A hard laugh escapes my throat, bitter and sharp. I bend to pick up a dropped rein, but my hands shake.
“I don’t need him,” I whisper to no one in particular.
But it doesn’t feel strong enough. Not loud enough. So I straighten, chest heaving, and say it louder, like I’m trying to exorcise the ghost of what just happened.
“I don’t need him!” The words tear out of me like a battle cry, echoing off the barn walls.
Harper rounds the corner just then, half-covered in dust and holding a scrub brush. Her brows lift, eyes wide as she freezes.
“Damn,” she mutters, setting the brush down. “Should I come back, or...?”
I huff, brushing past her toward the house. “No need. I’m just done being jerked around by cowboys who think brooding is a personality.”
She jogs after me, expression unreadable. “Avery.”
“I mean it,” I say, turning to face her. “I’ve got a daughter. A ranch to fix. A life to rebuild. I don’t have time for someone who treats trust like it’s a landmine.”
Harper watches me carefully, then nods. “Well, okay then. You swear you don’t need him?”
“Swear it.”
She smirks. “Then I guess I’ll cancel the emergency ice cream and tequila stash.”
I groan, half laughing, half ready to crumble. “Actually...maybe just hold it. Just in case. Because even if I’m done with him, that doesn’t mean the ache disappears overnight.
It doesn’t mean I stop hoping, just a little, that he’ll fight for me the way I’ve fought for everything else in my life. But until then, I need something sweet and something strong to remind me I can stand on my own.”
Chapter eleven
Rodeo Nights & Reckless Choices
Cash
The rodeo grounds smell like fried dough, manure, and competition, all tangled up in a haze of dust and nostalgia. The air buzzes with the whinny of horses, the clang of gates, and the distant thump of country music pumping from the loudspeakers.
Kids squeal with laughter, announcers bark into the mic, and boots crunch over gravel and hay. It’s the kind of chaos I usually thrive in. But not tonight. Not with Avery here. Not when every inch of space feels too damn small.
She’s ahead of me in line for funnel cake, laughing at something Harper said, and all I can focus on is how close she’s standing to the guy at the booth. Too close. My fists clench around the Styrofoam cup of Dr Pepper I’m holding, condensation slick beneath my fingers.
We all came together, Emmy, Harper, and a couple of the ranch hands I brought along to make it a "group thing." Safety in numbers or whatever. But somehow,I keep ending up next to Avery, like fate thinks it’s funny to shove us into every confined space available.
“Y’all look like a divorced couple trying to split visitation at a county fair,” Harper quips as we all squeeze into the bleachers.
Avery doesn’t even glance at me. Just mutters something about popcorn and takes a seat two spaces down. Emmy plops between us, her little legs swinging over the edge, cotton candy in hand. I should be relieved. But I’m not.
Emmy looks up at me, her cheeks smeared with sugar and excitement. “Cash, did you see the pony with the sparkly saddle?”
I smile despite myself. “I missed it. Was it pink and glittery?”
She nods so hard her curls bounce. “Yes! And it had a braid just like mine!”
Avery glances over, surprised, as Emmy leans against my side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I offer her the rest of my Dr Pepper. She takes a sip, scrunches her nose, and giggles. “Tastes like bubbles and syrup.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease, reaching over to ruffle her hair.
She beams, and something in my chest gives way. Damn kid’s got me wrapped tighter than a lassoed calf. It hits me in a way I’m not ready for, the ease with which she trusts me, the way her smile makes the rest of the world fade. I never saw myself as the settling-down type, but one look at Emmy, and suddenly, that kind of life doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
Forced proximity is supposed to be tolerable. Bearable. But being this close to her after everything? It’s like trying to hold your breath through a wildfire.
