Hannah
I twirl the hat in my hands, memorizing every stitch before placing it back on my head and turning my attention to the door.
Dean’s body is outlined by the afternoon sun, each muscle etched to perfection, and I can’t believe that I get to call him mine.
Well, I’ll be able to once he deals with whoever interrupted us, that is.
“Hi, Dean.” A woman’s gentle voice is just loud enough for me to hear.
It’s not until I notice Dean snap his head towards me before looking back out and stepping outside, shutting the door behind him quickly that I grow curious.
On tiptoes, I sneak over to the door, pressing my ear against it.
The voices outside are quiet and muffled through the door, so I look over at the window above the sink.
I should feel guilty for invading his privacy, but something about the look on his face when he opened the door was like he’d seen a ghost. Leaning over the sink, I say a silent prayer that the window will open quietly.
My fingers grip the plastic edge and pull sideways.
The frame slides easily, and instantly the conversation floods through the screen.
“Just come home and we can talk, it’s been years.
” I catch a glimpse of the woman I heard earlier.
She looks to be in her early sixties, her graying hair pulled into a loose ponytail at the top of her head.
Sunglasses cover her eyes, but I don’t miss the way she wipes under them every so often.
When she speaks next, her voice is thick with emotion.
“We miss you.” I bite my thumb, watching the interaction, trying to determine who these people could be.
Dean stands with his back to the window.
I can see the tension that lines the muscles of his bare back from here.
His hands clenched tightly to the sweats around his hips.
He doesn’t sound mad when he talks, but more like he’s ashamed.
“It’s been too long to go back and fix what I’ve done.” Those brown strands that I had wrapped in my fingers minutes ago fall over his face when he drops his head.
An older man steps into view, his weathered hand resting on Dean’s shoulder.
Something about the couple looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen them before.
Boots crunch over the parking lot, and another man joins the couple and Dean.
I cock my head, leaning closer to the screen, trying to get a better look at him.
I think he’s the man that chased Dean down a few weeks ago, but I can’t get a good look at him.
“It’s never too late, son,” the older man says, pulling Dean into his arms. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out whatever is said next.
I watch as Dean’s shoulders shake, and the woman steps in and wraps her arms around his back.
Moving as silently as I can, I reach for my jeans and tug my phone free.
Frantically, I scroll back through my pictures and pull up the screenshot from the online article I read a while ago.
My heart drops into my stomach and I have to swallow down the acid rising in my throat.
I race back to the window, eyes bouncing between the image on my phone and the people outside.
Brad and Jodie Wilder hug their son, my Dean, between them.
And who I now know isn’t a stranger, but Dean’s younger brother, Owen, talks quietly just on the other side of the wall.
I can feel my heart shatter inside my chest, tiny fragments imbedding in what I thought was a healed wound.
He has a family, a very alive family. One that clearly loves him, one that wants him to come home and visit.
They aren’t around anymore . I didn’t imagine him staying that to me last time we were in Colorado. Did I misinterpret what that meant?
In a frenzy, I tug on my clothes, just getting my last boot on when the door swings open and Dean fills the door frame. He takes one look at me, fully clothed and fuming before he opens his mouth.
“Don’t,” I say between clenched teeth, the burning in my eyes telling me I’m about two seconds away from a well of tears running down my face.
“Hannah, please let me explain.” Dean closes the door behind him and puts his hands out in front of him in a poor attempt to calm me down.
“You lied to me,” I seethe, taking a step towards him. His eyes are puffy and tears stain his cheeks.
“I never lied, I just…” Dean throws his head back and lets out a pained blow of air. “I just didn’t tell you everything," he whispers, eyes looking down at the floor.
“What part of they aren’t around anymore ,” I echo his words, jabbing him in the chest with my finger, “is truthful?”
“They aren’t,” he bites back, then winces. “Weren’t, until today.”
“LIES!!” I yell in his face. “That was your brother, Owen, in the parking lot when we were in Evergreen, wasn’t it?” He drops his chin, clearly remembering and caught in another lie.
“Yes, but darlin’—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” The well breaks and I feel hot tears drip down my face.
“You listened to me tell you all about my family.” I close my eyes and remember that night in the rental house tangled under the sheets, holding on to one another.
Dean had asked me about my childhood and I’d felt safe enough to open up about my parents and how losing them had fractured every belief I once had about love and family.
I could laugh now, thinking how stupid I was to fall for his bullshit.
“I confided in you, let my guard down, told you I fucking loved you!” I manage to get the words out before a sob wracks my body.
Wiping my cheeks with my fingers, I shove past him.
Before I can open the door, his big hand darts out and grabs me around the waist. A broken part of me wants to lean into him, hear him out, forgive him and move on.
He’s not wrong, he wasn’t lying about them not being around.
Deep down I know that, but I’m hurt and embarrassed.
And fuck I just feel like running. The reasonable and more broken part of me steels up and prepares for another fight to learn from my mistake and guard my heart.
“Get your hand off me,” I say in a deathly firm tone.
