“I think,” she muses, clearly chasing down a thought, “that you need to decide which universe you’d choose to be in right now. If you had a choice or magic universe-hopping skills. Life’s not a flip book, Jack. Eventually you have to pick one page. One place.”
She shrugs and returns her attention to her margarita. The light changes and people flood the crosswalk. It’s like a swarm of drunken salmon all battling to swim in opposite directions. I grunt and wrap an arm around Hazel when someone smashes his shoulder into her. I don’t want her to get hurt, not ever.
“I know.” I squeeze her shoulders gently, and not just because we’ve barely made it to the other side of the street unscathed. “But I just need to make sure that Molly’s okay, that she’s safe with this guy.”
“White knight,” Hazel says. “You’re the guy who marches into battle glued to the back of his horse.”
“So?”
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look out for the people in your life. It’s good to care, to be loyal.
“So maybe it’s not an accident Molly picked a guy who gets thrown off horses for a living.”
“Sticking is better.”
Hazel makes a noncommittal sound and applies herself to her margarita. It’s pretty clear what her position is on white-knighting. I mean, I know we’re not that kind of thing. We’re friends and partners. We’re fun and we’re each other’s benefit. But we’re not a couple, not for real. We’re not in a relationship and I don’t get to ride through her life, tilting at her monsters.
“Do you still love her?” Hazel laces her fingers through mine as she talks, tugging me toward the casino’s entrance.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t love love Molly—not anymore and maybe not for a long time. Feelings aren’t something I’m good at, if we’re being honest. For all the effort I put in with Molly, I still didn’t get it right. Rather than holding on like a cowboy, I went flying off and bit the ground.
“Jack?”
“No.” I try it out and realize it’s true. I have affection and regret, fondness and memories, but the bigger feelings are gone. Or more accurately, they’ve been redirected when I wasn’t looking.
Maybe those parallel universes can overlap this one; maybe one small sidestep and bam, you’re in unfamiliar familiar territory. Because there seems to be some alien place that I’ve just stumbled into, and it’s a place where maybe I have feelings for Hazel. Not love, not that way, not yet, but there’s more than a seed of something sprouting in my chest.
It turns out the rodeo after-party is open to anyone, so we don’t have to sneak, bribe or buy our way in. Hazel’s visibly disappointed. I’m not sure what her plan was. In addition to multiple cash bars, there’s a country band performing up onstage.
And dancing.
Lots and lots of dancing. Hundreds of would-be cowboys and cowgirls strut their stuff, boots thumping in rhythm, hands clapping. It takes me less than a minute to spot Molly and Evan in the thick of the dancing. He twirls her in a circle, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding her hand. He’s a cocky bastard, loose-limbed, confident. The asshole definitely knows what he’s doing out there. You’d never guess he got tossed off a horse an hour ago.
“That’s not a waltz,” Hazel hisses. Her elbow digs into my side.
“Agreed.” I’m not entirely sure what that particular dance number is called, although I’m clearly in the minority there. Everyone else on the dance floor is moving more or less together, heels tapping, hands clapping in bizarre synchronicity.
“I only know how to wedding waltz.”
“We’ll figure it out. Let’s go.”
Hazel has multiple sisters, all of whom I’ve watched get married. Honestly, I’m sort of a surrogate big brother for them. Not for Hazel, obviously—that would be gross—but I’ve pinch-hit as an usher, scooped up drunken bridesmaids and given my opinion on cakes, dresses and flowers. And, yes, waltzing was involved.
“Jack.” She whips out her phone and starts googling. “That’s not a waltz. So I. Don’t. Know. How. To. Do. It.”
Hazel’s fingers fly across the screen and I tilt my head so I can see her search results. “We’re going to learn to dance by watching YouTube? Before they shut this party down?”
“Yes! Maybe.”
Hazel angry-glares at the screen, where a cowboy and cowgirl are dancing up a storm. She slows down the video. Rewinds. I don’t think there’s enough time to execute this particular plan.
I pluck the phone out of her hand and shove it in my back pocket. “We’ll improvise. Or copy the people next to us. Come on.”
“I’m going to suck, Jack,” she growls. “You’ll rock this. It’s practically a sport. I, however, am going to look like an uncoordinated idiot and I don’t want to. You always have a plan—make one up now. A good one,” she adds.
I watch the dancers for a second. It doesn’t look like rocket science. “Come on. Wing it with me.”
“Jack. No.”
“Trust me.”
I grab her hand and tow her out onto the dance floor. Based on where we start and what seem to be the rules of this particular dance, we should intersect with Evan and Molly shortly.
I come to several conclusions in the next five minutes. First, Hazel is a bad two-stepper. Second, I’m even worse. Third, cowboys are really good sports. We bumble our way through the steps, careening around our line. We’re still laughing when I twirl Hazel around and come face-to-face with Molly. Okay. Face-to-top-of-her-head. She’s laughing, too, pulling Evan closer, and then she looks up and spies me.
Yeah. The laughter vanishes from her face.
“Can we talk?”
She leans up and says something to Evan that I don’t catch. He nods, then he’s holding his hand out to Hazel. Somehow I always thought partner swapping would be sexier. I lead Molly off the dance
