The words are a whispered prayer in my thoughts. A rock seems to form in my throat. I can’t swallow.He promised he was here for this ranch and for us.
“And selfishly,” Coach continues, “I’m looking at retiring in five, maybe six years. I want to know I’ve left the Stormhawks in good hands. This isn’t just a temporary gig, son. This is a future.”
Dylan exhales slowly. “That’s a fantastic offer…”
There’s no escaping the excitement in Dylan’s voice, which cuts into me as easily as a knife.
“But—” Dylan starts, hesitation thick in the air. I hold my breath.
Please remember your promise.
I trusted you!
“I know you’ve got something else going on now,” Coach cuts in, his tone gentler. “I’m not asking you to make a decision tonight. Take some time to think on it. Come by my office sometime before the season starts if you’re interested.”
“I will. Thanks, Coach.”
“You’re one of us, Dylan. We need you,” Coach says before ending the call.
The silence that follows feels like the moment before a storm—a stillness you can’t trust. Just like Dylan, I realize. I sit up slowly, watching Dylan’s broad shoulders tense, his phone still clutched in his hand. He’s facing away from me, but I don’t need to see his face to know what’s there.
Hope.
The same hope I’d been letting myself feel about this place. About us. In one phone call, everything is shifting under my feet, the ground no longer steady but quicksand I’m sinking into. A rush of anger scorches through me, and I let it in. Let it drown out the pain threatening to crack open my chest.
I punch the lamp on, already scanning the floor for my clothes. “I knew this would happen,” I bite out, jumping out of bed. “I fucking knew it.”
Dylan twists toward me, his brows drawn tight. “Izzy, hang on. I haven’t decided anything.”
“Right. Keep telling yourself that.” I reach for my clothes and dress fast. The space in this room is suddenly too small.
Dylan moves to standing. He’s naked apart from a pair of shorts, and even in this moment, I can’t drag my eyes away from the muscles of his chest. “Hey, just stop for one second, Izzy,” he pleads. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I bite back as I grab at the clothes I’ve left in Dylan’s room, bundling them in my arms. Hiding the tremor in my hands.
His jaw tightens. The walls close in. “You don’t get to push me away again and destroy us over one phone call,” he says. “Nothing has changed.”
I pause, drawing in a ragged breath. He’s right. Even in my anger I can see that. I’m about to walk away from something amazing because of one phone call. Dylan could turn it down. He could stay. He could still be mine.Don’t run!
And yet I have to ask: “How long have you known about the offer?”
Dylan’s expression shifts like he’s warring with himself. “Since Saturday.”
Something cracks inside me at his admission. “Saturday. The same night we slept together for the first time, and you knew then you were going to sell the horses and go back to football.”
“I told you, I haven’t decided anything. Mama mentioned there might be a coaching offer coming. I didn’t know anything about it or whether it was real until thirty seconds ago. Please, Izzy. Let’s talk about this.”
I force my feet to stay rooted and my voice to remain steady. “Answer me one question, Dylan. Are you going to meet with Coach?”
His hesitation is a thousand splinters, each one digging deeper. But I hold my breath, force myself to wait. To hear his answer.
“I…” He drags a hand through his hair before finally he looks at me. “Going for one meeting isn’t me turning my back on this place. It’s just one meeting.”
The trust shatters. Our relationship shatters. Everything disappears so fast it gives me whiplash. I stare at the man I’d let myself start to fall for. The open face. The scowl. Dark eyes I’ve lost myself in countless times. That strong body I thought had my back. None of it was real. I was just another part of his distraction. I can’t believe I fell for it.
I shake my head, my laugh harsh and broken. “You’ve been kidding yourself this entire time, Dylan.” I gesture toward the ranch beyond the window. “These horses were a drunken mistake. And you’ve done a really good job of pretending they mean something to you. Hey, you even fooled me for a minute there. But you’re still lying to yourself if you think taking this meeting isn’t choosing football over the ranch.”
“There might be a way to do both,” he replies, his voice sharp, desperate.
