“What,” I groan.
“Where the hell are you, son?” My father’s voice cuts through the fog in my skull, sharp and cold as wind. I pull the phone away from my ear, squinting at the screen. 9:47 a.m.
Fuck.
“Dad.” I push myself up to sit in bed, and the room spins for a second before settling into something that’s still too bright and too real. “I’m?—”
Where am I? I glance around. Floral bedspread that belongs in a grandmother’s guest room. Wood-paneled walls. A TV so old it still has knobs on the front.
Some motel. No idea which one or how I got here.
“Everyone’s already at the ranch,” my father continues, his Texas drawl doing nothing to soften the edge in his tone. “Photo shoot starts in an hour. You plannin’ on joining us, or should I tell the photographers to just work around the empty space where my son should be?”
I run a hand through my hair, greasy, needs washing, and try to piece together what the hell happened last night.
The bar. I was at The Rusty Spur. That part I remember. Drinking soda because today was a big day and I needed to be sharp. Someone was playing country music too loud. Carter and Kai were there, being their usual troublesome selves.
Then… nothing. Or not nothing, exactly. Flashes. A brawl at the bar of fists flying, someone’s head hitting a table. The back of a police car, maybe? And then…
Hazel eyes.
The image hits me out of nowhere, sharp and vivid despite everything else being foggy. Looking up at me with a mix of exasperation and something softer. Curly brown hair. A face that squeezed my chest.
And a scent.
Lemon zest. Honey. Wildflowers.
Even now, sitting in this shitty motel room with a head full of broken glass, I can almost smell it. Like the fragrance has been imprinted on my brain. Like it’s the one thing my body refused to let go of.
Who the fuck was she?
“Seth.” My father’s voice snaps me back. “You even listening to me?”
“Yeah.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. The floor tilts, then steadies. “I’m coming. Don’t worry about it.”
He scoffs. “That’s what you said last time. And the time before that.”
I don’t answer. There’s nothing to say that won’t start a fight, and I don’t have the energy for one right now.
The silence stretches. Then my father sighs—that long, disappointed exhale I’ve been hearing my whole life. “What were you thinking last night, boy?”
“I wasn’t drinking.”
“I don’t give a damn if you were or not. I had the sheriff show up this morning, telling me my son got into it with the town deputy. That you were arrested and spent half the night in a holding cell.” His voice rises, then drops to something colder. “And now they’re talking about pressing charges.”
I close my eyes. Flashes again—someone shoving me, fists connecting with bone, rolling on asphalt. The deputy. Right. Some asshole on a sidewalk who looked nothing like a cop.
What the hell happened?
“I didn’t start it,” I mutter, even though I’m not entirely sure that’s true.
“Don’t matter who did. What matters is how it looks.” I can hear him pacing, the creak of floorboards under his boots. “You want to be the face of Wildfire Star Rodeo? You want your name on the posters, your face in the ads? Then you need to damn well act like it. Not brawling in the streets like some dumb kid with something to prove.”
My jaw tightens. I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting copper. Someone got me good at some point—there’s a throb along my jawline that says I took at least one solid hit.
“I’ll handle it.”
My father lets the silence sit for a beat. “We got major sponsors lined up this year. Big money. The kind that keeps this whole operation running. And this town—” He makes a frustrated sound. “It’s been hit or miss for us. Profits aren’t what they used to be. I’ve been talking to Holden, the finance guy from the town’s committee, and he insists that we’re going tomake less this year than our last visit.” He sighs heavily. “Maybe moving the circuit to the next town over, Cedarstone, is the better solution. They have a real company running events, unlike this town, which leaves it to a bunch of volunteers. Cedarstone also have better facilities, bigger crowds, more?—”
