Page 12 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I’m sure people did know, and I was the one who was too naive to see it all. I looked down at my outfit. I used to shine so brightly. I used to be bright and wild, the kind of person who created a whole event and then celebrated herself for it.

“Look at you, Fable. You’re beautiful and strong.”

I nodded, tears forming in my eyes. I hated crying.

“He’s not helping.”

“I-I’m going to talk to him.”

Harleigh pointed to the wall. “I’ll be right here waiting.”

I put my head down as I pushed the backstage door open to that same hallway with the one fluorescent light on the wall. It led to the backstage rooms and around toward the locker rooms for the bull riders.

I didn’t need to go far. Just a few steps in, I heard it—the unmistakable sound of moaning. My feet froze mid-step, my stomach knotting as the realization hit me like a blow.

I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself.

My eyes lifted slowly, and I saw exactly what my gut had already told me I would. Trishelle was there, her legs wrapped tightly around Mike’s waist, her hands tangled in his hair. His palms were firmly on her breasts, their bodies pressed together against the wall like they couldn’t get close enough.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“Hi,” I muttered.

They froze. Mike’s eyes snapped to mine while Trishelle barely flinched. Her lips curved into a smile as she unwound herself from him, stepping back with an infuriating air of confidence.

“Shit, Fable.” Mike stepped away from Trishelle like it could erase what I’d seen.

My jaw ached, clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. I wasn’t angry, not in the way I should’ve been. I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.

Trishelle laughed, an ugly, mocking sound, and sauntered down the hallway without a word. Mike turned back to me, reaching out like he could fix this.

“I’m done.” My voice didn’t waver, but it felt like my chest was caving in. “We’re done.”

“I can explain,” he started, moving toward me, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“No need. I don’t care.”

His face twisted with anger. “No one will love you, Fable,” he spat. “You’re a freak. Your hand washing, your obsession with being clean, your⁠—”

The door swung open behind me with a loud creak, and Harleigh stormed in, her boots echoing against the tiled floor.

“Let’s go, Fable.”

I shook my head, not wanting to look him in the eye again. She started to say something over my shoulder, but I tugged at her arm, hoping she’d stop.

“Harleigh,” I begged. I didn’t want to argue with him. I didn’t want to give him another ounce of my energy. He’d spent years draining it from me, leaving me hollow.

She glanced at me, her anger melting into understanding. “You’re right. Not worth it. Let’s go.”

She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and steady, and together we turned around and opened the door to the arena.

I walked away from the one person who never chose to walk toward me. From the man who abandoned me when I needed him most. From the only semblance of family I had ever known.

I kept walking, because staying meant clinging to endless pain. Walking away meant choosing something I hadn’t dared to in years—myself.

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Fable