Chapter 10
“O k, Heartford. Now’s the time.”
I pick up the shaver and stare at my reflection bathed under the glow of lights above my bathroom mirror.
My brows scrunch as I look at myself, caught in the middle of whatever this is. Some kind of spontaneous decision to make a change. It’s about time I got rid of this mustache once and for all.
Fuck it. The only reason I grew the damn thing in the first place was to rebel against the media image that ‘little miss perfect’ curated. Mandy constantly tried to control every facet of my life. At first, I grew it to annoy the shit out of her, and lucky for me, it worked better than I could have ever anticipated.
She could never fucking stand it.
Having a mustache became my own mini rebellion. A prominent middle finger to the primping and preening and forever obsession she had of going through life without a hair out of place. If there’s one thing I learned immediately after saying I do to Mandy Spires, it’s that she had a determination to manipulate every aspect of our lives to fit an aesthetic for her brand.
Career, fame, and stardom first. Human decency a distant, and neglected, second.
Little did I know, the woman I walked down the aisle with was going to transform the minute she secured her happily ever after narrative. It was as if I’d been plucked straight out of a cowboy catalog the woman had perused and chosen. A marriage prospect curated, secured, and locked in as part of her ten steps to stardom manifesto.
The sucker I was, that I fell for her ploy, hook, line, and sinker.
I’ll give her credit. The woman can perform a role to perfection, and she managed to play all the chords of my heartstrings and weaknesses like a goddamn concerto. Besides my rodeo career and competing being my only focus, I was fucking lonely. Being on the road all the time? Watching everyone around me seem to have found their person? Yeah, I yearned to belong, to feel like I was important to at least someone , in a way I’d never had after my parent’s marriage blew up.
I’d wanted something deep—being a foolish fucking asshole, who at that time still believed in shit like soulmates—and it was as if I had a homing beacon floating over my head.
Sucker available for a far-too-spontaneous wedding, right here.
She convinced me to go all in so rapidly. Like I had been struck down with a fever and walked around in a daze until the moment the affliction lifted. My head spins if I give those memories too much attention nowadays. Fucking hell, just thinking about the way I jumped in, boots and all, eager as fuck to say yes, leaves me queasy. All because I thought the woman I’d been dating, for way too brief of a moment in time, was the one .
Tessa did her best. I see that now. My sister wasn’t able to make me see things from a different perspective. Certainly not while I was riding the cresting wave of rodeo success and growing fame in the arena. Back then, I was caught up in all the glittering trappings that came with every damn thing I touched turning to gold.
It was too easy to get sucked into the whirlwind, to forget myself, only to fall off the ride and hit my knees with a sickening thud when I met the real Mandy.
The woman who would do anything to climb charts, to scale her own personal mountain of record deals, while stepping on as many necks as necessary—not to mention bouncing on as many dicks as possible—in order to get there.
Well, since I’m nearly at the end, rapidly approaching the final buzzer to signal this torrid ride is finally over, I’m planning on moving forward with my life. I guess part of that means I gotta get rid of this thing occupying real estate on my upper lip. Ironically, the iconic version of Beau Heartford that has kept me company throughout the duration of my marriage.
I weigh the razor in my hand and take in my reflection, with shaving foam on my jawline and the line of dark hair I’ve trimmed and shaped and kept in place for so long sitting right there. Yet, I hover. Almost, but not quite ready to actually do the deed, to go through with it and erase that part of my identity. It feels so fucking strange to consider getting rid of that guy staring back at me in the mirror once and for all.
We’ve been through a lot, he and I.
Look to the future, right? That’s what Tessa keeps reminding me. A new look, a fresh start. It’ll help to distance myself from the old Beau Heartford if I’m not as readily recognized anymore.
Though it’s gonna be fucking weird to be a smooth-lipped, fresh-faced cowboy. Jesus, I don’t even think I know how to be that guy. Maybe it’ll be good business for the ranch to have a more clean-cut image.
I click the shaver on and the electric blades buzz softly, reverberations bouncing off the tile and glass in the enclosed space.
Just as I lean forward, pressing the skin to stretch taut above my upper lip with my free hand, I hear a crash. A yelp rocks the house. Smashing noises follow and a pained cry comes from the direction of the kitchen.
Racing out of the bathroom, I skid to a halt in the doorway, taking in the sight of Sage clutching her forearm. She’s gone ashen, with eyes round like saucers. My gaze drops down, taking in the sight of sizzling oil splattered everywhere, along with whatever she’d been trying to cook.
Christ. Did she cut herself? Burn herself?
“What the hell?” I’m trying to assess if she’s hurt bad enough that we need to get out of here and start speeding to get to the nearest emergency doctor when I see the strip of red-raw skin on the underside of the arm that she’s favoring.
“What happened?” I herd her toward the large, double-wide sink, gently encouraging her to step away from the mess that I’ll clean up later.
“My arm. Flames. Pan.” Sage is usually a woman with all the sharp quips loaded into her arsenal, but right now, they’re failing her. Under the force of pain that must be coursing everywhere, she’s bereft of words, and her face tightens.
