Chapter 2: Pecan Pie and Unspoken Truths
The coffee was bitter and too hot, but Noah drank it anyway, welcoming the scalding distraction. He leaned against the porch railing, the weathered wood creaking under his weight. The sunrise was painting the pasture in streaks of orange and pale yellow, and the lone bay mare at the fence lifted her head, watching him with calm curiosity.
He couldn’t stop feeling it.
Not the bull ride—the ache in his ribs from the landing was a dull, familiar throb. No, it was the phantom pressure of Taichi Yagami’s arm under his hand. The slightness of him, the heat through the jersey fabric, the startled look in his warm brown eyes. It had been a simple, chivalrous gesture. Steady the stranger. That was all.
But his hand had lingered. And in that crowded, noisy place, for a heartbeat, everything else had gone quiet.
“Penny for ‘em.” The screen door slapped shut behind Dee Mae. She held two plates of last night’s pecan pie, the syrup glistening. “Though by the storm cloud over your head, they’re probably worth less.”
“Ain’t stormin’,” Noah muttered, accepting the plate.
“Bull.” She hopped up onto the railing beside him, her boots knocking against the wood. She took a huge bite of pie and studied him while she chewed. “It’s the soccer kid, isn’t it? The one you nearly bowled over.”
Noah stiffened. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Please. I saw you. You looked like someone hit you with a two-by-four. And not in the ‘oops, sorry’ way. In the ‘oh’ way.” She dragged out the vowel, making it sound obscene.
“You’re seein’ things, Dee.”
“I see you.” Her voice lost its teasing edge. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’ve got that look. The one you get when you’re fixin’ to do something stupid. Or something you really want. Usually it’s both.”
He stared out at the pasture, the peace of it feeling like a lie. This was his anchor—the land, the routines, the clear, uncomplicated rules of ranch work and rodeo. The other thing, the thing that whispered in his head when he saw a certain curve of a smile or the line of a back under a jersey, that was the storm. That was the chaos you couldn’t ride for eight seconds and walk away from.
“He’s just… different,” Noah finally said, the admission feeling dangerous.
“From the L.A. shuttle bus? Yeah, no kidding.” Dee licked syrup from her thumb. “He’s also painfully pretty and looks at you like you’re a math problem he’s trying not to solve.”
Noah’s heart gave a hard, single thump. “He does not.”
“He does. So. What’re you gonna do about it?”
“Nothin’. There’s nothin’ to do.” The words tasted like ash. “He’s a guy. I’m… me. It was just a look.”
Dee was silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft whicker of the horse and the rustle of the jasmine vine. “You remember when we were fourteen,” she said, her voice quiet now, “and Billy Cranshaw called me a tomboy freak for beating him in the calf tie?”
“I remember.” Noah’s jaw tightened at the memory. “I blacked his eye.”
“You did. And your daddy tanned your hide for fightin’, but you never said why you threw the punch. You never told him it was for me.” She looked at him, her green eyes serious. “I never forgot that. You carry secrets for people you care about. Maybe it’s time someone carried one for you.”
“Dee—”
“I’m just sayin’,” she interrupted, jumping down from the railing. “The rodeo team and the soccer team are supposed to be doin’ that dumb cross-training thing next week. ‘Building Athletic Community’ or whatever the hell the administration is callin’ it. Mostly it’s gonna be a bunch of posturin’ and sweat.”
She picked up his empty plate, stacking it on hers. “I’m on the committee. I need to… assign partners.” A slow, devious grin spread across her freckled face. “It’d be a shame if you, our star rider, got paired with someone who has zero clue about functional strength. Someone from a completely different athletic discipline. For the benefit of the whole program, of course.”
Noah stared at her. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’m doin’ it for the school, Noah. For team unity.” She shrugged, her expression all mock innocence. “It’s practically my civic duty.”
He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her it was a terrible idea, that it was playing with fire, that he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. The part of him that was constantly holding his breath, that monitored every glance and calibrated every tone, was screaming in warning.
But the other part, the part that remembered the shocking clarity of those eight seconds on Diablo—the part that had felt, for once, utterly clean of every other thought—was silent. And its silence was a roaring approval.
Dee saw the conflict on his face. Her grin softened into something knowing and kind. “Just think about it. Pie’s in the fridge if you want more.”
She disappeared back into the house, the screen door whispering shut behind her.
Noah stayed on the porch as the sun climbed higher, burning the dew off the grass. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. The university’s athlete portal was open. It would be easy to find a schedule. To see when and where the soccer team trained.
He didn’t search. He just held the phone, feeling its weight.
In the pasture, the bay mare tossed her head and trotted along the fence line, full of contained, graceful power. He envied her simple freedom. He thought of Taichi’s quiet observation, his polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A mask, just like Noah’s own easy grin.
Everything’s a game. Just different rules.
Noah put the phone back in his pocket, unfinished. The decision wasn’t made, but it was no longer unmade. It hung in the balance, like the moment before the chute gate swings open, when all that exists is the potential for a glorious, catastrophic ride.