Chapter 4: The full tea.
The restaurant patio baked under the midday sun, the wood of the picnic tables warm beneath Alysha’s palms. The air was thick with the scent of mesquite smoke from the pit and the sweet, cloying perfume of honeysuckle crawling up the fence. Around them, the lunch crowd of locals buzzed—ranchers debating cattle prices, construction workers wiping sweat from their brows. Alysha picked at her salad, her attention elsewhere.
Her phone lay face-up next to her iced tea. The screen displayed a photograph: an endless expanse of prairie under a sky blazing with orange, purple, and deep, fathomless blue. A single, dark silhouette of a windmill stood sentinel in the distance. Brandon’s Colorado sunset, sent last night. She kept touching the screen, zooming in on the colors as if she could feel the dry, high-altitude air.
“Earth to Alysha.” Tamika’s voice cut through her reverie. A French fry hovered near Tamika’s mouth. “You’ve checked that phone twelve times in ten minutes. We get it. The cowboy sent a pretty picture. Now we need the full, uncut, documentary breakdown. With footnotes.”
“Seriously,” Jess chimed in, leaning forward on her elbows. Her eyes were wide with anticipation. “You dropped a bomb yesterday and then left us hanging. Ten times? A man who looks like that and has the stamina of a marathoner? He sounds like a sweetheart and a stud. I need to live vicariously. My husband’s idea of a wild night is forgetting to put the cap on the toothpaste.”
Alysha smiled faintly, locking her phone. The sunset vanished, replaced by her own dim reflection. She took a long sip of tea, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the low, persistent hum in her veins. “There’s not much more to tell. We talked. We… connected. Then he left.”
“Connected,” Tamika repeated, dragging out the word. “Girl, you were welded. You had a physical aura yesterday. I’m surprised you didn’t short-circuit the neonatal monitors. But how do you even know him? That’s the part I can’t figure. You’re not exactly running in bull-riding circles.”
Alysha traced a bead of condensation down her glass. The chatter of the restaurant faded into a dull roar. The memory wasn’t just the motel room or the rodeo; it was older, softer, rooted in a different time. “I knew him a long time ago,” she said, her voice dropping. “When he was a boy.”
Jess’s fork clinked against her plate. “Shut up.”
“No way,” Tamika breathed. “How?”
“I worked at a daycare. The Sunnyside Center, back in Williamsburg. I was twenty-two, just out of nursing school, taking any job I could get.” Alysha’s gaze went distant, seeing the bright, chaotic playroom instead of the patio. “He was one of my kids. Seven years old when I started. A little white boy, sun-bleached hair, the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. He was… soft. Not weak. Just quiet. Sweet in a way that got beaten out of most boys by that age.”
She paused, a knot forming in her chest. “He’d always come in, hang his little backpack, and instead of running off, he’d walk right up to me. ‘Miss Alysha, how are you doing today?’ Every single morning. He’d tell me I looked pretty. Not in a creepy way, just… matter-of-fact. Like he was stating the sky was blue.”
“Aww,” Jess cooed, her hand over her heart.
“He was curious,” Alysha continued, a small smile touching her lips. “Genuinely curious. He’d ask me about my braids—how long it took, if it hurt. He’d hear a song on the radio and ask if it was ‘Black people music’ and then want me to explain all of it. He asked about Juneteenth before it was a federal holiday. Just this open, honest interest. No awkwardness.”
Tamika snorted. “Meanwhile, my nephew thinks Africa is a country.”
“But the other kids,” Alysha said, the smile fading. “They sensed he was different. He wore wranglers and little boots when everyone else had cartoon sneakers. He didn’t know the latest TV shows or video games. He knew how to mend a fence and birth a calf. And he could play the fiddle. His granddad taught him. He’d bring it in for show-and-tell, and they’d just… mock him. Call him a hillbilly, a farmer. A little posse of miniature assholes.”
She remembered the particular slump of his small shoulders, the way he’d hide the violin case behind his back.
