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I pinch the bridge of my nose, nostrils flaring on a big breath. “What I meant was that I’m a single dad now, so I haven’t had much time to date. It’s just been a while for me. That’s all.”

“Hey, no judgment here.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know the first thing about being a parent, but I can only imagine that over time you lose little bits of yourself since you’re giving so much to your children.”

I don’t know how she managed to get that so right without having kids herself. She heads to the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge and holds the bottle out by the neck. “You want one?”

“Yeah, after that conversation, I’ll take all six.”

I wait, hoping for her chain-smoker laughter, but she gives me a pitiful half smile instead. “I wouldn’t blame you. Being a parent seems rough. I don’t know how you do it all alone.”

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder the same thing,” I say wryly, taking the beer she hands me, ready to move past that awkward conversation. “But I’ve got my parents to help out, and they do a lot of the heavy lifting during the season. I’m pretty lucky I’ve got them.”

She sips her beer, hesitating a little too long. “What about Vi’s mom?”

Of all the questions I want her to ask, that’s the last one I want to answer, so I take a swig of my beer to buy myself some time. “She’s not really in the picture.”

“Why’s that?” she presses, not letting me off the hook.

She settles onto the leather couch next to me, but she’s careful to put as much distance as possible between us. This is the first time she’s actually started a conversation, so I’ll take it, even if it means talking about my nonexistent sex life with the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about for over a decade.

“It was a one-night stand,” I mumble, to get it over with. “She came to me six months later and told me she was pregnant, but she never wanted to be a mom. She’d been struggling with some choices. She debated giving Vi up for adoption, but I told her that I wanted her. That was that. I got full custody of my girl.”

In reality, it was the most difficult decision of my life. I went back and forth for months, talking to my parents, my boys, and a therapist. But every time I thought about my kid out in the world and never getting a chance to know her, a pit formed in my gut. And then when I looked into Vi’s eyes the day she was born, I was a goner.

I haven’t looked back since.

Tuna hops up next to her, and Dakota wiggles her feet beneath her black fur, cocking her head to think about something. “How can you say all of that so casually? If it were me, I’d be worrying about that decision nonstop.”

I take another swig of my beer, already feeling the effects since I don’t drink as often now. “Not much gets to me anymore. I thought having a kid would stress me out more, and it’s still hard, don’t get me wrong, but being a dad also has this way of distilling life down to the most important parts. At least for me. If my baby girl is healthy and happy, then I’m happy.”

She drains her beer as she seems to consider her next words. “I wish I had that attitude. I’m always worrying about things that haven’t even happened. I’ve got like, twenty hypothetical scenarios I’m worrying about at any given moment, and the majority end with me dying.”

She laughs.

I don’t. Not even a little.

“Dakota,” I cut out, my voice deep and rough.

She sucks in a gasp at my tone. “What?”

I glare at her. “Don’t joke about shit like that. It’s not funny.”

Her eyes flick over me, dropping to my chest for a second, and then she takes a long, long swig of beer, almost like she’s overheated. I can’t even think about something happening to her. Even when I was gone, even when I was trying to get over her, I still couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. I always need her to be happy, even if I’m not.

“But I have to joke about it,” she mumbles, scraping off the beer label. “It’s the only way I know how to cope with the idea that I’m constantly risking my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love bull riding, but it’s still scary as hell. That’s the part that makes it so thrilling, though. All that adrenaline. I’m addicted, even if I am shit at it,” she says, draining the remnants of her beer.

“You’re not shit at it, but let me help you train this summer,” I insist, leaning forward. “Please? I need to stay in shape anyway.”

“It’s really fine.”

I can tell she means the words, but she’s not getting off that easy.

“How about this?” I gently place my beer on the wooden coffee table so I don’t wake up my daughter. “What about a little bet to sweeten the deal?”

Her honey eyes spark with intrigue. As the daughter of a gambler, I know she can’t say no to a challenge. “What kind of bet did you have in mind?”

A corner of my mouth lifts. “The kind I know you like.”

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