"I'll get it," Alexander's son, Wilder, cries out, jumping up and grabbing the receiver off the wall. "Hello, Cartwrights."
I glance at Willow again, but she won't look at me.
"Hold on a second, he's right here. Wyatt, phone for you," Wilder relays, holding the receiver out.
"Who's calling me here?" I glance at Jagger.
He shrugs.
"Maybe it's the police station," Willow mutters.
"Maybe it is," I retort, just to get under her skin, then grin at her.
She glares at me harder.
I push my chair back, rise, and go over to the phone. I grab it from Wilder and answer, "Hello?"
A gritty, old cowboy's voice comes across the line. But he doesn't just speak. His gravel-packed and sun-dried tone scrapes into my ear. It's the sound of dust-choked trails, too many cigarettes, and years of hollering over the wind.
It's a voice so ingrained in my memory that I sometimes hear it in my sleep. But now, there's a deeper rasp in his throat, like barbed wire dragging over pavement. Yet somehow, his low drawl stretches vowels like molasses on a cold morning.
Like always, when he talks, it's not just conversation. It's history. Grit spun into a voice born of broken bones, busted boots, and more regret than he'd ever admit.
It's been years since I've seen him, and after our last encounter, I never thought I'd speak to him again.
He booms, "Wyatt, I heard you made quite the commotion coming into town this time."
My chest tightens. Jax McCoy was clear he was finished with me. No more coaching. No more advice. No more bailing me out of the consequences of my bad decisions.
I turn toward the wall to avoid the stares of the Cartwrights, and quietly admit, "Surprised you're calling me."
He starts to chuckle but ends up coughing. I hold the phone several inches from my ear, cringing from the harsh sound.When he finally calms, he declares, "I think it's time we talked, son."
Son.
I used to be okay with him calling me that. Now, it turns my gut rancid. I stare at the crawling vine pattern on the wallpaper. My tone is as sour as my gut when I reply, "What about?"
I can hear his arrogant smile. "Best we speak of these things in person. Don't you think?"
My heart pounds hard against my chest. Besides Jacob, Jax was the closest thing I had to a father. But he was also my coach, and I disappointed him.
It wasn't just when he moved me to the Tennessee team that got us to where we now reside. Years of stirring up trouble, making bad decisions, and not listening to him, finally led him to release me from his teams.
But my years of looking for his approval are over. At least, I thought they were. Yet the slow boil of need perks in my stomach, and I loathe it almost as much as I hate Willow detesting me.
The Cartwrights always preached to forgive and forget, yet I've never been good at it. Whether I was right or wrong, Jax tossed me aside. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I didn't. But he knew I had nothing except riding and the Cartwrights, and he tried to take both of those things away from me.
Luckily, after he kicked me off his teams, the rival team in Tennessee was happy to sign me. But now I have nothing, and the last thing I want to do is go back to Jax with my tail between my legs.
He taunts, "What's wrong, son? Bull caught your voice in the dust?"
I clear my throat. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing for us to talk about."
"Ah, but there is. From what I hear, you've got nowhere to go. All the connections you made won't touch you."
The air grows thick around me. I growl, "You know nothing about my business, so stay out of it."
He chuckles. "Don't get your panties in a twist."
