“I’ll shower downstairs.” I turn for the door before I can change my mind.
I’m in the kitchen with two steaming mugs of cocoa when Izzy pads barefoot into the room. I glance up, ignoring the way my breath catches in my lungs at the sight of her. Her face is glowing, clean, and fresh. Her hair is damp, scooped behind her ears. She looks softer somehow. Younger, I think. The oversized tee and shorts I dug out for her are too big, but of course she still manages to make them look good. Or maybe that’s because my mind can’t stop wandering to what’s underneath—nothing but smooth skin and her perfect ass.
“Here.” I push a mug of cocoa toward her, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not on those long legs of hers.
She comes to lean against the counter beside me and takes the mug. “Thanks.” She hesitates, like she’s weighing her words, and then adds, “You were right. I was an idiot.”
I can’t stop the half-smile tugging at my lips. “Sorry, what did you say?”
She glares at me over the rim of her mug. “Shut up.”
“No, no.” I chuckle. “I just want to make sure I heard you. Izzy Brooks admitting she was wrong about something. This could be national news.”
“Very funny. And for your information, I’m wrong plenty.”
“Yeah, but how often do you admit it?”
Izzy makes a face. “About as often as you do.”
She’s got me there. I take a long sip of sugary warm cocoa. From his bed, Buck heaves out a sigh like he’s wondering why we’re still awake. It’s late, but I’m enjoying this softer version of Izzy. The one who can admit she’s wrong sometimes, the one wearing my clothes and nothing else. I gesture toward the table and Izzy nods, slipping onto the bench and tucking her legs under her, wrapping her hands around the mug like she’s soaking up every bit of warmth.
I rub my hand over my beard as I take the bench opposite. “I have to ask,” I say carefully, searching for the right tone. One that won’t immediately have Izzy throwing her walls back up. “What were you doing out there? And don’t just say you were fixing a leak. I mean, what possessed you to climb onto a roof in the middle of the night, in the rain?”
“I can look after myself.” Izzy’s tone hardens, but I swear I catch a flicker of vulnerability in her face. Enough to make me swallow my own retort.
“No one’s saying you can’t,” I reply carefully. “But there’s a difference between looking after yourself and being so stubborn you put your life in danger.”
She looks away. The tension in her shoulders eases. I can’t tell if she’s about to shut me down or open up. “Wow, this is really good cocoa,” she says, taking another long sip.
“Making cocoa is one of my superpowers,” I reply.
“How many superpowers have you got?” she teases, her brows arching.
“Don’t change the subject, Brooks.”
She drops the smile and sets the mug down, her fingers tracing the rim. “I fucked up,” she says, hesitating. “When I was sixteen, Hooper moved into our neighborhood and I fell madly in love with him. By eighteen, he was trying to make it as a country singer, and I was pregnant and dropping out of med school. I ignored every single one of the warnings my parents gave me. Turned out, Hooper wasn’t the man I thought he was. I was nineteen when Madison was born, still a kid myself.”
Her voice cracks a fraction, and I can see the rawness of what she’s telling me, how hard it must have been. Every part of me wants to reach out and take her hand or get up and scoop her into my arms, but I don’t want to interrupt her.
“I was completely alone with a newborn baby,” she continues. “It was terrifying. Hooper was… out a lot. Trying to make it as a singer, and avoiding us too, I think. Every second of every day I was solely responsible for this beautiful, innocent little girl. If I didn’t feed her or hug her or love her, then no one else would. I realized I had to do it. And I had to do the same for myself too.”
My chest tightens as I watch her. She’s so composed, but the weight of what she’s saying feels like it could crush me. Losing my dad was hell. Feeling responsible for my brothers. Being a rock for Mama. Watching her sell Dad’s horses. Then finding purpose in football. Every bad game. Every loss. And my injury, when it felt like my world ended. Through all of it—for my entire life—I’ve never been alone. I’ve always had Jake and Chase. Theymight not take much seriously, but I know I can count on them. And Mama too, who wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything and walk through fire to get to me if I needed her.
I can’t imagine raising a child alone now, let alone at nineteen. Being abandoned by the one person who should’ve had her back and not feeling like she belonged in her own family. That’s a whole different level of strength.
“Hooper and I fell apart real quick and I came back to Denver with Madison. My parents wanted to help, but I felt like I couldn’t let them. It was like… I had something to prove. I’ve always been the fuck-up. They weren’t even surprised when I got pregnant. It was like they’d been waiting for it to happen. Then Bill offered me a job as a ranch hand. Part-time, doing what I could while Mad slept, which wasn’t often to start with. Bill gave me a lifeline and I never wanted him to feel like I was a burden or make him regret the offer. So I worked hard. Did everything myself.” She stops, her fingers tightening around the mug.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” I say. “But you’ve raised one hell of a kid all by yourself, while also becoming a damn good ranch hand. You have nothing to prove anymore.”
Her face lights up at my encouragement, but she hesitates for a moment before murmuring, “Yeah, it’s just…”
“Hard to change,” I finish for her.
Izzy nods and suddenly it doesn’t feel like we’re talking about her past anymore.
The silence between us stretches out and I swear I can feel every unspoken thought passing between us. I’ve always thought I had Izzy figured out—stubborn, prickly, self-reliant—but now I see the cracks in her armor. She’s fierce and vulnerable, a walking contradiction. I have so many questions I want to ask her. I want to know everything. Every badass, sharp edge she has.
Izzy lifts her face, eyes defiant as they lock with mine, like she’s waiting for me to challenge her or argue, but I have nothing in that moment but sheer admiration.
