Текст книги "Fever dream"
Автор книги: Elsie Silver
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
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For anyone who’s always loved a bad boy in a pair of Wranglers. This one’s for us.
And for Ringo, the sweetest boy I ever did know and my best friend of thirteen years. You loved waking up early to write with me, so I suppose it’s only fitting that my new favorite book is also the last one I wrote with you at my side. Rest easy, little man.
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Dear Reader,
This book contains mature themes including a brief on-page scene of involuntary drugging and incapacitation. To ensure that the subject matter in this book has been handled with the care it deserves, a clinical therapist was hired as an early reader and consultant throughout the writing process. It is my hope that I have handled these topics with the care and attention they deserve.
xo,
Elsie
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CHAPTER 1
Emmett
EVEN A MANWHORE has to have some boundaries.
A line he won’t cross.
A thing he won’t say.
A reality show he has too much self-respect to sign up for.
“Georgia, the answer is still no.” I grumble the words without so much as looking up at the World Bull Riding Federation head of publicity. Instead, I focus on ripping off my gloves and trying not to overthink how fucking terrible my ride was tonight.
I’ve been a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit for years now. And I’m damn good at it—one of the best in the world. And yet that championship still eludes me.
And this season is slipping through my fingers too. Which means I’m really not in the mood for this conversation. Again.
“Emmett, you should consider it. Maybe just hear them out. They won’t stop calling.”
“Then quit answering.” I toss my black cowboy hat down onto the bench in the dressing room and then roll my shoulder. Tilting my head to the side, in a stretch. Hoping to ease the pain in my neck.
It doesn’t help. So I continue undressing, turning to the silver buckle at the top of my chaps.
This is not the first time she’s brought the Romance Ranch bachelor offer to me. And it’s also not the first time I’ve been irritated by the suggestion. I don’t want to become a reality TV star. I want to win my championship and retire to my family farm in Emerald Lake where I can dedicate myself to helping keep the business in the black.
Because that place is bleeding money. Living in the red.
“Listen, you’re not getting any younger. We both know that you haven’t got a lot of years left on this circuit or at the top of your game.”
My head snaps up and I arch an irritated brow at the blond woman in the navy pinstripe pantsuit.
I do know it, but it’s still a bold thing for her to say to my face. She only tilts her head and crosses her arms, though, like she’s daring me to disagree with her.
“You should cash in while you can. Offers like these won’t be handed out to you forever.”
My molars grind against each other as I work to unzip the sides of my black leather chaps. The white and red fringe gets tangled, only adding to my agitation. I cuss under my breath, finally ripping them free and dropping them to the ground in a pile.
“Thank you for the input. But please tell them they can fuck all the way off.”
I tear open the pearl snaps that line the front of my shirt and start on my jeans. Undressing quickly because I want nothing more than to get the hell away from this conversation and from this arena.
When Georgia doesn’t respond with her usual bullheaded gusto, I glance in her direction. Her eyes are trailing down my bare chest, pausing where my thumb has flicked open my jeans. “You should leave. This is the men’s dressing room and I need to change.”
Her red painted lips roll together before she meets my eyes. “I could stay.”
I blink, somewhat confused by the offer. Because been there. Done that. Got to live through all the drama that came with it when she was wounded over me not wanting more.
“Georgia—”
She blinks once. Her bottom lip pressing out just a little farther than the top. “You used to call me Georgie.”
“That was a onetime thing.”
Three years ago.
“Two times,” she clarifies, lips twisting in annoyance.
I wince. “Okay. A one-night thing then. I’m not trying to be rude but I think I was very clear that I don’t do—”
“Relationships. I know.”
Do you though? That’s what I want to ask her, because in the wake of our hookup she certainly got the wrong idea about where we were headed. It was a lapse in judgment that taught me a lot of harsh realities.
But I don’t have the energy to console her while she cries about how good we could have been together. Or to endure several months of being snubbed by someone who is supposed to be working on boosting my public image.
