And the feelings I’m feelin’ with her? I ain’t never felt ‘em before.
Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She shifts, pulls it out without thinking, but the second she reads the screen, she gasps.
“Shit.”
The one word puts me on high alert. My body straightens. Every part of me goes still.
She covers her mouth with one hand, eyes locked on the message like it might explode. “I can’t believe him,” she hisses, more to herself than to me.
Then she’s moving—pushing through the swingingdoor, straight back into the bar like she forgot I was even there.
I follow, confused, on edge.
And that’s when I see him.
Some man who looks like he took a wrong turn off Wall Street. Crisp suit, expensive shoes, the kind of haircut you don’t get around here unless you drive two hours and tip a few hundred. Whole bar is looking his way—he’s out of place, overdressed, and way too deep into cowboy country.
twenty-five
Sawyer
He's here.
In another world—one where fate didn't have an evil sense of humor—this would be romantic. This should be the moment I leap into his arms, and he dips me into one of those kisses that stops time, that spins us off into a happily ever after written in the stars.
But those aren't the lemons life handed me.
I keep my feet planted on the floor and barely get the words out. "What are you doing here?"
"It's great to see you too, Sawyer.”
Trouble’s right behind me, but his eyes are locked on Harrison. Harrison stares right back. The silence stretches—tight, electric—until finally, Harrison sticks out a hand.
“I’m Harrison.”
Trouble doesn’t move. Doesn’t shake. Just lifts his drink, takes a slow sip, and looks him dead in the eye.
Cool. Calm. Deadly.
Then he turns to me. “I’ll be right over there,” he says, voice low and rough. A promise and a threat, all in one.
And just like that, he walks off to a corner of the bar with his brothers.
My stomach twists. The sight of Harrison hits me the way it used to for a moment—the pull of the familiar, the gravity of a man I once thought I knew. Old habits, old feelings, they don’t just vanish. And I hate that a part of me still wonders if I miss it… or if I just miss the person I was before he broke me. And Trouble is right over there. Somehow that makes it all worse—because standing here, caught between what was and what might be, I don’t know which direction could hurt me more.
I can almost feel the city clinging to Harrison—the scent of asphalt after rain, the echo of car horns. He brings the rush of traffic and the gleam of skyscrapers into this small-town sanctuary. The neon sign of the bar flickers as I take a step back.
"I can’t have one vacation? Just one," I spit out, still processing. "You blowing up my phone isn’t enough? You had to show up in person? I'm surprised you didn’t take one look around this town and turn back."
"You haven't responded in days, Sawyer," he says. His tone is almost... desperate? Concerned? It's hard to tell with him; emotions are just another accessory he can adjust like his tie. "So I came."
"Can't say I appreciate the sentiment.”
Honey, her arms crossed over her chest, leans against the polished wood of the bar. "Well, no shit. If it isn't cheater boy himself," she announces, loud enough to make the drunk man asleep on the bartop twitch.
I wait for his reaction. His face gives away nothing. Around us, the locals exchange glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and judgment. They watch him, this man from another world.
"Sawyer," he begins, "can we go somewhere and talk?"
