“That target is you. Because you are a part of this. Whether you want to pretend otherwise or not.”
He lowered his gaze for a moment before he looked back up at me with sadness in his eyes. “I know I am. And I’m sorry you’re having to carry this alone.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t have you here, seeing me like this. I can’t handle your hands or your voice or your goddamn calmness that makes me want to scream.”
His breath caught, but he didn’t move. I pushed the heel of my palms into my eyes. I tried to breathe. Failed. Then it all spilled out.
“I can’t save this ranch,” I sobbed. “I can’t save anything. I don’t even know where to start. I’m drowning, Wyatt. I’m drowning, and Ray didn’t trust me enough to tell me how to save myself.”
The barn blurred. My lungs locked. I bent over at the waist, gulping for breath, my hands planted on my knees as if I could hold myself together through sheer force of will.
Wyatt took one step forward, then stopped, and he didn’t cross that invisible line. He stood just close enough that I could feel the heat of him in the air. Close enough that the silence between us throbbed with everything we wouldn’t say.
He didn’t speak or offer comfort. He just stayed. Solid. Quiet. Unmoving. Letting me be broken without trying to fix it. And that wrecked me more than anything else.
Sinking down against one of the stalls, I covered my face and sobbed until my throat felt shredded, until my ribs ached from the force of it. Until there was nothing left in me but shaking breaths and the sound of the barn settling around us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“You don’t need to be. Not for this.”
I shook my head, wiping my cheeks. “Please leave.”
For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t. Something flickered in his face, something raw and dangerous and tender all at once, something that made my breath stall in my chest.
But then he nodded, stepped back, and turned. Wyatt walked toward the barn door, and when he reached it, he paused. His voice came low. Rough. “You’re not drowning.”
I almost broke again.
But then he walked out into the fading light, and I let myhead fall back against the stall, shaking and alone, feeling the truth of it. No, I wasn’t drowning.
I was already underwater.
Fifteen
Wyatt
The barn door closed behind me with a soft thud that sounded too final. The sky outside dropped into that deep blue that comes right before full dark, and the first faint bit of night chill. I brushed the sweat off the back of my neck. I walked away from the barn slowly, giving her space even though every instinct I had told me not to leave her alone in that state.
The yard was quiet except for the low hum of insects rising out of the grass. The porch light blinked on as I passed. I didn’t look back. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep going.
I got in my truck and shut the door; my hands tightened on the steering wheel. I didn’t start the engine right away. I just sat there, staring out at the darkening fields, feeling like someone hollowed out my chest with a rusted shovel.
I shouldn’t have told her about the promise.
Not then.
Not like that.
But it had been the only truth I had left to give her, and she’d thrown it back like it burned her..
“Tessa,” I murmured to the empty cab, shaking my head. “You’re gonna break yourself before you let anyone help.”
The grief in her eyes had been deeper than anything she said. It lived under her words, tight and trembling, and it took everything in me not to reach out and steady her. She didn’t want that from me. She didn’t want anything from me. And that part hurt more than it should have.
I turned the key and let the engine rumble to life. The headlights swept across the yard, catching dust that drifted like tired ghosts in the air. I backed out slowly, gravel crunching under my tires, and made my way down the long drive that curved toward the main road.
Halfway down, movement caught my eye.
