shit because the paint was peeling, the carpet was old, and the roof leaked…but none of that had anything to do with me keeping house, although he acted like it did.
The bottom line was that his father was kind of an asshole. He was an old cowboy who was never around when Dylan was growing up and when he finally retired and came home, he wanted to be buddies with him instead of a father. He holds the night I had Dylan arrested against me and he thinks I “nagged” Dylan into going into rehab. He drinks like a fish and sees no harm in his son doing the same. As far as I knew, he was not happy about us getting married. I wondered why he suddenly wanted to build us a house. Dylan must have seen the skepticism on my face because he said, “He knows how much I want this to work. He only wants to help.” I forced another smile and took another drink of my champagne.
“It’s nice, really.” I was determined not to let myself slip back into the pattern of finding fault with everything Dylan said or did. He really was trying. “I’m going to use the ladies room before our food comes.”
“Okay, baby.” He stood up when I did and kissed me before I left. I tasted the champagne on his lips and felt that tickle of anxiety again. It had moved to my belly. I made my way to the front of the restaurant where the bathrooms were. There was a young woman washing her hands when I walked in. She had on this gorgeous black dress. I’d seen one like it not long ago and thought about buying it for myself. Now that I saw it on her, I wished that I had.
“Your dress is gorgeous,” I said. She looked up at me in the mirror with a smile. As soon as she saw me something else crossed her face. I wasn’t sure what it was but she said,
“Thanks…is your name Amber?”
Surprised because I didn’t recognize her at all, I said, “Yes, do I know you?”
“No, you were my boyfriend’s therapist. I saw your name in his phone…”
“Who is your boyfriend?”
“Kyle Cloud.” My heart fell into my stomach so hard that it practically knocked the wind out of me. I’d done so well confining my memories of Kyle to my dreams late at night.
“Oh…” I squeaked out. Breathe, Amber. “Yes, I was. How is Kyle?”
“Amber, woman to woman, was there more between you than therapy?”
My throat was parched. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because he won’t discuss therapy – at all. His doctor asked him just today after he told Kyle the tumor was gone-”
“Wait a minute, the tumor came back?”
“It was growing, but he did radiation and he’s fine.” She sounded annoyed with my interruption and she went on. “The doctor asked him about therapy and Kyle kind of brushed him off. I asked him and he brushed me off. He does that anytime anyone brings it up. I saw some of the old texts you sent him in his phone, he never deleted them. I saw that you were texting you were sorry and worried about him…and I saw the way he looked at you when you walked in tonight. Is there something I should know?”
My brain grabbed on to “the way he looked at you” and held it and caressed it for a few seconds before the rational part took over and I said,
“Why don’t you ask Kyle?”
“We haven’t been dating that long. I don’t want him to think I’m all jealous and clingy…”
Yet she reads his text messages and confronts me in the bathroom, I thought. “Kyle and I went out a couple of times when I was split up with my boyfriend. I got back together with my boyfriend months ago and I haven’t seen Kyle since. That’s really all there was…is to it.”
“You broke up with him?” Did I? I’ve never really been sure. I almost believed if he would have asked me to stay with him and forget Dylan that last time we talked, I would have.
“It was mutual. If you’ll excuse me, my fiancé is waiting.” I stepped into the stall and locked it. Then, I pressed my back into the door and stood there trying to get my breathing back under control. I had no idea what it was about Kyle…simply the mention of his name turned my insides to jelly. I’ve poured all of myself into my relationship with Dylan and most days, I don’t even think of Kyle anymore. But he must still live somewhere in my subconscious because almost every time I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, he’s there. The dreams aren’t always good. Sometimes, I re-lived the times we were together and other times my brain took me back to the time I saw him in the hospital…only instead of arranging therapy, I’m saying good bye. Sometimes I woke up short of breath and had to remind myself it was only a bad dream. Then, I would snuggle into Dylan and push Kyle back into my subconscious where he belonged. Knowing he was here in the flesh, though, was an entirely different story. It took me another ten minutes to get it together enough to walk out of the ladies room. As soon as I did, I came face to face with the object of both my nightmares…and my dreams.