“Bu—”
Charlie wasn’t having it, though. After saying goodbye to everyone and giving me one final, sympathetic smile, she led Cason out of the barn.
Cheyenne approached me slowly, her hands slightly splayed out at her sides, almost like she was trying to soothe me, but anticipating me spooking and running away like some wild animal. I didn’t blame her. Ifeltwild and out of control right now, but the sight spiked my anger.
“Mav.” Her bright gaze held me in place, worry and sadness and something else lurking there. “I’m so sorry about earlier, I—”
“Not right now.” I shookmy head.
I didn’t want to talk about earlier. I didn’t want to be around her at all, in fact. Not because I was angry with her—I wasn’t—but because I had years of pent-up rage roaring within me to be let out, and I didn’t want her to see it or get caught in the crossfire.
“We’ll talk later.”
A line of worry appeared between her brows as they knit together, her lips pursing. I could tell she wanted to argue—from her stance, to the stubborn set of her jaw—but after looking to Cash for silent reassurance, who gave her a single shake of his head, she finally sighed. “Alright. I’ll be at the house.”
She walked out of the barn without another word.
My gaze met Cash. “Thank you for that,” I murmured. There were so many times when I was grateful we were so close, this being a prime example.
Cash nodded, oddly quiet for someone who should be jumping for joy right now with what just went down.
“Take Chey home for me, please?” I asked.
Another nod as he started off for the barn doors, but not before stopping at my side, placing a hand on my shoulder, and meeting my gaze. “I’m proud of you.”
You’d think I’d won a championship buckle, not ended a toxic relationship. But his approval meant the world to me. I dipped my head in a nod.
I walked through the barn aisle to the opposite side and up the stairs leading to the workout room. My gaze fell on the punching bag, its mere presence a welcome sight. Settling before it, I finallyunleashed my rage. Let it pour out of me and into my hands as I punched and punched and punched ‘til my knuckles bled.
Chapter forty-three
Put Me In My Place
Cheyenne
Maverick didn’t get backuntil nearly midnight. I’d given up pacing on the front porch to raid the fridge in hopes of finding something to stress-eat, but it didn’t help. When that failed, I moved on to sulking in the tub until the water turned cold, to sitting on the front porch, to finally contemplating going out and finding him.
I heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel before his dark silhouette emerged from the foggy night like a wraith. Even from a distance, I could feel the weight of his stare.
Every inch of me went on alert as I took him in. There was something…different about him. Not wild. No, there wasn’t anything wild about Maverick, but there was somethingfreeabout him. Like a part of him had been locked up and caged, and now that cage had been opened.
I shivered.
He didn’t speak as he walked past the trucks and onto the pavement. He didn’t speak as he stopped before me, hooking a finger beneath my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze. Desire and want and need blazed in his eyes as his mouth hovered just inchesfrom mine. My body reacted on instinct, my heart fluttering in my chest and desire igniting low in my belly—I was helpless against him.
But then the sharp tang of blood filled my nose, and I pulled out of his grip, my gaze going to his hands. Blood coated his knuckles.
“What happened?” I asked, gently grabbing his hand and examining the broken skin.
He shrugged but made no attempt to move his hand out of my grasp. “I was workin’ out.”
My mind went to the punching bag in the gym above the hay loft. I reached for his other hand, unsurprised to find the flesh ripped open there too. Shaking my head, I looked up at him.
He offered me another shrug, finally pulling his hands away. “I’m fine.”
Grabbing one of his hands once more, I drew him to me needing the comfort of his familiar touch. “Maverick, I wanted to apologize for earl—”
“Chey, you don’t gotta.”
