Page 97 of Untamed
The term "turn back" is used to describe a bull that displays a bucking pattern in which he heads in one direction and then makes a sharp move in the opposite direction.
We leave Nashville that night and drive back to Grayer’s house. I thought for sure he would have told Haylee and me to leave after Nashville, but he doesn’t and invites me back to Decatur with him. He spends the next week in bed letting his ribs and back heal. Nothing’s broken, but tender, and he has some disc damage. Regardless, he refuses to tell me about it. Just says, “I’m fine. I’ve done worse before.” And by the cold restless stare he has, I leave it alone.
I take care of him, trying to make him comfortable, but he says to me with apprehension in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, unsure what he’s referring to.
“Like I’m your answer. I’m not.”
I don’t know what to make of him or his words and how he changed so quickly.
Britany keeps Wyatt with her since Grayer’s in no condition to take care of him, and I think being away from his son makes him more irritable.
He’s distant, distracted, and rarely in the mood for conversation. I even make him my macaroni and cheese only to have Ty drool over it and ask, “Can we keep her?”
I’m not sure what to make of it, but all Grayer says, with his expression as distant as his body, “You haven’t tried her peach cobbler yet.” His words, though sweet, don’t touch his eyes.
Feeling completely out of place, I can’t help but wonder if my presence is even welcome anymore. It all changed in Nashville and I don’t know how or why, other than his injury. I knew they got injured constantly. And more times than not, they hid their injuries, pulled their hat down tight and got on the next bull without a bat of an eyelash. Like now. Ty has a broken ankle, yet he tapes it up. Grayer, not counting the back injury, he has a complete tear of his MCL and he’s suffered two concussions already this year. And Reid, his wrist is broken in two spots, a partial ACL tear and a blown knee. Still rides. It’s their life and until now, I had no idea the sacrifices they make to do what they love.
It’s the night before he’s leaving for Thackerville for a two-night show and we’re in his room together. I’m not sure if he’s going to ask me to come with him, or tell me it’s time I leave.
Grayer says nothing but pats the side of the bed. I lie next to him, naked, and his look confuses me. He has that expression in his eyes that I can’t identify, but I know, deep down, it’s going to break my heart. He looks down at my hip, his thumb brushing over my skin and then he pulls me closer, his mouth finding mine.
I don’t understand his movements. They’re slow and gentle like he wants it to last, but strangely enough, there’s sadness in every touch.
Trying to forget the look in his eyes, I lower my lashes, loving the way his hands move over my skin. His hands shake slightly, and there’s a nervous edge to his creased brow.
He moves differently with me this time, his body hovering over mine, kissing deeper, letting me know something has changed. I’m afraid this is him saying goodbye.
I’m savoring the warmth and everything he’s giving to me and the way his mouth hardly ever parts from mine. I want to say something to him, tell him that I love him, but it just doesn’t seem like the right time or that he would want me to.
His hands tremble, moving from my hips to my face, cupping my cheeks. He presses his weight into my body and takes my breath with it.
“Maesyn,” he whispers, his lips urgent against mine as his movements speed. When he pulls back, his elbows now supporting his weight, his features are strangely determined. Like he’s trying to find the words to tell me something.
I’m not sure I want to hear it. Unnerved, tears burn my eyes.
Grayer turns the other way, never meeting my gaze when he sees that, his head falling against my shoulder. Neither one of us can hold back any longer as he throws himself into his movements. We both find our release at the same time. When his body collapses against mine, my arms wrap around him, never wanting to let go.
Exhaling heavily, he slides over my body and to my side. I close my eyes and breathe in deep, wondering what it was he was going to say.
What keeps going through my mind is that he saw those tears and he turned his head.
I know what he’s doing. He’s pushing me away.
It’s around one that morning when I wake up in his bed and the warmth of his body next to mine is gone.
Pulling on his shirt, I go looking for him and find him in the kitchen sitting on the floor with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
“Why are you here?” he asks, his voice low and rough. “What are you doing with me?”
“Because I want to be here with you, Grayer.” My words tremble.
He says nothing to that.
Nothing.
He looks at me for a moment, his mouth moving like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Not knowing what else to do, I sit down with him on the floor.
