Before I can stop him, Jake’s ripping my covers off and throwing them on the floor. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he says with a grin that I know—from the number of times I’ve hauled his ass out of fights—spells trouble.
“What the hell?” I growl. The sound of my own voice pounds in my head. “I could’ve been naked. Or had a woman in here.”
Jake snorts. “Please. You’ve spent the last two years celibate and sulking. The only thing in here is you and your pity party.” I don’t miss the amusement Harper is trying to hide or the wink he gives her. “You really don’t remember me carrying your sorry ass home from the bar last night, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
Jake’s deep chuckle echoes across the room. “Oh, Dyl,” he says. “You’ve always been the good one. Mr. Reliable. But when you fuck up, you do it monumentally. Now, get up before I dump a bucket of water on you.”
The water isn’t an empty threat. It was Mama’s go-to move for getting us out of bed when we overslept. But it was always Jake and Chase who got the water treatment. Never me. Jake’s right—I am the good one. Jake’s always been the one who lands himself in trouble, and Chase is the jokester who seems to bounce through life. They’ve been in more scrapes than I can count.
I pull myself up slowly, every movement causing another stab of pain from my hangover. Flashes of the night before hit me: The Hay Barn. Handing my keys to Flic. Telling her to keep the bourbon coming. The night is a blur, but I have a vague memory of kissing someone.
I look at Harper, already cringing. “I didn’t try to kiss you, did I?”
Harper’s laugh hits right between my pounding temples. “Do you think you’d be alive right now if you did?”
She makes a good point. As I search my fuzzy brain for more details of last night, I have a vague sense of singing my way to Jake’s truck, Harper with the keys to my truck, following behind. And underneath all of it, the hollow ache of why I was drinking my ass into oblivion in the first place. Coach Allen’s words rush back into my spinning head.
Your time playing for the Stormhawks is over.
Whatever emotions I tried to drown at the bar last night didn’t stay down. They rush back, feeling like another kick to the balls. I thought I could come back from my injury and prove everyone wrong.
I glance at Jake from the corner of my eye. Does he know? His comment about my “pity party” rattles in my head.
“Where’s Mama?” I ask, knowing I’ll have to face her at some point, surprised it’s not her dragging me out of bed.
It’s Harper who answers. “She’s at the press event for Chase. His first official event for the Stormhawks.”
Shit!It must be after ten in the morning. “I was supposed to be there.”
Jake steps to Harper’s side, throwing an arm over her shoulders. Hard to believe they once hated each other. “That’s the least of your worries right now, Dyl. I’m guessing you don’t remember buying something last night?”
The first prickles of unease begin to spread through me. I blink at Jake, trying to piece it together.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.” Jake laughs. “Get dressed and come downstairs. You’ve really fucked up this time, big brother.”
Swallowing down the nausea, I throw on a pair of jeans and yesterday’s shirt, ignoring the fact that it smells of bourbon and regret. Barefoot, I follow them down the stairs.
“Seriously, what did I buy?” I ask.
Jake opens the front door and I step outside, shielding my eyes to the bright morning light. Fuck, my head is killing me!
The ranch is… It’s the ranch. It’s my home. It’s the place I grew up. As always, the land stretches before me in a patchwork of fenced paddocks. Beyond them, the foothills rise, their rugged edges cutting into the sky. Deep green spruce trees grow to the far left, hiding the lake from view. And in the distance, theghostly peaks of the Rockies loom. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t for the chaos unfolding on the driveway.
There are trucks with their engines rumbling, and horse trailers parked side by side. Men in work boots and gloves lead horses into the paddocks. A bay mare snorts as she’s unloaded, her coat gleaming a rich chestnut. Her mane and tail ripple like black silk. Another horse follows. Then another and another. Each one more striking than the last.
“What the…?”
I scrunch up my eyes, realization washing over me in a crashing wave of nausea and dread.
Jake leans against the porch railing like he has all the time in the world. “You’re remembering now, aren’t you?”
If my head wasn’t pounding with the worst hangover of my life, I’d be kicking his ass right now. But all I can do is stare at the horses filling the paddocks as the memory of the bar last night slams into me: the bourbon, Bill Brooks, a contract on the bar.
“Tell me I didn’t,” I say, my voice a croak as I bury my head in my hands.
“Oh, you did.” Jake’s laugh is low and deep.
