Page 141 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

The door swung open, and she saw his face.

I should’ve walked over. Should’ve said something.

Instead, I stood back and watched.

Because damn, she was sexy when she was mad.

53

Fable

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shouted, though my head was trying to convince me this was a dream and I’d surely wake up any moment now.

I rubbed my eyes, my brain still foggy with sleep, but when my vision cleared, my stomach dropped.

Mike.

He stood in front of me as if he had any right to show up in the middle of the damn night and pound on my door.

“How did you find me?” My voice came out rough, barely more than a croak, but I managed to step outside and shut the door behind me before he could get so much as a glimpse inside.

His eyes flickered over me, assessing, calculating. I knew that look. I hated that I knew that look.

“I came for you, Fable. I came to take you home.”

A sharp breath escaped me, half laugh, half disbelief. “Take me home?” I glanced over my shoulder at the house behind me. “I am home.”

He exhaled and pressed a finger to his temple. “I realized my mistakes. We broke up, so I’m ready to start again.”

My fingers curled into fists at my sides, anger simmering low in my stomach.

He thought he could show up, say the right words, and I’d go running back to him. Like nothing ever happened. Like he hadn’t spent years tearing me down, piece by piece, before I finally left.

I squared my shoulders, my pulse pounding in my ears. If he thought I was still the same girl who used to put up with this shit, he was about to be very disappointed.

“You have some fucking nerve coming here.” My voice trembled, not from fear, but from the kind of rage that lived in my bones, the kind that had been waiting for this moment. “We were engaged, Mike. Engaged. I caught you making out with your manager at the show that I set up for you.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Do you even remember that? Or did you rewrite that part in your head too?”

His face didn’t change. Just the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he had expected this. Like my refusal was nothing more than an obstacle to get through. “I already told you, it didn’t mean anything,” he said, exhaling like I was exhausting him. “You were always so dramatic.”

I clenched my fists. Dramatic. That’s what he used to say after he slammed his hand into the wall right next to my head, after he squeezed my wrist a little too tight, after I flinched, and he had the audacity to act like it was my problem.

“You hurt me, Mike.” Each word scraped my throat on its way out. “You hurt everything around me. The wall. The dishes. The fucking air between us. You never had to hit me to make me feel it.”

His jaw flexed. “I know where I fucked up. And since we’re broken up, I’m choosing a clean slate. I’m ready to do this right.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, my nails digging into my palms. “You’re ready?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s funny. You weren’t ready to start again when I was crying over you. When you were busy calling me crazy for reacting like any human being would.”

He sighed, shaking his head, like I was too much. “No one’s ever going to love you, Fable. Not like I did.”

My blood went hot. “You have no idea what or who will love me,” I shouted, my whole body shaking. “You have no fucking idea because you never cared about me either. You never wanted to care.”

His eyes darkened as he took another step forward, voice dropping. “You can’t have children, Fable.”

The air between us turned razor sharp.

“No man wants a broken woman. And you?” He tilted his head. “You’re broken—with your tics, your health antics, your fear of being clean. On top of that, not being able to have kids?” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “Broken bitch.”

The breath was stolen from my lungs.