He doesn't know I ended things to protect him, to save him from the kind of humiliation that would have destroyed him.
And I've made damn sure he never will.
The fire pops and settles, sending sparks spiraling up the chimney.
Outside, coyotes call in the distance. A lonesome sound that carries through the valley like ghosts reaching across the darkness.
This is my reality now. This house, this land, this deliberately chosen isolation. It's what I accepted when I walked away from the best friendship I'd ever known.
The cost of preserving Colt's illusions, of allowing him to hate me rather than discover the truth about the woman we both loved.
Some days I believe it was worth the sacrifice.
Other days, I pour whiskey and wonder if I'm simply a coward who chose the path of least resistance. Tonight feels like the latter.
Myphone buzzes again, and against my better judgment, I pick it up.
P.S. - He's been asking for you. Dogs know when their people are worried. You could visit tomorrow if you want. I promise Dr. Mercer won't bite. Much. - L
The smile that pulls at my mouth is entirely involuntary. There's humor in that message, warmth, the kind of gentle teasing that suggests she sees through my carefully constructed barriers to something worth her attention.
She's dangerous, this Lucy Reid.
Dangerous in the way she makes me crave things I forfeited the right to desire. I should delete this message as well. Should block her number and establish clear boundaries.
Professional updates only. No personal observations. No attempts at humor or connection.
Instead, I find myself reading it again.
He's been asking for you.
Dusty has always been attuned to my moods, has always sensed when the weight of this ranch and the Blackwell legacy becomes too much to bear alone.
When I'd return home exhausted from calving season or repairing irrigation lines in brutal weather, or from board meetings where accountants questioned every expense, he'd follow me to this study and settle at my feet while I worked through the numbers.
A steady, faithful companion who demanded nothing but provided everything.
Like everything else I've sacrificed along the way.
The snap of the fire fills the silence between heartbeats, between thoughts, between all the words I should have spoken and never will. The whiskey burns warm in my stomach, the leather chair cradles my shoulders, but none of it reaches the cold that's settled in my chest these past two years.
The problem with playing the villain in someone else's story is that eventually you start believing the role. Start thinking maybe you deserve the isolation, the deliberate distance you keep from anything that could matter.
Until a woman with fierce brown eyes and reckless courage shows you there might be other ways to exist.
I pick up my phone again, thumb poised over the keyboard. What could I possibly say?
Thank you for the update?
Thank you for standing your ground when I was acting like a complete bastard?
Thank you for seeing through the wall I've built to whatever remains underneath?
Thank you for reminding me what it feels like to be human?
The cursor blinks, expectant.
Outside, wind gusts against the windows, sending pine branches scraping against the house like claws seeking entry.