No, if the Georgia experience taught me anything it’s that setting expectations is very, very important.
Now I make sure I tell women first thing what they’re signing up for.
It’s very romantic.
“You deserve better than what I have to offer, Georgia. We have a good working relationship now, let’s not—”
She barks out a laugh, shaking her head in amusement as she turns to leave. “God, you are just as dead inside as ever.” Her hand wraps around the door handle as she goes to strut out of the locker room. But not before she glances back over her shoulder and tosses out, “They’re offering you five hundred K and your family a very generous additional daily rental fee so maybe get over yourself and think it through.”
The door clicks shut behind her but I continue staring at where she stood just moments before.
Five hundred K. Five hundred thousand?
Before I can think better of it I stride across the room and rip the door open, projecting my voice down the hallway to her back, “Okay, fine. One call!”
Because for that kind of money, my boundaries can be adjusted.
“You fucking what?”
Five sets of eyes stare at me, varying degrees of horror shining in their depths, as I wait for something more than my sister’s disbelieving reaction.
As usual, the farmhouse smells like bacon, syrup, and cinnamon, but where the table is usually full of chatter and laughter, it is currently dead quiet. It would appear that I’ve plunged our New Year’s Day breakfast into utter silence.
My oma and opa, Tina and Leon, look especially shaken. From across the massive rectangular table, they gape in my direction. Oma’s eyes, the same blue as mine, are wide and unblinking while my opa’s brown ones pierce straight through me.
Still not a word, so I turn to my sister Parker, seated on the bench beside me. She’s the responsible sibling; she’ll understand. Her hazel eyes look more concerned than anything, especially with the way she’s worrying her lip between her teeth.
From the head of the table, my brother, Evan, opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. But he clearly decides better and closes it, instead offering me a stunned shake of his head.
It’s only when I finally brave looking to the opposite end of the table at my youngest sister, Riley—the wild child—that I get any elaboration on her initial question.
Her green eyes sparkle with amusement from beneath her signature ball cap, and she… bursts out laughing.
I groan and close my eyes for a beat. Then I repeat what I’d announced to them mere moments ago. “I got asked to be the bachelor on a dating show, and I want to say yes. But I need your permission to host it here on the farm. They’ll pay you to rent it.”
My clarification only causes Riley to laugh harder, garnering a stern look from our oma before my sister makes any attempt to pull herself together.
To be fair, my photo probably pops up if you google the term ineligible bachelor.
But I decided with that much money on the line it would be worth at least hearing them out. They told me they wanted a well-known professional bull rider from the World Bull Riding Federation with a “face for TV.”
Apparently, Georgia had immediately recommended me. And once they did a little digging on me, they were relentless in their pursuit. They told me I’m perfect for this gig. They even felt the Canadian setting lent an “exotic air” to the show.
And now here I am, a WBRF cowboy with a decent face ready to pretend I’m looking to settle down with a carefully curated contestant.
Riley daintily wipes at her damp eyes and takes a deep, overdramatic breath before speaking again. Her face morphs into an expression of care and concern, and her voice is one you’d use when explaining something serious to a small child. “Em, I’m not sure that anyone has explained this to you, but when you go on a dating show, you actually have to date people. Not just fuck ’em and chuck ’em.”
My eyes roll, and Evan snickers from his spot before he adds, “You and your skill set may be more suited to sex work if you want to make extra money.”
“Evan Brandt!” Oma admonishes him to a round of snickers. We all know it’s for show. Tina Brandt may be in her seventies, but she’s no prude. In fact, she might be the spiciest one sitting at this table. She’s all fun and games, where Opa is all grumbly with a big, soft heart under his stoic exterior.
Raising us has kept her young. But running a farm has given her a weathered edge—her hair is snow white, and her skin has a leathery quality to it from hours spent outdoors. Her blue eyes, though? They smile.
Except now as she leans across the table, one sunspotted hand reaching for mine. I take it immediately because I’d never deny this woman a single thing.
