Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(33)
The rest of the trip is proving to be uneventful, however. We’ve been driving for almost eight hours with short stops to refuel and grab something to eat. I’ve offered to drive, but Rand’s refused. Not sure if it’s a macho, alpha thing, a gentlemanly thing, or maybe he just doesn’t trust me with his vehicle, but I’m not averse to riding shotgun as long as he’s not too tired.
It was my decision to drive versus fly, which is what Rand wanted to do. He felt the ten and a half hours it would take us to get there was a waste of time, and he’s right about that. But my money’s tight and it was cheaper to drive. I netted around $3300 from pawning my jewelry, which sucks since it was probably worth ten times that amount. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I have to ration my money carefully. This meant I could budget money for gas to Las Vegas, but not plane tickets. Rand offered to buy the air fare, but I shut that conversation down quickly. I also reminded him that I didn’t need him to go with me and that I was driving, and it was the end of the discussion. Except he did somehow convince me to take his Suburban rather than my small Mercedes, which would be more comfortable for Rand, and I felt that was a good compromise.
I smile over that word.
Compromise.
I’ve never been able to compromise with anyone before. It was flat out impossible with my mother, and with Samuel… well, there was no question I’d ever cross him.
But Rand has proven that he’ll listen to me and give my wishes consideration. While I could tell he wasn’t happy at all for me to be spending any of my meager money on this trip—and yes, he was incensed I only got $3300 for my jewelry—he also recognized it was important for me to be in control of how this was done.
I keep a running chatter of dialogue going so if nothing else we are semi-entertained. While I’ve intermittently put my feet up on the dashboard and other times curled them up under me in the big expanse of the Suburban’s front passenger seat, Rand has remained a gentleman the entire time. I’ve kept the conversation light because we have some serious shit waiting for us in Vegas, which would be taking our attention soon enough.
“What about your family?” I ask him because we’ve been talking about the friends he’s made over the years doing competitive skiing and how they became like a family because he was traveling so much.
Rand smiles while maintaining his concentration on the road. We’re on I-15 south with nothing but flat desert valley with shadowy mountains in the distances to look at. Sometimes, the monotony of the landscape can almost be hypnotizing, and not in a good way.
“My parents are still back in Vermont where I was raised in a little unincorporated village called Quechee. My dad is a full-time novelist—true crime stuff— and my mom teaches middle school.”
“No siblings?” I ask.
“Nope. Only child, and as such, I may have been doted on,” he says with a grin as he watches the interstate before him.
My heart squeezes in what I think might be a very brief moment of actual jealousy. In those few words… in that smile he has on his face right now, you can see the genuine love for his parents.
“Sounds nice,” I murmur as I glance out the passenger window at the desert landscape whizzing by.
“It was,” he says pointedly and with no shame for having an amazing family. I turn to look at him to find him staring at me, just briefly before turning his head back to the road. “My parents are great. They sacrificed a lot by sending me to Carrabassett Valley. Not only in the money it cost, but also because it essentially took their only son out of their lives. It was hard on them to let me pursue my dreams. We only got to see each other occasionally, mostly on holidays, even though my parents only lived about four hours away. But between school and training, there was never any free time.”
“They sound amazing.” Go away, jealousy. Rand is the type of man who deserves great parents.
“The most amazing,” he agrees. “When I started competing on a serious level, my dad started to travel with me because his job can really be done from anywhere. This, of course, took him away from my mom. So it wasn’t a conventional family relationship, but it worked for us.”
“Why live so far away from them?” I ask with curiosity.
Rand shrugs. “I don’t know. I love Vermont. Its beauty rivals Wyoming. Ton of skiing, my family’s there. Maybe one day, I’ll gravitate back that way, but for now, I have the freedom to travel and live where I want to. I guess until I figure out what I really want to do, I’m fine in Jackson.”
I wonder what it would be like to have that type of freedom. And I’m not just talking about financial freedom, as that’s clearly part of Rand’s ability to do what he wants. But to actually just take your time and figure out what you want in life. To have no pressures or worries hanging over your head.
To not have to constantly weigh pros and cons of every action you take, or to be forced into something just because your very livelihood would depend on it. Another flare of jealousy burns within my chest for a moment, but I squash it. Rand’s earned his right to have that type of life.
I haven’t.
Not yet, anyway.
“What about you?” he asks, and it takes a moment for the question to permeate. I turn slowly to look at him—that stunning profile of his—and I wish desperately he didn’t have his sunglasses on because I know that low afternoon desert sun would make his green eyes shimmer like spun glass, and he’d become an even more romantic hero than I was already building him up to be in my mind.