"None of this is fair." He turns to face me fully. "You left me. You broke me. You ignored every message I sent for six years. Then you show up in my town, investigating my family, telling me you’re fuckin’ another guy, and I have to sit here and pretend my chest isn't caving in."
His voice doesn't crack. But that pain in there is real. And my fault. And I don’t even try to correct him.
"So no, Harper. None of this is fair. But I'm still here. I'm always fuckin' here. And you know why."
I do know why. That's the problem. That's always been the problem. Because the answer to every question about Ace Sterling is the same answer that's been lodged in my heart for as long as I can remember.
I love him. I've always loved him. I will love him until my last breath and probably after that too, haunting the ranch as a ghost, rattling the fences every time a pretty girl looks at him.
But I can't say it. If I say it, everything falls apart. The deal with Hudson. The protection. The lie that's keeping his family safe.
So I look at the sunset instead. And I feel him beside me. Where he belongs.
We sit on the ridge until the sun is gone. Shoulders almost touching. Not speaking. Not moving. The horses shifting behind us. The night coming in.
Maybe this is my chance to stop fucking running from my problems. But Ace deserves better than what I can offer him. I thought that years ago, and I still think that now. I can’t get out of my fake engagement to Hudson, and I don’t think Ace will cope with it. Ace needs to stay in New Falls, and I have to fix my mess in LA.
"Would you still be here if I told you I agreed to marry someone else?" I say, finally.
He coughs beside me. I can’t even look at him.
And I think, if heartbreak had a view, it would look exactly like this.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ace
Song- 7 Summers, Morgan Wallen
She's sitting three feet from me, and it might as well be three thousand miles.
She’s engaged.
She might as well put a bullet right through my chest and be done with it.
"Harper," I whisper.
My voice fucking cracks, and I can’t stop it.
She doesn't look at me. She's watching the last strip of light on the mountains, her arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on top of them. She looks small. She never used to look small.
She used to be the light of my goddamn life. My Goldie.
"Harper."
"I heard you," she snaps.
"Goddammit, look at me," I order, slipping back into our old habits.
She does. Her eyes are glassy. Her jaw is tight. She's holding herself together with everything she's got, and I can see the cracks. I've always been able to see the cracks. I used to be the one who filled them.
"When did you stop loving me?" I ask.
The question leaves my mouth and hangs between us. I didn't plan to say it. It just came out, ripped from somewhere deep, somewhere that's been holding that question for years.
Her lips part.
"Why? What difference would that make?" she whispers.