Her bulbous knuckles bend, squeezing my fingers between hers, forcing me to meet her gaze. “When I told you we were strapped for cash this year, this is not what I expected you to do.”
I nod at that. I know she didn’t tell us over a family meal all those months ago to make us feel guilty. It was more of a general’s directive to the troops that we would need to batten down the hatches. Lend a hand when we could to keep this place afloat.
The cost of hay when running Stal Brandt, my grandparents’ sport horse breeding farm, is punishing. Especially with how relentlessly hot and dry our climate in the Cascade Valley has become. Veterinary bills, staffing, and utilities on top of that have made maintaining their family legacy and passion more of a hardship than ever.
It was when I’d overheard her and Opa discussing filing for bankruptcy or selling off some of the land—land that’s been in his family for generations—to make ends meet for a while longer, that I caved.
I couldn’t stomach it. Not after everything they’ve done for us—for me.
I was the black sheep. The half brother with the deadbeat dad. I haven’t always been easy to love, but they loved me anyway.
Through unimaginable tragedy. Through unimaginable heartbreak. They have loved me—all four of us really.
And they have sacrificed for us. I’m sure they never imagined having to raise all four of their grandchildren. But they have showed up every day for us anyway.
Which is why I’ll fight until my dying breath for the couple sitting across from me.
I squeeze my oma’s hand and offer her a terse smile. “I know you’d never expect me to do this, but they’ll host it here at the farm for a rental fee. It will only take six weeks to film, around July, so most of the foals should be on the ground by then. It’s offseason for me, so I’d be here anyway. What I make I’ll give over too. Take the pressure off for a bit.”
Guilt prickles at the back of my neck. Parker has been busy with classes at the university here in Emerald Lake. Evan is a farrier—the best hoof care specialist in the area—so he’s constantly busy and traveling several hours up and down the valley for appointments. And Riley? She has her eyes set on the Canadian Olympic show jumping team with our homebred mare, Hula Hoop. She’s training and competing almost constantly.
So basically, everyone in my family is working overtime to either make this place run or cement our family’s legacy. Except for me.
I’m off riding bulls. Something my dad, Carl Bush, has been pulling me away to do for years now. It started off as a way to spite my family and turned into the career I can’t envision my life without. I win my fair share of events as a professional now and have landed some nice sponsorship deals. I keep funneling my winnings into the farm. But it’s just never enough.
They need more money and more help. I wish I could provide both. But I haven’t figured out how yet. Which means the guilt of being on the road almost constantly from November through May eats me alive.
It’s my hope that being here for the summer and adding a nice windfall of cash to the farm’s accounts will be the help they need to keep it all going. It could be the thing that helps Riley make it to the Olympics. Hell, I’d settle for it meaning they can just take a few days off here and there.
“I think it’s very sweet of you, Emmett,” Parker says with a firm nod.
My lips twitch as I turn to watch her. She looks as though she’s weighed the merits of my plan and can see them clearly—her moral compass always points due north. Over the years she has undeniably identified herself as the middle child in this family. My sister is introspective, doting, and softhearted—if not a little on the chilly side. She’s also the family mediator. The one I’d go to for rational, tough-but-fair advice. If my plan makes sense to Parker, then it just plain makes sense.
“Is this one of those shows where you have to marry the girl at the end?” Opa’s gruff voice fills the glassed-in dining area. “Because I’m not sure I like that idea for you.”
“No. I don’t have to marry anyone. Just choose a winner.”
“What do they win?” Evan asks in a clearly mocking tone.
“Me? I guess?”
“You’re going to give them all participation trophies though, right?” Parker quips.
“Yeah, and by participation trophies she means dick—”
“Evan! For crying out loud. You’re like a wild animal that’s made it inside for the first time,” Oma scolds him, and I shoot him a mocking smirk.
“Are they going to be in the way?” Opa pipes up. “I don’t need a bunch of frilly city girls making more work for me than this place already is.”
