“Brock, no. You can’t lose Outlaw. They’re covering all your travel expenses… you’ve told me how much that matters with Vegas coming up. I’m not letting you blow it all up for me.”
I swallowed, my voice dropping. “And if you hire me directly? It’ll just prove Avery right. Everyone will think I slept with my client and turned it into a private payday. No agency would ever touch me again.”
“I’d rather lose the sponsorship than lose you.”
I pushed my hands flat against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath my palms. "We didn’t fight for months to get you this far just to watch you risk it all."
He stayed quiet for a long moment, the muscle beneath his stubble ticking. Then he exhaled and pulled me flush against him, one hand cradling the back of my head as he tucked my face into his shoulder. He smelled like cedarwood, horse, and cold air.
“Chicago isn’t the moon, Starlin’,” he murmured into my hair, voice low and warm. “You handle your shit in the city, and I’ll come to you as soon as I can. Once Vegas is done, we’ll figure out the rest.” His arms tightened around me. “I’m not letting them take you from me.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him how complicated this could get. But he was so warm and solid, and his low drawl had a way of making the impossible feel possible. So I stayed there in his arms, breathing him in, until the coffee on the counter went cold.
Eventually, Brock had to get back to the horses, and I had a few hours to pretend to pack.
My suitcase sat open on the bed, half-empty, like I was hoping the universe would intervene. We’d agreed to break the news to the family at dinner. The thought sat like a lead weight in my stomach all afternoon.
Needing a distraction, I went looking for Maisie.
I found her in the living room at the coffee table, her small hands busy rolling and shaping a lump of modeling clay. That morning, Wren had crossed into Montana and driven all the way to Billings. She came back with a beginner’s perfume-making kit, just so I could keep my promise to help Maisie make Wyatt a perfume.
"Okay, May," I said, unscrewing a tiny amber vial from the kit. "Smell this one. Tell me what it makes you think of."
Maisie leaned in, taking a deep sniff. Her nose wrinkled. "The leather stuff Daddy puts on his saddle."
"Perfect. That’s going to be our heart note."
She paused, tilting her head toward me. "You smell different today. Not like your flowers. Like Uncle Brock's soap."
My face went hot. "I might have used the wrong one this morning."
She smiled. "It’s okay. He doesn’t smell too bad." Her fingers explored the kit. “I’m glad we’re making this for Daddy. He always gets me good presents. He promised he’s gonna buy me a braille tablet for Christmas.”
"Yeah? What’s that?"
"It’s like a computer, but for my fingers, like my teacher has. Then I can practice at home, and I won’t be the slowest reader anymore."
My hand stalled on the dropper bottle.
She felt around and grabbed another vial. "Daddy has a special jar on the fridge, and he puts money in it every Friday for my present. But Uncle Brock told him to stop. He said when he wins Vegas, he’s gonna buy it so Daddy doesn’t have to worry about it anymore."
A knot formed in the back of my throat. I rolled the tiny glass bottle over in my palms, blinking hard to clear the sudden burn in my eyes.
"That’s a really great promise," I managed.
She didn’t seem to notice the change in my voice. She just uncapped the vial, gave it a quick sniff, and made a dramaticyuckface before setting it aside.
I couldn't shake the sick, hollow feeling in my gut all afternoon, and it only got worse at dinner.
When Brock broke the news that I was leaving, Maisie started crying so hard Wyatt had to excuse them from the table. Wren blinked rapidly, staring a hole into her plate, while Colt’s attempt at a lighthearted joke only made things worse. I managed three bites of mac and cheese before giving up.
Once the kitchen was clean, I couldn’t take the heavy silence anymore. I grabbed a blanket and slipped outside.
Brock found me on the porch a little while later. I was huddled on the top step, the cold biting at my cheeks, watching the stars come out over the mountains.
He didn’t say anything. He simply dropped another wool blanket around my shoulders, sat beside me, and pulled me flush against his side. His warm arm wrapped around my back, hand settling on my hip.
We sat like that for a long time. The sky darkened, and somewhere beyond the tree line, a coyote called. Another answered.
