“Uh-huh.”
“There wouldn’t,” I say, narrowing my eyes and pretending my body isn’t fighting a five-alarm fire.
I’ve had sex with Hartley, and Markie doesn’t know just how right she is. But I do, and that’s precisely why it can’t happen again. Because sex with other guys is just that—sex. But with Hartley, it’s messy. My brain has a terrible time extracting itself from my heart.
If we do this,if I marry Hartley, I can’t get it twisted. It can’t change anything. I can’t start wanting the real thing, because pretending to love Hartley feels survivable.
Actually loving him doesn’t.
CHAPTER
TEN
Hartley
The night sky is dark with a million silver stars sparkling overhead. In the distance, crickets sing and lightning bugs flicker here and there. The air is damp and cool. But it’s to be expected at two in the morning.
I press the balls of my bare feet against the porch, rocking the porch swing back and forth. It’s soothing my frazzled nerves. The beer helps that, too.
The shock has worn off as much as it can. I have a feeling that my world will never recalibrate after Lolly’s proposition. Regardless of what happens, today fundamentally changed my life.
I glance across the driveway, taking in my truck parked alone on the gravel. It’s never bothered me before. But tonight, it feels … lonely. Like something is missing. Like another car should be parked beside it, taking up space that was always meant for her.
“Dammit,” I breathe into the night. Guilt consumes me for wanting this, for hoping that this ruse of a marriage can come to fruition. “I’m a selfish bastard.”
I rock back again, harder this time, as a quiet ache stretches across my bare chest.
Mira’s face said it all this afternoon. There wasn’t hope there. Her pretty features were void of acceptance, or even a hint of possibility. She was panicked and looked to be feeling trapped—altogether unhappy. Likely in shock.
Can’t blame her for that. So was I.
But I can imagine her curled up next to me. I can hear her laughter rolling through the fields. I still as I think of Christmas with her, waking up next to her, and seeing her toothbrush next to mine.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted.Mira and the land.But to get one, I have to risk losing the other … even if it will ruin me in the end.
I take another pull of beer and stare into the night.
“The house and front fifty acres will be turned over to you, Mira, and you can do with it what you want. The rest of the property will be signed over to you, Hartley.”
“Why couldn’t she have just stopped there?” I ask the frogs croaking somewhere out of sight.
A swell of excitement rises in my chest as I consider the real possibility of bringing the rest of the Adler property back together. This time yesterday, I didn’t think there was an ice cube’s chance in hell that it could happen. Yet it’s within my grasp.
But feels further away than ever.
I sigh, thinking about Mira. I don’t have to ask her if she wants Lolly’s house or not. If I did ask her, she’d say she doesn’t know. But I know her. I know that woman’s heart. And beneath the sass and running shoes is a girl who hasn’t known how to grieve her parents’ death.
That’s why she runs.
That’s why she’ll never stop moving because stillness means feeling things she’s been outrunning for over half of her life.
My parents come to mind, and I feel the warmth that always surrounded them—the love and pride. They were always so proud of Gray and me, regardless of what we did. But I always wonder if they would’ve approved of the choices I’ve made. I didn’t have a roadmap for how to handle a ranch, a brother, and a personal life, and my choices seemed simple: keep our family legacy intact at the ranch and encourage Gray to follow his dreams … or sell the ranch and chase Mira. I bet Dad would appreciate the path I took. But I bet Mom wouldn’t be so happy about it.
Sometimes I think I’ve let them down in a bunch of ways. But if I could get this land back, that would be one thing I did right.
I slow the swing, my heart thumping.
The marriage between Mira and me would never be real, and I can’t imagine that would make my parents proud, either. Not to mention that there would always be a ticking clock over our heads, and I’d have to remind myself a million times a day that it’s all pretend. But I could do that. I could do it for a year—make the memories I’ve always wanted with her, just in case she never loves me enough to stay. At least I’d have that, and the land would survive.
