They weren’t loud proclamations. But they were still there. And I missed them, while ignoring what I was feeling.
I shake my head and comb my fingers through my hair, smoothing my hands down the pretty maroon pencil skirt I’m wearing. All I have for clothes is what I retrieved from my hotel room and what I left at my dad’s house in the city. All my favorite pieces are still out at Wishing Well Ranch, along with a good chunk of my favorite people.
With a deep centering breath, I turn and leave the washroom, striding down to my office on sky-high heels, refusing to walk around this place like I’ve just been fired. I hold my chin high and put my game face on, letting my hips sway.
I make this stupid hallway my runway.
Until I glance into the boardroom and see Rhett Eaton sitting in the same chair I met him in two months ago.
My steps falter and I stop to stare at him. He’s leaned back in his chair, one booted foot casually slung across his knee.
He’s devastating with his rugged lines, wild hair, and honeyed eyes. Far too masculine to be sitting in such a polished space. He overwhelms it.
He overwhelms me.
My throat aches just looking at him. And when his eyes slide over to meet mine through the glass, my chest feels like it’s cracking right open.
I remember too keenly the sight of him moving above me, the appreciation in his gaze when I modeled my chaps for him, the way he kissed me so tenderly in a room full of people.
I also remember him calling what we did “sleeping together for a couple weeks.” Rob said something similar to me when he broke things off with me to be with my sister, that we were just sleeping together so it shouldn’t matter. It stung then, but it was excruciating this time around.
But I think what hurt the most was the way he brushed off my concern for him. That he made me feel like some overbearing crazy person for caring about him.
And that’s enough to spur me into action. I turn my head and carry on down the hallway, resisting the urge to run and forcing myself to appear calm and collected.
I do not feel calm and collected. But I would rather fucking die than let Rhett see how deeply he wounded me.
“Summer!” He shoves the door open just as I pass. A whiff of his scent chases me like a haunting memory. “I want to talk to you.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I say without turning back to him.
“Please. Just five minutes.” The pleading note in his voice almost makes me stop.
Almost.
“I think you’ve said enough, don’t you?” I check my watch, wondering how soon I can get the hell out of here, and then I remember I don’t work here anymore, so it doesn’t matter.
“I haven’t said nearly enough.” I can feel him walking behind me, the warm solid presence of him looming over me but not overtaking me.
“You just walked out of a meeting. Go back.”
“That meeting doesn’t matter.”
I scoff at that, turning into my office. My office? My old office?
“You’re what matters.” He reaches for my arm, and I yank it back.
Turning, I grit my teeth. Feeling . . . cornered. Like I could attack. “Rhett. Get. Out.”
“Not a fucking chance, Princess.” He shuts the door and leans against it, his hands captured behind his back. “I have some things I need to say to you, and you’re going to listen.”
I round my desk and try to look bored, lifting a file and opening it. “Well, seeing as how you’ve trapped me in here, I guess I don’t really have a choice.”
“No, I guess you don’t. I’ve been trying to contact you for a week.”
“Mhm.” I stare down at the folder. I don’t even know what I’m looking at though. My entire body is attuned to him. Truthfully, it’s all I can focus on. “Been busy.”
“Bullshit. You’re ignoring me, and I deserve that.”
I blink, not having seen that coming.
“Listen, Summer.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and my fingers tingle with the memory of doing it myself. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust. Believe me when I tell you it keeps me up at night.”
My eyes flash up to check. He does look tired.
“I replay that interaction in my head when I lie in bed, thinking of all the ways I could have handled it better. Of all the ways I could have defended you without hurting you.”
Tears spring up in my eyes, because apparently, that’s my new thing.
For the past week, I cry at the drop of a hat. After years of seeing the glass as half full, I’m a mopey, whimpery, half-empty mess.
“Shit.” He groans, and his body tenses as he pushes back against the door, like he’s forcing himself away from me. “Please don’t cry. I fucking hate it when you cry. It’s like a bullet to my chest.”
“Taken many bullets, have you?” My voice is weak, and I hate that.
“No,” he husks, “but I would. For you, I would.”
I whimper quietly at that, trying to cover it up with a, “Hmm.”
“I said a lot of things I regret. Most of all, what I said about our time together. I can blame spilling your private business on coming to your defense in my own careless way. Because you may not know your worth yet, but I do. And I’ll happily punch anyone in the face who makes you question it. But telling you what I did at the hospital that night, I said that to hurt you.”
“Well, it worked.”
He winces but carries on. “I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
And then we’re back to like we were. Suspended in time. Staring at each other like we might find the answers to our problems written on the other person’s face.
“Tell me what to do, Summer. Tell me, and I’ll do it. Was I unclear before? Because I want to be crystal clear now. I love you. I loved you the moment you walked into that boardroom and smirked at me like you knew something I didn’t. It bothered me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wanting to know what you know. I fixated on it, but I think I was just fixated on you.”
I process his words, soaking them in like a cat soaks up the sun. His cheeks flush, and his feet shift nervously. This is a lot of feeling talk for someone like Rhett Eaton.
“And I still am. I always will be. This thing between us? For me? It’s everything. It’s it. You’re it. I’ve spent years thinking I didn’t have someone who really supported me. But that was only because I hadn’t met you yet. You were out there, wanting me. And all it took was one meeting with you for me to want you too. A few weeks for me to know that I’d do anything to support you too.” He shakes his head and peers out the window. “You were out there this whole time, and now I know you exist, and I can never go back. Wouldn’t want to if I could.”
My tears are hot on my cheeks. His gaze back on me, tracking them as they spill.
“So, take your time. Do what you need to. Carry on with the cold shoulder, hate me, make a voodoo doll and needle the hell out of it. I don’t fucking care. I’ll take it all. Just think about what I’m telling you. Think about being everything with me. I’ll keep coming back, no matter what. You’re my priority. I’ll keep trying because I’m not quitting on you. Ever.”
I don’t know when the tears spilled down over my cheeks, but two straight streams of them silently flow as I watch this man pour his heart out to me.
“Have I made myself clear?”
I nod. Struck dumb. Feeling incredibly fragile.
He nods back and turns to leave but stops when I speak. “How are your ribs?”
He looks over his shoulder. “Fine. They’re fine, Summer.”
I bite at my bottom lip, feeling a little awkward about my response to Rhett declaring his love for me. “Are you going to Vegas?”
He sighs and drops his eyes. “Yeah.”
I nod again, unsure what to say to that. He says I’m his priority, but riding when he knows it’s asking for trouble, when he knows it makes me frantic, when he knows I’ll be left in a world without him if things go wrong . . .
That still feels like the bulls and the buckle are his priority.
32
Summer
Summer: Wanna go for brunch?
Willa: It’s Friday morning. Aren’t we both working?
Summer: I got fired.
Willa: That’s very unlike you! When did this happen?
Summer: A week ago.
Willa: Way to keep me in the loop. By the hot cowboy?
Summer: No. By my dad.
Willa: Well, shit. The Lark. 10:30. I’ll get the mimosas started.
I walk into mine and Willa’s favorite brunch location and spot her mane of red hair, poker straight around her shoulders, from the front door. Two mimosas sit in front of her . . . and two more parked across the table.
I guess it’s going to be one of those mornings. The kind I need after moping around all week.
“Hey! You’re here!” My best friend shoots out of her chair and wraps me in her arms. Willa gives the best hugs. She’s much taller than me, which puts my head at about chest height.