He had asked me to stay near the sponsor tables, hand out raffle tickets, smile at the kids in Santa hats. Normal things. Safe things.
But normal felt thin tonight. Too easy to tear.
Maybe it was the quiet moments between events—the seconds when the crowd noise dipped and my brain filled thesilence with every sound that didn’t belong. A boot scrape behind me. A voice that lingered too close. A shadow shifting in my peripheral vision that vanished when I turned.
I told myself it was nerves. The last few days had been good, almost peaceful, and I didn’t trust peace anymore.
A kid brushed past, spilling popcorn across the concrete. I bent down to help him scoop it up, smiling even though my chest felt tight enough to crack.
“Sorry, Miss Kristin,” he said, eyes wide and guilty.
“You’re fine, bud. Go catch Santa before he runs off.”
He grinned and bolted, his little boots slapping against the concrete as he disappeared into the crowd. I dusted my hands, forcing a breath through the knot in my throat. The air smelled like sweat, sugar, and snow carried in on people’s coats.
Linc’s voice came over the intercom—steady and low, giving updates between events. Just hearing it helped. He was here. He was always here.
The bronc riders thundered out next, horses bursting from the chutes, hooves slamming against packed dirt. The crowd roared, the sound so loud it rattled the panels behind me. I clapped along, half watching the riders, half searching the far side of the arena for him.
When I finally found him near the gate, he was already looking at me. Just a glance across the chaos, but it steadied me.
He touched the brim of his hat in that subtle way that said I’ve got you.
I tried to smile back, even though my stomach was still twisting.
By the time the team roping started, the place was packed shoulder to shoulder. The bleachers shimmered with winter coats and flashing phones. Holiday music blared between runs—country covers of Christmas songs played too loud through thespeakers—and the announcer’s cheerful banter rolled over it all like static.
I kept myself busy, refilling coffee urns, collecting empty cups, wiping down tables. Anything to keep moving. The heat from all those bodies pressed against me, too warm for December, while cold air leaked through the side doors in sharp bursts. The smell of cinnamon and hay mixed with the metallic scent of the arena dust, and my skin prickled from the contrast.
When I leaned down to toss a stack of cups into the trash bin, a voice brushed close to my ear.
“Didn’t think you’d still be around here, sweetheart.”
I froze.
Every nerve in my body recognized that voice before my mind could form the thought.
I straightened slowly, my pulse hammering. The crowd moved like water, people jostling past, laughter and music crashing together in waves. A few cowboys leaned against the rail behind me, talking about the next event. A woman called her kid. Nothing out of place—except me.
My pulse was pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything else.
No. It couldn’t be. Josh was dead. How could he have made it off the floor of that trailer? My hands were shaking and my mind reeling.
I told myself it was just a memory. Too many sleepless nights replaying his voice, too many shadows pretending to be him. But then I heard it again, closer, lower.
“You got all dressed up for me?”
My stomach dropped.
I turned fast, eyes sweeping the bodies at the rail. And there he was.
Josh.
Alive. Smiling.
The same crooked grin that had once seemed charming before it turned into something mean.
He had shaved the beard he’d worn last time I’d seen him, but there was a scar near his temple—the one Linc had given him the night he dragged me out of that truck. The scar that had ended everything.
