Back in Chase’s truck, I stare out the window, watching the city fall away into open road and vast plains. The horizon stretches endlessly, a soft patchwork of leaves turning from green to orange and gold. The clouds are shifting, leaving the sun to streak through the gaps. It’s the kind of view that makes you ache with how beautiful it is, but I hardly notice. Because I’m starting to realize that the box I shoved all my feelings for Chase into six years ago didn’t disappear after all. It’s just been locked up tight. And now the cracks are showing, and feelings I swore I didn’t have anymore are slipping out. And that’s a problem.
Chase might be thoughtful and protective and sexy in a way that makes me feel near feral anytime he touches me, but he’s just admitted he doesn’t want a family and doesn’t know what his life is supposed to look like. This thing between us might be feeling less fake by the day but falling for a man who doesn’t seeme as anything but a friend who doesn’t want the same things is a shortcut to another broken heart.
Suddenly the Denver Fall Fair and the end to fake dating can’t come soon enough. Because if I let those feelings out of the box and my heart ends up broken again, I know this time I won’t survive it.
FOURTEEN
CHASE
The wheels of my truck crunch over the dirt and gravel of the road leading up to the main ranch house. It doesn’t matter that I grew up here, that I’ve driven this road hundreds of times and spend half my time living here—the view of Oakwood Ranch still steals my breath away. The distant, white-capped mountains that seem to cut into the sky. The foothills of brown rock and gold and orange leaves, rolling all the way down to the edge of the ranch land and the new fences that surround paddocks of rich green grass. All of them now filled with the horses Dylan bought last year, coats of black and chestnut and gray.
Sometimes I still can’t believe a drunken decision in a bar one night has led Dylan to this life. Nearly two years recovering from an ACL tear that killed his career in the NFL, and now here he is—part cowboy, part horse-whisperer, stepdad, married, a baby on the way. There were dark times for him, but I’ve never seen him more content than he is with his boots in the dirt and Izzy’s hand in his. Dylan has found the kind of life I can’t imagine ever finding for myself.
Dylan’s gonna make one hell of a dad. I already see it with the kids he coaches and with Madison, too. He’s patient and kind, and full of warmth. Whereas I can’t even buy a damn houseplant for my apartment. I know Serena was frustrated with me back in the store. I tried to explain it, but admitting the truth was hard. The Sullivans have given me everything I could have ever wanted. Love, support, fun, and a career doing what I love. I’ve never, not for one single moment, felt anything less than a brother and a son. And I hate that it’s starting to feel like that hasn’t been enough to heal the damage my biological parents did by abandoning me.
I shift my eyes to Serena as I slow down the truck and park beside Dylan’s Raptor. She’s been quiet on the journey, staring out the window, making whatever calculations she makes to predict the weather with freakishly perfect accuracy. I want to cut through the silence that’s settled since we left the store. I’ve never felt the need to fill our silences before, but this one feels different.
Last night, I watched her fall asleep next to me, and when she shivered, I moved her into my arms without thinking. I lay awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling, trying to silence the part of me that wanted to wake her up and kiss her again. Not for the cameras, not for show, but for me.
I kill the engine and shut down thoughts of last night. “Ready?” I ask.
Serena shoots me a smile, reminding me of the girl I met in third grade who could drink an entire chocolate milkshake in under six seconds.
We step through the screen door and into the kitchen. It’s a wall of warmth and noise. Jake and Harper are sitting at the table. Mama’s setting out coffee mugs, the smell of the earthy grounds thick in the air. Dylan and Izzy are leaning against the kitchen worktop with Flic beside them. It’s the first time I’ve seen her away from The Hay Barn in months. Her white-blonde hair is braided back in its usual style, but she’s swappedher black tank and tight jeans for a red Stormhawks hooded sweatshirt.
Buck barks a greeting, bounding over to us in a clatter of paws and swishing tail.
“We were starting to wonder if you two had eloped,” Jake calls.
“We were downtown,” I say, grabbing two mugs of coffee and adding creamer before passing one to Serena. “Shopping.”
“Attempting to shop,” Serena corrects with a playful eyeroll that makes me huff a laugh. Maybe I imagined the awkward silence a moment ago.
I spot a plate of blueberry muffins on the table and beeline for them, taking a seat beside Jake and biting into the warm, sugary center.
“What’s going on?” I ask between mouthfuls as everyone takes a seat around the table. “If this is a surprise intervention after that toothpaste commercial, don’t worry. I’m retiring from acting.”
Mama smiles as she shakes her head. “Flic stopped by for breakfast this morning. I thought you should all hear what she told me.”
We all turn to Flic, and I catch the same determined glint in her eye I see at closing time when she’s kicking out the stragglers, myself included. “I’ve been hearing some worrying things about the state of the Stormhawks finances,” she says. “I was hoping it was nothing, but last night I overheard two of the Stormhawks management team in the bar talking about the sale of the club.”
Serena gasps, the sound sharp as a shocked silence falls over the kitchen.
The Stormhawks are in trouble? The Huberts are selling?I feel like I’ve just taken a helmet to the chest, and by the looks on everyone else’s faces, this news has winded them too.
“They can’t,” Jake says, as stunned as I feel. “It’s one of the last family-owned teams.”
“Larry Hubert started the team in 1959,” Dylan adds.
“And Don would never?—”
“Don’s in his eighties now,” Mama says, straightening her shoulders, all business. “He’s just one member of the board, alongside his two daughters and two grandsons. Sadly, it seems none of the younger generations have Larry or Don’s business sense or share the same passion for the club.”
“If a conglomerate buys the team, they’ll gut it,” Jake says. “It’s always the same. They sell the top players, bring some money in, and rely on the rookies to carry the club for a few seasons. Watch to see if they sink or swim then start from scratch. New players. New sponsors. New ethos.”
“All the outreach programs and support for the city will be slashed,” Dylan adds with a deep scowl. “A lot of kids are gonna suffer.”
“It could just be talk,” Flic says quietly. “But I wanted you all to know.”