It’s him.
And just like that, the focus I worked so hard to build flickers, because no matter how far I ride, some things can’t be outrun.
"You're pushing too hard," Cash says, his voice low but edged.
I wipe my forehead with the hem of my shirt and still don't look at him. "I'm training."
"You're punishing yourself," he says, stepping closer. "That’s not the same thing."
I spin around, frustration prickling just beneath my skin. "And what would you know about it?"
His jaw tightens. "I know what running from something looks like."
"Then maybe you should look in the mirror." The words come out sharper than I mean, but I don't take them back.
Cash's eyes flare. "You think I’m hiding something?"
"Aren’t you? Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, you pull back. Every time I ask you to trust me, you give me that damn look like I’m just passing through."
He closes the distance between us, jaw clenched. "Because that’s what you said. You said you’d be here for a year, then what, Avery? You’re gone again?"
"Because I don’t know if I belong here yet!" My voice cracks. "I’m trying to figure it out, and you, You keep shutting me out."
The air between us buzzes, electric and bitter. My fists curl at my sides, and I feel the tight pull of breath in my chest.
My pulse pounds against my throat like it’s trying to escape. Every nerve stands on edge, caught between fight and flight, but I hold my ground, barely.
"I don’t want to get hurt," he says finally, voice quiet but intense.
"Neither do I," I whisper.
But it hangs there between us, this invisible wall built from pride and pain and a thousand words we haven’t said.
I cross my arms tightly. "And then there's Melissa. You and her, talking like nothing ever happened. Like I wasn't standing right there."
Cash freezes. "That wasn’t anything. You know that."
"Do I? Because from where I was standing, it felt like a punch to the gut."
He exhales hard. "Avery, Melissa means nothing to me. Whatever you think you saw, it wasn’t like that."
"Maybe. But it still hurt."
He takes a step back first.
"Good ride," he says, and then turns away.
The sound of his boots crunching across the gravel is the only thing keeping me from breaking.
Because what I want, more than anything, is for him to turn back.
But he doesn’t.
Not this time.
I watch him walk away, each step pounding like a gavel against everything that almost was. My fists clench at my sides, not from anger, but from this ache in my chest that won't stop gnawing at me.
Why does it always come back to this? Me, chasing someone who can’t give me what I need. Me, feeling like I’m not enough, or maybe too much, for the men in my life. First my dad, then Emmy’s father, and now Cash.
