Team roping’s not like bull riding—you don’t age out as fast. Plenty of guys stay in the game into their fifties, maybe longer. I never thought I’d be staring down the end this early. But sitting here, watching Dad drift back to sleep after just five minutes of talking, I realize what I thought would be a long career might be cut short by something I can’t control.
Family’s the most important thing to me. And I’ll take whatever time with Dad I can get.
Thou Shalt Not Fuck Thy Bro's Sister
Tripp
Iwas an idiot. How did I ever think I could have just a little bit of Quinn—that I’d be able to do this just once? I should've known once I had a piece of her, I’d want it all.
It was always going to be all or nothing. And after what went down in my hot tub,nothingwasn’t an option anymore.
I had come in my pants with some over-the-clothes grinding like a goddamn teenager. Last night, it had felt so good. Her soft, wet skin pressed against mine. I had wanted to offer myself up to Quinn on a silver platter.
But this morning?
The guiltis eating me alive.
What kind of son breaks the last promise he made to his dying father? It feels like the only thing I have left of him, and I’d clung to it these last five years.
Until Quinn.
All my self-control shattered when it came to her.
Now every minute feels heavier, like I’m carrying the weight of that broken promise on my back—a cross of shame for me to bear. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to work beside Wes all day with this gnawing at me.
That’s why I’m pulling into the driveway of my childhood home at four-thirty in the morning. Thirty-four years old and still desperate for my mom to tell me I’m not a disappointment.
Thankfully, the light is on, and I can see her shadowed figure moving in the kitchen through the fog that’s settled around Cottonwood Creek. I kill the ignition and march up to the porch, feeling like I’m walking toward my execution as cold mist spits at me.
Mom spots me through the window and gives me a soft smile, despite concern etching into her brows.
She greets me at the door. “Tripp, what in the world are you doing here at this hour?”
Whatever frayed piece of string was holding me together completely disintegrates, and the dam breaks. My jaw trembles, and I can’t hold back the flood of guilty tears, and Mom, bless her, doesn’t hesitate to wrap me in a hug. I inhale her cinnamon-and-clove scent, letting it ground me.
“Is it Vern?” she asks, worry creasing her forehead.
I shake my head, and she guides me into the kitchen, sitting me in a chair before she slides her mug of coffee to me. I crack a tear-filled smile when she tops it with some bourbon.
“What happened?”
“Sorry, Mom,” I say, wiping at the tears staining my cheeks. “I didn’t think I was gonna break down like this.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t apologize to me for having emotions, Tripp. Sit and drink. I’ll cook us up some breakfast, and maybe with some bacon and eggs in your belly, you’ll be ready to talk.”
She immediately gets to work at the stove, still in her flannel pajamas, and I do as she asks and drink. It warms me from the inside out. Perfect for the chill that’s in the air this morning.
Once my cup is half empty and the smell of bacon fills the kitchen, I draw in a shaky breath. My chest constricts. For a second, I think I can hear Dad’s laugh in the back of my mind—low and rough, filling this same kitchen.
The phantom sound guts me, leaving me feeling hollow. I stare down at my mug, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat, but it’s no use.
“I miss Dad,” I admit, my voice cracking.
Mom glances up from the pan, her face softening. She wipes her hands on a towel and crosses the kitchen, her hand landing on the back of my neck.
“I miss him too,” she says, voice gentle. “It’s not as hard now as it was at first, but some days are just plain brutal still.”
I nod, jaw tightening as I stare into my coffee. My throat burns, and I blink hard, but a few tears slip free anyway.