“He’d just take it,” Alysha whispered. “He never fought back. He’d go sit in the book corner, behind the big beanbag chair where no one could see him. Sometimes I’d find him there, just crying these silent, exhausted tears. So lonely it was a physical thing, like a chill around him.”
Jess had stopped eating, her food forgotten.
“What did you do?” Tamika asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
Alysha shrugged. “What you do. I’d sit with him. Sometimes I’d just rub his head, run my fingers through that messy hair. He’d eventually get quiet, his breathing would slow, and he’d fall asleep right there, leaning against my side. His little head was so heavy.” She could almost feel the weight, the trust of it.
“Oh my god,” Jess murmured. “That’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He taught me chess,” Alysha said, laughing a little at the memory. “He was patient. Explained the knights, the bishops, the strategy. He was better than me, even at ten. We’d play during quiet time. It was our thing.” She looked down at her hands. “Then he turned thirteen. Aged out. His grandfather came and got him, took him back to the family ranch full-time. Colorado, I think it was, or maybe Nebraska then. He gave me a hug, said ‘Thank you, Miss Alysha,’ and that was it. I never saw him again. Not until last weekend, across a muddy field in Prince William.”
The table was quiet for a moment, the jukebox inside switching to a mournful steel guitar tune.
“So you went from rubbing his head to…” Tamika made a vague, explicit gesture with her hands.
“Don’t,” Alysha said, but there was no heat in it. She felt exposed, the two timelines—the tender boy and the intense man—colliding violently in the telling. “It’s not like that. It wasn’t some… planned thing. Seeing him as a man… it was a shock to my whole system. I didn’t even recognize him at first. Then he smiled, and it was the same smile. Just housed in a completely different reality.”
Jess dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin. “I’m not crying. It’s the barbecue smoke. That’s… that’s a lot. The lonely little fiddle player grew up to be that.”
“And now he texts you pictures of sunsets,” Tamika added, her shrewd eyes analyzing Alysha’s face. “And you’re sitting here a million miles away, looking at a photo of a dirt field like it’s the fucking Mona Lisa. You’re in deep, baby.”
Alysha didn’t deny it. She picked up her phone again, unlocking it. The sunset filled the screen, vibrant and lonely and beautiful. A piece of his world, sent to hers. She traced the silhouette of the windmill with her fingertip.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, more to herself than to them. “I think I might be.”
“I think I might be,” Alysha said, still looking at the phone.
“Okay, but rewind,” Jess insisted, waving her fork. “The mental jump is killing me. You saw this lonely little kid. Then you saw him at the rodeo. What flipped the switch in your head? What made you see the man and not the boy?”
Tamika nodded. “Yeah. Was it the chaps? Please say it was the chaps.”
Alysha set her phone down carefully. She tapped the screen, navigating past the sunset to her browser history. “It wasn’t just seeing him. It was seeing him do something. After he recognized me, we talked for a minute. He was stunned. Then he had to run to get ready for his ride.”
She found the link and slid the phone to the center of the table. “After he left, I looked him up. Just his name and ‘PBR.’ This was the first thing that came up.”
It was a three-minute composite video, likely from the sports network. The title read: Brandon Cross: Ranch-Bred Champion. Tamika and Jess leaned in, their heads close together.
The video opened not on a bull, but on a wide shot of a sprawling, mist-drenched cattle ranch at dawn. A figure on horseback cut through the herd, moving with a fluid economy that was obvious even on the small screen. The horse was an extension of his will, a subtle shift of weight directing a thousand pounds of muscle.
“That’s his place,” Alysha said quietly.
The scene jumped. Now he was in a shooting range, wearing protective glasses and headphones. He wasn’t just shooting; the pistols and rifles were parts of a swift, choreographed dance between his hands. Brass casings flew through the air in slow motion, and every shot hit the center of a distant target with a sound like rapid, definitive punctuation.
“Jesus,” Tamika muttered.
