Page 65 of Love Me Again

It was a tiny quiet voice in the back of her head, and it scared her more than anything. Because everything was loss, so it was a lie.

Boone’s phone trilled from somewhere. He made a grunting noise, eyes blinking open. After a moment, it trilled again and he pushed out of the bed. He found his pants on the floor, pulled them back on, likely against the chill, then pulled his phone out of the pocket.

He clicked something, then grinned sleepily. “The baby’s here. Owen James Tyler. Seven pounds, eight ounces, twenty inches.” He made a sound that bordered on a laugh. “Can you believe that? Seven pounds. A whole human being.”

She looked away from him, started hunting for her clothes and putting them on as she found them.

A whole human being.

She had to get the hell out of here. Once dressed, she started to collect her other things. Her charging cord on the nightstand. The little pile of dirty clothes in the corner. She shoved them all into her duffel bag.

“Josie.”

She didn’t stop, didn’t look at him.

“Jo. You don’t have to go. Don’t go. We have a chance to work through this.”

We. What a joke? She turned to him then, met his gaze. Because leaving meant facing it all head on. “Because of me.”

His eyebrows drew together like that didn’t make sense, which infuriated her.

“I came here. I made that decision. I showed up. If I hadn’t, when would I have seen you next?” It was the question she hadn’t asked outright, and she realized in this moment there were too many of them.

Because she’d still been tiptoeing around. Taking care. Old habits died hard.

But she wanted them dead now.

“I was trying to get better,” Boone said, even and serious. “And get back to the rodeo and then⁠—”

Shock stormed through her. “Why the hell would you ever risk going back to the rodeo?” she demanded. She still had nightmares about that night in her head. The way he’d fallen, the way no one had been able to get to him in time.

Blood and horror. And he wanted to go back?

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been any good at.”

She threw her arms up in the air. Had she really believed he’d changed? Ridiculous. Pathetic. “Oh, well, then by all means go back to the rodeo and die.”

His expression firmed some, that softness and vulnerability and openness giving way to at least a shade of irritation. “I know I should have done it quicker, but I needed to figure out a way to deserve you.”

“What bullshit. I never made you feel that you needed to earn my love. Deserve me.”

“No, of course not. I felt that way.” Agitation tightened his features and he thumped a hand to his chest. “I made me feel that way. That’s not your fault. It’s not my mother’s or Shane’s, though I know they spent my life thinking it was and is. It was just what I feel. What I felt. I know that doesn’t make it right. I’m not excusing anything. I’m explaining.”

“Your explanation sucks.”

“It does. Because I was…immature and hurting and afraid. Can’t you see that? Growing up here where everyone seemed to know their place and where they were going and I never felt like I fit. I never knew what to do. You and the rodeo are the only thing that’s ever made sense in my life.”

“So losing one meant you had to lose the other?”

He sucked in a breath, seemed to suck in the words with them. There was shame in his expression now, but he didn’t wilt. Didn’t look away. “It shouldn’t have. But in the moment, it felt like I was going to be a burden to you. And I’d been a burden to my family—causing trouble and acting out for no damn good reason. I could push them away and I knew no matter how I fought with Shane or disappointed my mother, I could come back here. I didn’t want to, but I knew I could.”

“How fortunate you are, Boone.”

“Yes, damn it. I know I am.” Frustration was building back up. “And I should have shared that fortune with you, but I didn’t know how. I was afraid… I was afraid. I didn’t want to be a burden, and I was afraid if I was, you could and would want me gone. Resent me. And I thought, back then I thought it was better to jump into the fears and do whatever I could to make them true, rather than hope or fight against them.”

It made a terrible kind of sense when she didn’t want him to make sense. She shook her head and marched into the bathroom, started gathering her things with unseeing eyes, tossing them into the bag willy nilly.

“I am not the same man who left you,” Boone continued, standing in the doorway watching her pack. “I had to crawl home and swallow my pride and…become someone else. And I’m sorry I had to leave you to do it. I’ll always be sorry that I hurt you, and that I can’t fix it. That you had to lose your dad on your own. It’s the regret of my life, and I know nothing will ever fix it.”