The rain is loud as it hits the metal roof of the trailer and I throw a pillow over my head in a useless attempt to block out the noise. Who am I kidding? Even without the rain, I wouldn’t be sleeping right now. My mind is spinning with thoughts of Dylan. The need in his eyes when he looked at me across the fence in Fury’s paddock earlier. How much I wanted to climb that fence, step into his arms, and press my body against his.
The thought causes heat to burn in my core. I close my eyes, my hand straying down to the waistband of my panties, fingers brushing over the fabric as I let those thoughts flood my mind.
I stroke my finger over the flimsy fabric covering my center, imagining it’s Dylan’s hand, his touch setting me on fire. I can almost feel his lips on my skin, the rough scrape of his beard. I imagine his hand sliding beneath the loose tee I’m wearing, reaching up?—
Cold water smacks my face, and my mind jolts back to reality. I gasp, and it has nothing to do with the images playing in my mind and everything to do with the second drop of water hitting my forehead.
“Are you kidding me?” I sit up, flicking on the light. My eyes adjust and I see the problem—my skylight has sprung a leak. The seal must have worn thin and now rainwater is forming tiny rivulets that drip onto my bed.
“Shit.” I throw the cover off and grab a bowl from the kitchenette. A second later, the sound of the rain hitting the bowl is even louder than the rain hitting the roof, each drop grating my nerves with everyplink-plink-plink. There’s no way I can sleep like this. Even if I could squeeze myself into Madison’s smaller fold-out bed, that dripping is already driving me insane.
I drag my hands through my hair, blowing an exhale through my lips. For a fleeting moment, I consider grabbing a blanket and trekking over to the ranch house. The back door will be unlocked like always, and I could crash on the couch. Mama is away in Dallas for the final pre-season Stormhawks game. I could be up early and out before Dylan even knows I was there. But I can almost hear Flic’s mocking voice in my head.Or you could, you know, actually talk to Dylan.
I roll my eyes at the thought. Sure, he’s been pulling his weight this week. But relying on him for the ranch work is one thing. Relying on him for me, that’s different. I don’t do that. I don’t need that. I can fix this problem myself.
I open the cupboard beneath the sink and pull out a trash bag and a roll of tape. If I’m going to have any hope of sleeping tonight, I need to stop the leak. I tug on my boots and throw a raincoat over my loose tee and panties. The thing barely covers the tops of my thighs, but it’ll do. I grab my flashlight and shove open the door.
The rain is colder than I expected, sharp needles that prick my bare legs as a gust of wind whips at the edges of my raincoat. I grab the ladder by the barn and lean it up against the trailer. With the trash bag in one hand and tape in the other, I ignore the nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me that climbingonto the roof in the middle of a rainstorm isn’t one of my finest ideas, and I start to climb.
This is fine. I’ve got this.
TWENTY-ONE
DYLAN
DYLAN:Watched the game. Great win.
DYLAN:Outlaws didn’t stand a chance against the Sullivan magic.
JAKE:Dragging Chase to the ranch for the weekend. Try not to get trampled before we get there.
CHASE:I want front row seats when you saddle Fury and he throws your ass in the dirt.
I never sleep when the rain comes down in sheets like this. The sound like a broken faucet, gushing like it’ll never stop. I think of Fury pacing his stall, hating the confinement. Just rain, I tell myself. No storm like there was the night Dad died. Still, the sound stirs memories I hate to think of and wish I could forget.
Eleven years old—I’d felt so grown up as I’d raced into the storm after my dad. The weather had turned in a heartbeat and the horses were still in the paddocks and needed to be brought into the barn. I charged into the rain with Jake, a year younger and a step behind me. We were soaked through in seconds,clothes clinging to our bodies. I was ice cold but determined as Dad led the first two horses through the barn doors. Then a streak of lightning lit the sky and I caught sight of the horses in the paddocks. They were spooked, galloping in circles, chasing each other. Jake and I were side by side as we reached the gate.
Now, my covers are off and I’m out of bed in seconds, needing to stop the next memory from replaying. The decision I made that night. The chain reaction it caused. Mama widowed. My brothers and I without the father we worshipped.
If only I’d?—
No!
I won’t go there.
I throw on a tee over my shorts and I’m down the stairs in seconds, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water and a bowl of cereal. I keep the lights off. No need to turn them on when I know every creak and dip of this ranch. So many nights I’ve tiptoed through the house, unable to sleep as a boy with the weight of grief and responsibility on my shoulders. Maybe no one gave me that responsibility—the feeling like I had to take care of my brothers, be a rock of support for Mama. But it was there nonetheless. Still is.
They’re the same silent steps I made after my ACL tear too, when I was right back in my childhood bedroom, the pain of my injury and the fear of my future keeping me from sleep.
Across the kitchen, Buck stirs from his bed, padding over to greet me. I bend down to pet him. “You enjoyed watching me fall on my ass today, didn’t you?”
I think of my brothers and the win they’ll be celebrating against the Dallas Outlaws tonight: 34-17, with Jake scoring two touchdowns. It’s their third and final pre-season game. Their third win. With Jake playing his best football and Chase as their quarterback, they’re heading into the season stronger than ever. The pain that I’m not with them is no longer a sharp sting. Morelike a dull ache—something I’m finding easier to ignore most days.
It makes me realize I need to talk to Izzy about my plans. But the last time we spoke about the future, Izzy told me she was leaving. She had another ranch offer. If I tell her I’m keeping the horses, giving the ranch a real chance, will she feel compelled to stay? It’s not just that I want her to stay. It’s that I want her to want it. And that’s the thought that has my head spinning and I go right on avoiding talking to her.
Coward!
I’m grabbing a glass and heading for the fridge when a flash of light at the window snags my attention. Lightning? No. If this were anything more than rain, Buck would be whimpering. He’s always hated storms. I step to the back door and peer into the night. The rain is still coming down in sheets. The barn is in darkness. Except there’s the flash of light again. Not lightning, but a flashlight. And Izzy.