Another cut. He was in a dusty corral, on foot this time, wrestling a runaway calf to the ground. The strength in his shoulders and back was raw, functional, layered over a lean frame. He had the animal subdued and tagged in seconds, his movements efficient and utterly devoid of panic.
Then it shifted to the bull riding. This was the Brandon the public knew. The controlled violence of the ride, the eight seconds of transcendent focus, the dismount and the triumphant, hat-waving celebration. The video slowed to highlight his face during the ride—the pure, unadulterated concentration, the strain and the joy fused together.
Jess exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
That single word held a world of understanding. It wasn’t about attractiveness, though that was undeniable. It was about competence. A deep, unshakable mastery over several violent, chaotic realms. They saw it simultaneously. The boy she’d described couldn’t exist here. This man had been forged.
“So you watched this,” Tamika said, pushing the phone back toward Alysha. “And then what? You just waited for him?”
“I watched it about five times,” Alysha admitted, taking the phone. “My heart was pounding like I’d run a mile. Then I went and found him after his ride. He was by the chutes, talking to some other riders. He turned, and his eyes… they just lit up. Not like a celebrity being recognized. It was different. It was like I was the only person in that whole crowded, noisy place.”
She remembered the exact hue of his eyes in that moment, brighter than the arena lights. “He walked right over and just… hugged me. A real hug. Not a quick side-hug. He wrapped his arms around me and held on. And he waited. He always used to do that as a kid—he’d hug you and just stay there until you were the one to let go. He did the exact same thing. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest. And his face… he had this thick five o’clock shadow. When he was a boy, his cheeks were so smooth. Now his jawline felt like sandpaper against my temple.”
Jess fanned her face with a napkin. “Whew. Okay. The visual is strong.”
“He smelled like leather and sweat and dirt,” Alysha continued, the memory visceral. “His whole frame was just… solid. Filled out. Not in a gym-body way. In a ‘works sixteen hours a day’ way. It was like hugging a stone wall that gave you a gentle squeeze back. He was so polite. Asked if I was there with anyone, what I was doing. I told him about my disaster date. He just laughed, a low, warm sound, and said, ‘His loss is my incredible gain.’ Just like that.”
“Smooth,” Tamika conceded, a smirk playing on her lips. “Then he asked you out?”
“He asked if I was hungry. Said he knew a place. Not a fancy restaurant. He drove me to this bar about twenty minutes outside the town, in the middle of absolute nowhere. A real cowboy bar, wood so old it was black, sawdust on the floors.” Alysha’s tone shifted, becoming thoughtful. “I walked in and I… I just stopped. I was expecting a room full of guys who looked just like him.”
She paused, collecting the memory. “But it wasn’t. There were Black guys at the pool table. A group of Mexican vaqueros by the jukebox, laughing. Some Brazilian bull riders at the bar, their vests still on. A few older Native cowboys playing dominoes in the corner. And they were all talking, laughing, buying each other drinks. It wasn’t a performance. It was just… their place.”
“For real?” Jess asked, surprised.
“For real. And when Brandon walked in with me, this whole wave of shouts went up. ‘Champ!’ ‘’Bout time you showed up!’ Then they all saw me. This big, bald Black bartender with arms like tree trunks leaned over and yelled, ‘Well, hell, Cross. Finally decided to bring a lovely lady ’round instead of your ugly ass friends?’”
Tamika burst out laughing. “He did not.”
“He did. And Brandon just grinned, that boyish grin, and introduced me. ‘Everybody, this is Alysha. She’s a nurse. Behave.’ And they all just… nodded, tipped their hats, said ‘Ma’am.’ One of the Brazilian guys brought over two shots of cachaça without even asking. The bartender said, ‘Don’t worry, darlin’. No one cards the champ, but we always card the pretty ones.’ And he made a big show of squinting at my ID.”
Her friends laughed at the line.