Oma squeezes my hand as I turn my attention to him. “No, we’ll use the empty bunkhouse down the old driveway. Get it cleaned up. If we need to use the facilities here, I’ll make sure we get you a schedule. I’ll be in my log cottage over on that back quarter, so the farmhouse and stables stay clear of the crew. They told me they’re hiring a location consultant and that person will be in charge of choosing our spots for filming on the farm and elsewhere in the valley. I’m certain I can get you a meeting with them.”
He nods at that, satisfied with my explanation.
“And, Opa, if you don’t want me to do this, I will back out. Or tell them the farm isn’t available. But I just know ten grand a day for thirty days will do a lot of good for this place.”
For the second time today, I swear you could hear a pin drop.
And then… “Ten grand a day!” my grandparents exclaim in unison.
Based on their reaction, I should have led with that part. “Yes, that’s the fee they’re offering you for the rental. My payment is on top of that. And it’s something I plan to put back into the farm as well. It could secure us for years to come.”
My grandparents stare back at me through misty eyes.
“You officially have my blessing,” Opa grumbles in his typical fashion.
Another firm squeeze on my hand, but this one lasts longer. Oma grips me, her touch saying more than her words ever could.
“Only if this is something you are truly comfortable with,” she says carefully. Though I can tell by the expression on their faces that this is more money than they can reasonably turn down.
“I’m comfortable with it,” I assure them, forcing my mind not to wander down the path of how fucking embarrassing this will be and how much flack I’ll get once the guys on tour find out. Never mind what Carl will have to say about it. I definitely don’t want him catching wind of this until it’s all over.
But for my family? None of that matters.
“I’ve got the WBRF finals coming up. I need to kick Theo Silva’s Goody Two-shoes ass, and then I’ll be back. Even with the show, I plan to work in the morning and film in the afternoons.” I straighten as I say it. I’m nothing if not competitive, and I’ve got my eye on the prize this year. I know my days of professional riding are numbered. And I have every intention of going out with a bang.
“I have total faith in you, Em. If I think about it, you’ll excel in this role,” Riley muses while plucking a piece of crispy bacon off the serving plate and popping it into her mouth. “You’re a hard worker and you bring a lot of experience to the table when it comes to eliminating women from your love life.”
Not even Parker can hold back her giggle at that jab. It’s not a secret among us that I’m a commitmentphobe who constantly opts for the most casual, least attached option I can find.
“True.” Evan points at her. “But what I can’t wait for is watching him have to make conversation with them, pretending he’s interested. Or wine and dine them. Ooh!” His finger shoots up in the air. “Or meet their parents.”
He and Riley roar with laughter, and I roll my eyes. Those two constantly play off each other, so their teasing is nothing new. But as sadistic as Evan is, he’s not wrong. Just the thought of meeting a girl’s family could give me hives.
You’re in it for the money, I remind myself.
I peek back up at Oma and Opa, their faces etched with fondness as my idiot siblings volley back and forth all the humiliations they’re looking forward to seeing play out on TV. I know my grandparents love our Sunday breakfasts. All of us seated around this table, stuck with one another through better and through worse. It’s one of the traditions we’ve all worked to carry into adulthood as best we can. We may leave, but we always come back.
Even with all the shit-talk that gets doled out.
And in that spirit, Oma pats my hand and breaks the silence by hitting me with a killer one-two punch. “You kids are underestimating him. You’ll be wonderful, Em. And if it doesn’t work out, I agree with Evan that you’d make an excellent sex worker.”
Laughter erupts, and I groan before dropping my head into my hands.
“What?” She holds her hands up to either side in an innocent shrug. “I’m not oblivious to what you kids get up to. And just because I love you, that doesn’t mean I think you’re perfect.”
This. This is the level of offside, targeted humor I expect from my family. We are all imperfect, a little rough around the edges, but the Brandts? We’re thick as thieves.
Which is why I knew they’d all come around to supporting me in this. Convincing them wasn’t even too hard.
It’s convincing audiences I’m actually looking for love that will be the real challenge.
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CHAPTER 2
Julia
“JULES, I DID it!”