“It’ll be ok. Sit.” I chuck the shaver onto the benchtop, then reach for her waist. Tough shit if she wants to protest or fight me, or whatever challenge it is that Sage Maloney seems to live for throwing my way whenever we’re around each other. I hoist her ass onto the counter and immediately guide her burned forearm beneath a stream of cool running water.
“Ahh. Shitcuntfuckowww .” Those pretty features scrunch into a tight ball, and she hisses through clenched teeth. “Knew I should have stuck to takeout or… or…” Her words falter and die with the effort of continuing that thought.
It’s something seeing her disarmed like this. I’m worried about her, of course, but I also find myself noticing just how much I’ve grown to enjoy her sharp sense of humor.
How much I have, in fact, missed having her close these past few days. When I know I absolutely cannot think that way, at all.
“Keep your arm there.” I dip a finger beneath the faucet, checking it is, in fact, the right temperature, and then set about fetching the medical supplies I’ve got on hand.
“Anticipating a retirement dabbling in amateur surgery, were you?” Sage eyes me warily as I lift the hard-shell case from the cupboard where it’s stored.
“I’ll bet you’ll be real happy I’ve got this beast of a kit when I tend to that burn.” Quickly setting a timer on my phone, I fish out everything I’ll need. “Give it fifteen minutes, then we’ll see what the damage is.” My chin dips in the direction of the water sluicing over her burned skin.
“Ok.” She slumps back against the wall and lets her eyelids fall shut as the sound of the faucet fills the night.
“What were you cooking?” I want to keep her talking, to make sure she’s ok.
“Doesn’t matter.” Sage scrunches her nose. It’s cute, she’s cute, and my eyes keep drifting back to her face, eating up the opportunity to take in her features this closely. In the way I’ve been so tempted to since that first day, and yet, of course, I haven’t been able to.
“You know, you’ve got a little something…” Sage’s dark lashes rest against her cheeks; she’s not looking at me but uses her free hand to dab delicately at the corner of her lips. A mouth I should absolutely not be looking at while standing as close as I am to this girl.
“Do I?” Feigning ignorance, I monitor the timer, checking how long she’s kept her arm under running water for.
She laughs, a full-bodied, decadent sound that comes from deep in her stomach, and something damn well expands in my chest that she’s genuinely laughing. It doesn’t feel fake.
Of course, I didn’t even think or pause before rushing out upon hearing her in pain. As I stand here, bare-chested, with shaving foam smeared over half my face and a pressing need to deal with my upper lip, I can only imagine what a sight I must be.
“Why do you have clippers? Were you in the middle of a hot date with your undercarriage doing some manscaping down below? I guess it’s fortunate for my eyes you didn’t race out here with your balls half-shaved and scandalize the neighborhood.”
Hearing her wit pop back to the surface leaves me wrestling to hold back a grin.
“Here.” I nudge her hand to take a couple of painkillers. Those dark, honeyed eyes pop open, struggling to focus on me a little hazily at first. Once she tosses them in her mouth, I follow that by offering up a glass of water to wash them down with. You know, in an effort to be useful, and not simply linger like a creep staring at her from such close quarters.
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “Sorry if I interrupted your little pampering session. Not that I know much about what cowboys usually do as part of a nightly self-care routine. What do you use? An exfoliating scrub? Some retinol cream? Have a ten-step secret to achieve a dewy look and minimized pores you’d like to share with the class?”
Touching my tongue to my teeth, I look over her arm, all while feeling her curious eyes on me. “Think that should be almost long enough under the water. Just a few more minutes should do it. How does it feel?”
“Like I want to hex that pan, put a generational curse upon that stove, and never attempt to cook again in my life.”
“The arm, Sage.” I shake my head.
She winces. “Very ouchy.”
“Any better after being under the water?”
“Yes.” She pauses. “Thank you, by the way.”
“No need to thank me. It’s part of the job.”
“Boss, part-time fighter-jet pilot, and medic.” She lets out a low whistle. “A man of many hidden talents, you are indeed.”
The back of my neck prickles, feeling the compliment Sage just gave me, burrowing beneath my skin. Goddamn, what is it about this girl that makes me feel so drawn to her spark and flare that is so uniquely her .
I shrug. “Rodeo teaches you a lot of things… you get used to dealing with all sorts of shit. Figuring it out and handling whatever comes your way on the fly, you know.” It’s nothing, really. This is part of the life I’ve always lived, having to deal with injuries and know how to take care of what you can, and turn up at the emergency room at other times.
“So… the clippers?” She presses me again, inquisitive eyes following my every move.
My throat bobs as I rummage through the medical kit for burn salve I’m pretty sure I stocked up on.
“Nothing as interesting as manscaping .” I raise one eyebrow at her. “Just decided it was time for a change, that’s all.”
“A change?” Her brow scrunches.
“Yeah. You know… get rid of the mustache you enjoy giving me such hell for. Figured I might as well ditch it. That way, I can have a summer in peace, without the non-stop ‘stache jokes.”
Sage gasps, and her words blurt out. “Don’t you dare shave it off.”
She blinks at me rapidly, then buries her face in the glass of water I’d handed over only moments before.