He hesitates for a brief moment before sliding his arm slowly from my body.
Slamming his door behind me, I make my way quickly to my trailer and shut myself inside, cursing myself for parking only a few spaces from him.
In my rush to leave, I didn’t realize I’d grabbed the hat he bought for me.
It’s too pretty to ruin, so I hang it gently on the door of my small closet. My phone buzzes in my hand.
Just let me explain, please.
Tipping my head back I attempt to hold off the fresh wave of tears threatening to break free, but fail when I drop my head down to read the next text.
I love you, Hannah.
Shutting my phone off I toss it on my bed, then strip out of my clothes that still smell like rain, and fields, and him.
Then I step into my bathroom and start the shower, desperate to hide away from the world.
I let my tears mix with the water, until my skin prunes and I hear the national anthem sounding from the arena.
Determined to not let Dean see what effect he has on me, I put on my fake smile, cringing at how I notice it now when I’m so used to a real smile when I’m around him.
I nod to the other girls, but don’t join in the circle to small talk before our event is up.
Thankfully, no one approaches me, even the staff worker who can’t be more than a few years younger than me avoids looking at me.
Not that I’d ever do anything inappropriate, but I usually catch a few side eyes from the boys who work the rodeos.
When my turn is up next, I take my place in the alleyway.
Despite my best effort, I glance over to the chutes and see a familiar outline, standing in the shadows of the low lights.
I can feel the weight of his grey eyes boring into me even from this far away.
When my name is called, I settle in and push Dean from my mind, letting the familiarity of the ride overtake all my thoughts.
Queen rounds the barrels in record time, and we cross the line to a wild applause. Looking back at the screen, I jump up and down in the saddle.
“A new PR for our Utah girl, Hannah Harlow,” the announcer says over the crowd.
My eyes find the chutes again. Dean looks directly at me with a hint of a smile on his perfect face.
And I fucking hate him for it. I try to stay away from the arena after putting Queen away, but knowing I need to collect my check after the events are over, I make my way back into the stadium, stopping at one of the side gates and swing my leg over the top.
The rodeo clown went over his time, which means he pushed the bare back rides until right now.
Dropping my head with a sigh, I keep my eyes glued to the screen, not wanting to look directly at Dean in chute number four.
“Y’all are in for a treat tonight. Our very own homegrown Dean Wilder, show him some love!
” The crowd goes absolutely ballistic when the camera pans to his black vest and hat, bent over the bronc.
“He needs to hear it for the next eight seconds, y'all. Our boys got a doozy tonight, BlackJack has a record for tossing his rider within the first five seconds.” His voice fades out as I stare at the video screen. Regardless of how I feel about him, I can’t stomach watching him get hurt.
The buzzer sounds, and from the moment the gate opens, I know something is wrong.
BlackJack spins tighter than I’ve ever seen a horse capable of.
He throws Dean from side to side, and I can see glimpses of Dean’s face every time he’s angled my way.
Usually, he wears a mask of indifference, but tonight his face is twisted with pain.
I want to call it off, yell to the pickup men to get him off.
Eight seconds goes by in a blink any other moment than in a rodeo.
The timer nears four seconds, and I watch anxiously as Dean’s hat flies off his head, his messy brown hair whipping around him. Five seconds.
“Come on,” I whisper, slapping a hand on the metal railing.
Six seconds.
“Yes!” I jump up, straddling the fence as I hold my hands against my chest. Then in a split second, the world slows to a standstill.
Dean hovers mid-air, the black fringe of his chaps floating around his legs as his arms spin, and then he’s flying.
A collective gasp sounds from the audience as his black outline meets dirt, a cloud of dust flying up around his motionless body.
I look on in shock as the pickup men corral the bronc into the shoot, clearing the way for a paramedic to run to Dean’s side.
My body is frozen for the few minutes he leans over Dean, and I swear I don’t breathe until I see him roll onto his back and slowly sit up, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Alright, folks,” the announcer says kindly, “let’s show this hometown boy some love, that was a tough ride.
But hey, Dean,” he calls, waiting for Dean to glance up to the announcer’s booth, “you made it more than five seconds on BlackJack, and we’ll consider that a win.
” Dean gives a weak nod before climbing to his feet and limping over to his hat.
My shoulders sag with relief knowing that he’s alright, but it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest from my bruised and broken heart.
I stand across from some rider I’ve never met that night, collect my check, and quickly walk back to my trailer.
When I can’t take the temptation any longer, I risk a look at Dean’s trailer through my drawn curtains.
It’s dark, and that makes me irrationally angry.
Where the hell does he think he can go after blowing up everything I thought we had together?
Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I turn it on and ignore the stream of messages from him.
A new message from Mallory pops up, and I open it.
Another amazing ride, I’m so proud of you! Get out and celebrate tonight!
Earlier, I overheard some of the other riders saying that they were going to go to a western bar called Calico later tonight. Running a hand along the curve of my stomach, I know drinking and getting drunk isn’t an option, but a distraction sounds like the perfect solution for my shitty day.