I grin out the window of the taxi as it weaves through the streets of Los Angeles. My brother, Theo, is pretty much always happy, but his joy after winning his second WBRF championship is infectious.
“I know you did, you fucking rock star. I watched online in my hotel room. Got a noise complaint from the people next door from cheering too loud,” I lie.
His deep chuckle filters through the phone. “You’d better not be making that up.”
“You’ll never know. I tried calling you, and you didn’t even bother answering, so I guess I know where your priorities lie. And they are clearly not with your little sister.”
He scoffs. “Says the girl who didn’t even make it there.”
I scoff back. I already explained to him I was starting my new job—one that requires me to spend a few weeks here in LA before heading back home to Emerald Lake.
Missing the start of this would be akin to shooting myself in the foot. Long, expensive years of schooling mean that being offered a dream job straight after graduating is a gift horse that I will not look in the mouth. Plus, I always make a point of showing up at as many of his events as my schedule allows. But there are a lot of them, and I leave it up to his wife, Winter, to follow him around on the road.
At any rate, he understood. Hell, he told me I’d better not skip out on this job opportunity just to watch him at finals—because that’s the kind of guy Theo is.
A good one.
But he’s still my big brother, which means he never gets a pass. Ever.
“I would have come. But I’ve already seen you win once before, and now it’s just kind of boring.”
What I don’t add is that watching him ride always stirs a bone-deep anxiety in me. Our dad died doing what Theo does, and while I wasn’t there to see it happen, I’m not oblivious to the risks. And my coping mechanism for that is avoidance.
Rodeos and me? We don’t mix.
Cowboys? I want nothing to do with them.
Theo barks out a laugh. “That’s funny. Almost as funny as Emmett Bush’s bitchy fucking face when I knocked him off his pedestal.”
I chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. Emmett’s reputation isn’t lost on me. The endless womanizing, the partying, the cocky, holier-than-thou attitude he portrays in the media. The petty, backhanded insults he fires at my brother and his friends while they’re on tour.
Where Theo is the living embodiment of a good guy, Emmett has the bad boy act down pat.
The problem is he’s not all bad.
He can’t be. He saved me. Or whatever. I hate the word saved when it comes to that whole situation. It’s more like… he was decent. He stepped in when he didn’t have to, and he was decent.
Not that I’ve run around singing his praises from the rooftops. In fact, I haven’t told a soul about that night, and I still think he’s generally an asshole.
But I find it hard to dislike him the way my brother does. I witnessed his act slip for a beat, and it’s left me wondering if he’s not as bad as Theo and his friends would have me believe. Square jaw, hawkish eyes, an arrogantly tipped chin… and a secret streak of morality?
“Keeping Emmett from winning may have been more satisfying than winning the entire thing,” Theo continues, a wistful tone taking over his voice.
Emmett has been a constant thorn in Theo’s side for years now. The guy who accrues just enough points to knock him out of contention but never enough to pull out the win for himself. Which I’m certain only worsens the chip on his shoulder.
“He couldn’t even congratulate me. Brushed past me with a playful shoulder punch that landed a little harder than necessary. Mom saw it and everything.”
“No one likes a sore loser,” I reply with a laugh, because while I don’t know Emmett that well, I can envision this moment vividly based on the times I have seen him and Theo interact.
But then I also know my brother. His enthusiasm is infectious. Unless of course he’s running around like an excited golden retriever, drooling and leaping and annoying everyone. So I wait a few beats before adding, “Or a sore winner, Theo.”
He groans, and I can envision him tipping his head back in frustration. “Jesus, Jules. Just let me be a petty bitch for a day. I won a second WBRF championship! That’s Hall of Fame type shit. Plus, Emmett left later with two girls. One under each arm, so I’m sure he found a way to deal with the embarrassment. And this is the thing I’ve been working toward all these years, through all the ups and downs. Everything since Dad.”
