Page 133 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Why the hell not?”

Because if she didn’t open that door—if she looked at me like I was nothing—I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

“I used to think space fixed it too, but it doesn’t,” Dad muttered. “Sometimes space just gives people time to convince themselves they’re better off without you.”

That hit deeper than I wanted it to.

“I’m not saying you should push her,” he added quickly. “But don’t disappear completely. If she means something to you, make sure she knows you’re still there.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was too tight, so I nodded once.

“I hope she figures that shit out.” Dad stood up, stretching his back with a grunt. “I’m heading back to my place. You two don’t do anything too damn stupid.”

I gave a lazy wave, and he walked out, leaving Dalton and me in silence.

Dalton leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright, man, how do you really feel?”

I exhaled, running a hand over my face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I tried everything.”

The first thing I’d registered when I came to wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t her hand in mine. It was the quiet beep of monitors and the weight of someone sitting watch.

My dad.

“Why are you being so stubborn about not seeing her again?” Dalton pushed. “Trying harder?”

I let out a dry chuckle with no humor in it. “Because maybe I was right all along. Maybe I never should’ve dated.”

Dalton raised an eyebrow, waiting.

I stared at the floor, my fingers pressing into my thighs. “My mom . . . when she got sick, Dad was never around. He was always out on the circuit. She was alone. I was the one who sat with her, took care of her.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And maybe that’s what happens when you love someone who does what I do. You get left behind.”

Dalton’s jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit, man.”

“Is it?” I scoffed. “Because look at what I did the second things got rough—I ran. I threw myself into practice, into workouts, like my dad did. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was too late.” I clenched my jaw, shaking my head. “Maybe I am him. Maybe she saw that, and she left before I could do the same to her.”

“Look, man. You’re not your dad. And Fable ain’t your mom. You gotta stop punishing yourself for something that ain’t even happened. You love her? Then fight for her.”

I scoffed. “I did fight for her. I’m giving her space. I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”

Dalton let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe she ain’t pushing you away because she sees your dad in you. Maybe she’s pushing you away because she’s scared.” He pointed at me. “Kinda like you were when all this started.”

I stiffened, but didn’t respond.

Dalton stood, grabbing his hat off the counter. “You can sit here and mope, or you can go get your girl.” He didn’t wait for my response—just tipped his hat and walked out the door.

I sat there, staring at the blank TV screen, Dalton’s words replaying in my head.

Fable wasn’t my mom. And I wasn’t my dad, no matter how much I feared I might be.

My mom had been fragile in her sickness, trapped in a body that failed her. But Fable? She was strong, even when she didn’t realize it. She had fought through everything—her anxiety, her past, her fears. She had let me in when I knew it was hard for her. She had let me love her in the quiet ways that mattered.

And she left because . . . what? She thought I was going to leave her first? She thought I’d be gone too much, like my dad?

But I wouldn’t be. I had already chosen to stay. I had already made the decision to build a life here, with her.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples, the dull ache in my skull reminding me that I was still healing. But the pain in my chest? The tightness in my ribs?

That was her.