I crawled fifteen hundred plus miles from where I grew up, and every inch of it was rough.
But it was so worth it.
Every minute I spent climbing to get away from that man and his poisoned legacy was fucking worth it.
Fact is, I hate Ace Gunner. Everything he stands for. Everything he is.
And I want nothing to do with him. I never did.
“I ain’t you,” I mutter under my breath.
Never will be.
But I’ve got his blood.
His name—because even though their affair was covered up my mother put his name on the birth certificate and named the bastard who was twice her age and seduced her during a summer job she took at his ranch.
God, I miss my mother. She died of ovarian cancer when I was just out of high school.
It’s the reason I left home and joined the military—before Ace could sink his claws into me. Because, let’s face it, money is attractive and prick that he is, he offered to take me home.
To have me live as a fucking ranch hand with his last name while his wife and legitimate children all lived in the big house like some fucking modern day Ewing clan.
Piece of shit.
It was real fucking nice of him, wasn’t it?
Sometimes, I worry I’ve got more of him in me than I care to admit.
Especially when I think about her.
My grip tightens on the railing.
She didn’t wait for me.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t stay.
Just vanished.
And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m better off—I don’t believe it.
Not even a little.
Because the truth is? If she walked up that driveway right now?
I don’t know if I’d tell her to leave.
Or if I’d drag her inside and demand answers I should’ve gotten three years ago.
Either way?
It wouldn’t be clean.
Wouldn’t be easy.
Wouldn’t be over.