I blink a few times, willing away the dampness in my eyes as I stare at the palm trees flashing by through the window. Because it’s true. No one in the world deserves this more than my brother. He’s been through it these last couple of years. He faced injury, and his personal life was turned upside down. I know he’s worked his ass off to get back to where he is, so this moment is more than deserved.
Suddenly, I desperately wish that I’d been there to cheer him on. To see his dreams come true. Missing my brother hits me with a sharp pang. I’d pay good money to hug him right now. But instead, I settle on telling him something mushier than I normally would.
“I’m so proud of you, Thee. And Dad would be too.”
Butterflies riot in my chest. I’m seated at a large conference room table across from people who carry themselves with a level of importance that I could only wish to impersonate.
My hands are clammy, but I bet theirs aren’t.
In front of me, there’s a water bottle and a folded card that reads Julia Silva, Location Consultant, while other people’s titles include the terms Manager, Executive, and Senior.
I’m the newbie. The backup. The last-minute hire for someone who apparently found a better job and vacated this position. I literally went from production assistant at the studio to this gig, and only because I am somewhat qualified thanks to my master’s in film studies and an entire life spent in Emerald Lake, which is where they plan to film.
I am underqualified for this job—but that only adds to my motivation.
Some of them speak to each other, familiar as old friends. Others tap on their phone screens, and I’m confident they’re sending angry emails based on how hard the pads of their fingers slap their screens.
I feel like a kid at school who doesn’t want to get into trouble, so I wouldn’t dare pull out my phone. Instead, I sit nervously, offering weird flat smiles to anyone who makes eye contact with me.
Luckily, I’m put out of my misery when a man strides into the room like he owns the place. He looks to be in his early fifties, with tan—bordering on orange—skin and russet hair. I’m pretty sure he has professionally applied highlights in there too.
“All right, people.” He claps his hands as he rounds the table to stand at the head. “Let’s—” He stops, disgust twisting his features, and holds up a hand, silently requesting we wait.
I work overtime to school my features into a mask of boredom when inside I am screaming as he grimaces, reaches up to his teeth, and peels off a pair of whitening strips.
He strides away and tosses the slimy material into the garbage can in the corner of the conference room before returning to the table where he cracks open a water bottle, sips, and swishes thoroughly.
And then swallows.
When he smiles, his teeth almost blind me. “Right, where were we? This is Romance Ranch! My name is Richard Wadsworth. You’ve already heard of me, I’m sure. But for those of you who live under a rock or are new here, I am your executive producer, your showrunner, your visionary—hell, you can call me Daddy if you want to.”
He winks and then guffaws at his own joke, and I try not to wince. There’s a smattering of chuckles from around the room, but no one seems all that amused. Something that doesn’t deter him at all.
I silence the little voice inside my head that is drifting down a path in my brain where I wonder how much I’m going to hate this guy by the end of this project. It’s not the foot I want to start off on, so I take my opinions and shove them deep down inside where I can ignore them. This job is a huge win for a recent grad. And I will not fuck this up by rolling my eyes at the boss on day one.
No, siree, I am all business. All work and no play makes Julia a successful girl.
So I hunker down in my seat, leaning forward and crossing my arms on the table in order to appear as eager as I feel inside. I’m a good student, a hard worker, and endlessly professional. And that’s exactly how I want to appear as the newbie on this crew.
Richard launches into the premise of the show. One guy, ten women, twenty-four-hour footage over six weeks, and “all the drama you can dream up.”
His words, not mine.
“So let’s meet our suitor, shall we?” He swipes a remote off the table and clicks a button toward the projector. The machine whirs to life as the first image appears on the white screen behind him.
A man with broad shoulders fills the display. Above the bulk of his body is a rugged face. Square jaw, heavy brows, and an arrogantly tipped chin. Dusty blond hair. The type that was likely that bright, white blond when he was a child but has darkened with age. Brighter sun-bleached strands blend through the loose curls.
Loose curls that are artfully twisted over a set of piercing baby-blue eyes.
And unfortunately for me, I’d know that face anywhere.
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