“It wasn’t his phrase,” Alysha clarified, smiling. “It was the bartender’s, this guy named Delroy. But they made me feel at home. No one stared. No awkward questions. They just absorbed us into the noise. We took those shots, and a few more. They teased him mercilessly. Asked if he was finally settling down, if I was the one to tame the bull rider. Brandon just took it, his hand resting warm on the small of my back, not possessive, just… present.”
She could still taste the sharp, grassy burn of the liquor, feel the press of his fingers through her shirt.
“It was a culture shock,” Alysha said softly. “But in the best way. It felt like family. Rough, loud, unvarnished family. And he was so relaxed there, so completely himself. Not the champion. Just Brandon. Then a slower song came on the jukebox. A real country waltz.”
Alysha looked down at her hands, a shy smile spreading across her face. The bustle of the restaurant patio seemed to recede.
“He didn’t ask. He just stood up, held out his hand, and raised an eyebrow. Like it was a challenge. Or an invitation.” She paused, the memory glowing in her honey-brown eyes.
“And?” Jess prompted, breathless.
Alysha’s voice dropped to a near whisper, thick with the sweetness of the recollection.
“He danced with me.”
“He danced with me,” Alysha said, her voice softening. “And he wasn’t showing off. He was just… leading. He held me close, but not tight. Just enough so I could follow.”
She traced the rim of her iced tea glass, her gaze far away from the sunlit patio. “He’d look down at my feet, then back up into my eyes, checking I was okay. That look… it put me at ease and tied my stomach in knots all at once. Like I was safe, but also standing on the edge of a cliff.”
Jess sighed dramatically, resting her chin in her hand.
“He taught me to two-step properly,” Alysha continued, a genuine laugh breaking through. “Right there on the sawdust floor, with all those cowboys watching and not watching. We’d misstep, stumble, and just crack up. We kept dancing and drinking, and girl…” She shook her head, a wondering smile on her face. “I haven’t laughed that hard, for that long, in years.”
“The good kind of tired,” Tamika observed, a knowing tilt to her head.
“Then the song changed,” Alysha said, her tone shifting. “Something slow. A real waltz. He didn’t say a word. He just pulled me in, my head fitting right under his chin.”
She fell quiet for a moment, the memory warming her skin even under the noon sun. “I could feel him breathing. I could feel him… waiting. He was letting me decide. My brain just shut off. I didn’t think.”
“What did you do?” Jess whispered.
“I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on,” Alysha said. “He let out this breath, like he’d been holding it. Then he just settled in, his face nuzzling right into the side of my neck.”
Tamika fanned herself with a menu, her eyes closed in mock ecstasy. Jess mimed a slow, swooning collapse against the back of her chair.
“His hands were on my hips,” Alysha went on, her voice low and confidential. “Not grabbing. Just… holding me there. Like I wasn’t going anywhere unless he said so. The music was playing, but all I could hear was his breathing in my ear.”
She took a shaky sip of her tea. “And then it happened. I can’t even tell you if I leaned in or if he did. It was just… inevitable. That first kiss.”
Her friends were silent, waiting.
“It wasn’t like any first kiss I’ve ever had,” Alysha said, her expression turning serious. “It was slow. Deep. Like a conversation. He tasted like whiskey and smelled like that bar and the outside air. He had never, not for one second, made me feel like anything less than a prize he’d stumbled upon. The respect… the value he put on every second with me…”
She blinked, coming back to the present. She looked at Tamika, then at Jess, a blunt, surrendering honesty in her eyes.
“I ain’t gonna lie,” she said, her voice dropping to a rough whisper. “That boy charmed me right out of my pants, girl.”
For a beat, there was stunned silence. Then Tamika slapped the table, letting out a loud, cackling laugh that turned heads at nearby tables. Jess dissolved into giggles, covering her mouth with her napkin.
“I knew it!” Tamika howled, pointing a finger. “I called it! The ten-finger salute!”
Alysha just nodded, a blush heating her cheeks, letting their laughter rinse over her. It was out there now. The truth, crude and beautiful and terrifying. She’d been thoroughly, completely charmed.