Chapter 18
Cruz
I decide to give Addison her space over the weekend. I’d already planned to once I saw her mom show up at the mess hall, assuming she’d naturally be spending time with her. But now I feel like the space might be even more warranted.
Only I spend the next two days with a pit in my stomach. Because unlike our previous fights that left me hot-blooded, intrigued, and even amused, this one just left me feeling hurt. And sad.
And angry at myself. Because I knew better. I knew Addison was going to turn out like the girls I’d dated before. Girls who wanted bigger and better things than what I could give them. Bigger and better things than me.
Just like my parents.
Of course she’s going back to Seattle. That was always the plan, and I knew that.
And I fucking fell in love with her anyway.
The realization had hit me the second I’d fully internalized the possibility of her leaving Montana. When I’d taken out my frustration on her, when I’d walked away, leaving her standing in the moonlight. Because I’m not a man who begs a woman to stay.
Regardless of how fucking badly I wanted to.
I toss a bale of hay into the back of my pickup.
Haying season has officially started, and now the south field is peppered with bales.
We have a few tractors that’ll come around to pick most of them up, but we like to move a handful of them to the Village for when we occasionally bring the horses down there.
The rumbling of another truck grabs my attention, and I turn to see Tate’s pickup ambling over the rough terrain. I continue my work, grabbing a nearby hay bale by the twine and swinging it up and into my pickup bed as Tate hops out of his truck and approaches.
“Hey!” he calls in greeting.
“What’s up?” I ask. Presumably he’s got some new task or project for me.
Tate shoves his hands into his pockets, hesitating slightly. I turn, giving him more of my attention. He grimaces and then spits out, “Look, I’m just gonna come out and say it: Are you and Addison … a thing or something?”
Fuck. I swallow, straightening up slightly.
“Shit, Cruz,” Tate mutters as my silence stretches on, essentially answering his question.
“Look, I’m sorry—it’s not like I planned it or anything. If anything, it’s the opposite …” I wanted nothing to do with Addison Thatcher. She’s the one who barreled into my life, breaking it open and leaving me with a gaping wound in my chest.
Tate rolls his eyes, looking away for a moment.
“Okay, you guys are adults, and I don’t wanna be weird about it.
But … I just felt like I should … say something, I guess?
” Tate looks supremely uncomfortable, and in all honesty, I do feel a bit bad for him.
“Just … don’t break her heart, okay? Don’t be an ass. ”
My eyes widen slightly. He’s worried about me breaking her heart? I shake my head. “Well, you honestly might not have to worry about it at all,” I mutter, grabbing the last bale that’ll fit into my truck bed and swinging it in.
“What’s that mean?” Tate’s forehead crinkles.
I shrug. “I mean, you know. Her probably going back to Seattle and everything.”
“Probably?” Tate echoes. “Well, she already left, but—”
My heart stops momentarily, blood roaring in my ears. “She left?” I repeat.
Tate blinks. “Yeah. She didn’t tell you? I dropped her off at the airport this morning.”
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. The air knocked out of me, bleeding on the pavement.
I swallow, hard, straightening my shoulders and turning away from Tate.
My truck’s full, so I’ve got an excuse to get out of here.
To be alone. Gather up the broken pieces of my heart and try to glue all that shit back together.
“But when she—” Tate starts, but I hold up a hand to silence him.
“It’s fine, Tate,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about Addison and me. It wasn’t even a real thing to begin with, and it definitely isn’t now.”
Tate purses his lips, his disgruntled gaze following me as I hop into my truck and start the engine. I drive back to the Village in silence, although I don’t stop there to unload the hay like I’d originally planned. Instead, I drive back to my cabin, parking out front before hurrying inside.
I just need ten minutes. Ten minutes and then I can get back to work.
I slam the door behind me, taking off my hat and flinging it across the room. It hits the wall and crumples to the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and hiss, “Fuck!” I kick the pile of shoes I have lined up by my door. “Fuck you, Cruz Conley,” I spit.
Fuck me for thinking this all could have worked and putting my heart on the line.
Because Addison Thatcher is gone, and my heart is broken.
And it’s all my goddamn fault for believing in love in the first place.