Chapter 49
Forty-Nine
THAT WAS A STUPID DECISION MADE IN A MOMENT THAT'S GOING TO LAST A LIFETIME.
WYATT
The Dusty Boot is packed wall-to-wall with people I've known my whole life. Familiar faces turn toward me as I push through the door—neighbors, ranch hands, folks from church. A few nod in recognition, others look away like they've heard the rumors and don't know what to say.
Across the crowded bar, sitting at a high-top table near the dance floor, is the only person who matters.
Kinsley.
Her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, but it's her eyes that gut me. Even from here, I can see the damage I put there.
Our gazes meet across the room, and everything else falls away. The music, the voices, the press of bodies—none of it exists. Just her. Just the woman I drove three hundred miles through the night to see.
I’m moving toward her.
Brook appears in front of me like a wall, her hands pressing against my chest to stop me. "What are you doing showing up here?"
"I came for Kinsley."
"You'd better calm down before you do something you'll regret." Brook's voice is low and fierce, protective. "You broke her heart, Wyatt. You think you can just scoop it back up and move on? You're having a baby with another woman. We don't get over those kinds of things."
I break eye contact with Kinsley and look at my sister. "I can't live without her, Brook."
"That's not fair to her."
"I know it's not fair. None of this is fair." My voice breaks. "But the only way any of this makes sense—even being a—" The word sticks in my throat. "A father. The only way I can do any of it is if Kinsley's with me."
Brook's expression shifts, something like pity crossing her face. "Wyatt—"
But I'm already moving past her, cutting through the couples on the dance floor.
"Wyatt, don't!" Brook hisses after me, but I don't stop.
The DJ transitions into something slow. I take it as a sign.
I reach their table where Hailey's standing guard. She looks back and forth between us—unsure if she should send me away or not. Maybe if Kinsley wasn’t looking at me like she wants to be in my arms and is barely holding herself back, she would.
"Dance with me," I say to Kinsley. I want her to myself. I want her in my arms. I want all of her.
She drops her gaze, her jaw tight. "Don't do this."
"Kinsley—"
"It will only make things harder,” she whispers. "Please don't ask me to do this."
I reach for her anyway, offering my hand palm-up. "Please," I say.
She stares at my hand for a long moment. I watch her face—the war between what she wants and what she thinks is right playing out in real-time. Then, slowly like she’s fighting a losing battle, she places her hand in mine.
I lead her onto the dance floor and pull her close—closer than is proper for a public dance. The contact sends electricity up my arm. Four days without touching her, and my body remembers every curve, every place we fit together.
Her frame is stiff at first, resisting, but gradually she softens into me like she can't help herself.
We sway to the music, and for a moment I just hold her, soaking in the reality of having her in my arms again.
"I need to tell you something," I say quietly, my lips near her ear.
She pulls back enough to look at me, “There’s nothing to say.” The pain in her eyes makes my chest ache. “You can't have both, Wyatt. You can't have me and her and some perfect life where everyone's happy. That's not how this works."
"I know that."
"Do you?”
I nod. I start rubbing circles on her back.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
"To tell you how stupid I was,” I will admit that every day of the week and twice on Sundays.
She lowers her jaw like she wasn’t expecting me to say that.
"That night in Cheyenne, I’d messed up my shoulder at a rodeo. Doc gave me pain medication, something heavy-duty. I'd never taken anything stronger than ibuprofen before."
Kinsley's expression shifts slightly, listening.
"I took those pills around nine o'clock, and then there’s this blank in my memory. Nothing.” I shift us so we don’t get bumped into by a couple two stepping around the floor.
"You don't remember?" Her voice is careful, guarded.
"Nothing. Brittany claims she was there," I shake my head. "But I don't remember any of it. Not one thing."
"So, you're saying you didn't—"
"I'm saying I don't know what happened.” I tighten my grip on her waist, needing her to understand.
Kinsley's quiet for a long moment, processing. "But you can't prove anything."
"No." The helplessness of it makes me want to put my fist through a wall. "And now there's a baby coming, and I have to deal with that. But—" I wait until she looks at me. "That was a stupid decision made in a moment that's going to last a lifetime. But I don't have to make more stupid decisions."
Her eyes well up with tears. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not marrying Brittany. I'll take care of my responsibilities—I'll be there for that kid in every way that matters. But I'm not giving up on us."
"You have to." But her voice lacks conviction.
The words confirm what I suspected—she thinks has to step aside so I can save my family. Like her heart doesn't matter as much as land and legacy.
"I'm not going to concede that fight any more than I'm giving up on you."
She tries to pull away, but I hold on. I can feel her resolve cracking, can see the war in her eyes between what she wants and what she thinks is right.
My voice drops lower. "I love you, Kinsley. And I know you love me too."
Her eyes go bright with unshed tears. "Don't."
"Tell me I'm wrong. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me, and I'll walk away right now."
I hold my breath, waiting.
Say it. Please, just say it.
She opens her mouth, and I see the words forming. But they don't come. Instead, she just stares at me with those wounded eyes, and I press my advantage.
"You can't say it, can you? Because you love me just as much as I love you, and neither one of us can walk away from that.” I trace her cheek, wiping away a tear that's escaped.
"I need you, Kinsley. Not just want you—need you.
Like I need air. Like I need water. You're not optional for me anymore. "
For a moment, something shifts in her expression. Her guard drops, and I see it—the longing, the love, the desperate want to believe that somehow this could work. My heart surges with hope.
Then her face closes off again. "I can't," she whispers. "I can't be the reason your child grows up in a broken home. I can't be the other woman. I can't—" Her voice breaks completely. "I can't do this."
She pulls away from me, and this time I let her go. She's already moving through the crowd, heading for the door with Brook and Hailey scrambling to follow.
I stand there on the dance floor while couples move around me.
She reaches the door. Pushes it open. The cold September air rushes in.
And something in me snaps.
I can't let her walk away. Not like this.
I chase after her, weaving through the crowd. I burst through the door just as she's reaching Brook's truck in the parking lot.
"I'm not giving up, Kinsley!"
The words echo across the gravel lot, loud enough that everyone still inside probably heard me through the open door. Loud enough that she stops walking, her hand on the truck door handle.
She doesn't turn around. Doesn't acknowledge that she heard me. Just stands there for a heartbeat, two, then climbs into the truck.
The engine starts. Taillights glow red in the darkness. Then she's gone.
I stand there in the doorway, breathing hard, watching until the truck disappears down Main Street.