“I know.” The words taste like ash. “I know that now.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her working through her emotions, trying to decide whether to keep fighting or just walk away.
“I hope it was worth it,” she says finally. “I hope your career is everything you hoped it would be.”
The door slams behind her with a finality that echoes through my chest. I watch her walk up to her front door, fumbling with her keys, and I have to grip the steering wheel to keep from going after her. I roll down the window and watch her go.
She looks back once, a million emotions in her eyes. Hurt. Anger. Something that might have been longing if I’m not imagining things.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, and then she’s gone.
I sit in her driveway for a long time after the porch light goes out, staring at her house and thinking about all the ways I fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that when my phone buzzes, it scares the shit out of me. I fish it out and look down.
Beau: Where are you? We’re supposed to meet Charlie at the Salt Lick.
Right. Beau wanted to celebrate
Jake: On my way.
But as I drive toward town, all I can think about is the way Willa felt in my arms. The way her scent made my Alpha melt with satisfaction. The way she looked at me, like I was both her everything and nothing.
For six years, I’ve been telling myself I made the right choice. Six years of convincing myself that walking away was the right choice.
But sitting here now, still hard from five minutes of having her on top of me, still reeling from the way she said my name like it hurt to utter it—I know I was wrong about everything.
The question is: What the hell am I going to do about it?
SEVEN
willa
The porch boardsare cold beneath me, the chill biting through my jeans despite the blanket around my shoulders. My work boots are untied, laces dragging in the frost that’s painted everything white and crystalline.
It’s barely six in the morning, and the sun is just starting to peek over the mountains, turning the sky from indigo to pink to gold.
I should be sleeping. After yesterday, I should be entitled to at least twelve more hours of unconsciousness.
But unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury today to hide. This is the final day of competition for this event, one day of load-outs, and then a four-day break before I’m back on the road and headed to Denver.
The end of the season is so close I can taste it.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, press the button, and turn it on. And I’m taken by surprise when it nearly vibrates out of my hand.
Twenty text messages. Nearly sixty-three notifications. But it’s Josie’s message that fills me with dread.
Josie: You need to see this.
I click the link she sent.
The post loads, and my heart stops.
@PBRNationOfficial:Pro bull rider Jake Dillon pulls a woman out of danger after she inadvertently ends up in the path of a startled bull during Saturday’s Sweet Creek Classic. Sources say no one was hurt—but fans can’t stop talking about this photo. #PBR #JakeDillon #CowboyRescue
The photo. Oh God, the photo.
It’s me. On all fours in the dirt. And Jake behind me, his body pressed against mine, his hands on my hips in a way that looks—that looks like?—
