Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
sierra
Montana was populated by men with small penises.
At least that’s what I could only assume when an ugly, lifted Chevy Silverado cut me off for the third time today.
I banged my fist against the steering wheel, hoping the blaring of my horn would get the message across that they were a major fucking asshole.
I wasn’t even driving slow—I was going ten over the speed limit. And I couldn’t just slam on my brakes. I had a damn horse trailer for God’s sake.
In hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming. Driving in Goldfinch sucked. There were way too many people on the roads and only one route I could really take to get anywhere.
As if the universe sensed my frustration, another idiot in a compensator truck changed lanes, swerving in front of me without using their blinker.
Laying on the horn, I mentally cursed the TV shows that made Montana so popular.
Stupid college boys, with their stupid ugly-ass lifted pickups, who don’t use their stupid-ass blinkers.
How hard was it to flick a simple switch and use your turn signal? Then again, college boys—and men, really—were lazy and didn’t do anything extra, even if their lives depended on it.
My stress levels weren’t up only because of the horrible drivers, though. My anxiety spiked every time I came within a five-mile vicinity of this town.
Deep breaths, Sierra.
I slowly inhaled, counting to four. After holding my breath for four beats, I exhaled, releasing the air for another four.
All I had to do was make it to the fairgrounds in one piece, run the pattern, and then I could get the hell out of here.
My dog, Pancho, stuck his head out the window, tongue lolling in the breeze and tail wagging a mile a minute. His furry butt wiggled as he nipped at the air then spun in circles in the passenger seat before sticking his head out the window again.
At least someone was enjoying themselves.
I sighed as I took in the familiar surroundings.
Pale-blue mountains stretched toward the sky in one direction, dark tree silhouettes dotting the hills and ridges.
In the other direction, the land stretched on for miles, bordering the Sapphire Gulch Creek that ran through the valley the town was nestled in.
Goldfinch hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been here—five years ago.
The population had grown, a phenomenon most college towns experienced, but for the most part the businesses and neighborhoods looked the same.
Some houses appeared to have had better days, the paint on their siding now weathered and cracked, but most seemed to have gone through modern updates.
I knew every inch of this town, every side street and backroad, yet I could never muster up the courage to drive past my old house.
The house that was never a home.
I wondered if anyone lived there now or if it was vacant, haunted by the ghosts of my childhood.
I knew exactly which street it was on. Physically, I could probably still drive there blindfolded, but, mentally, I couldn’t do it.
The truth was, I never wanted to stay in Montana. The winding dirt roads and sprawling landscapes held too many memories—ones I yearned to remember and ones I wished I could erase from my mind.
My goal was always to get out and never come back. And a few times I did get out, but something always brought me back. Whether it was a rodeo, a court date, or something else stupid. This place, as beautiful as it was, had a death grip on me I couldn’t shake.
I stopped at a red light, and my knuckles paled as my hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Stop it! Don’t touch her!”
Glass shattered somewhere to my right, and my body recoiled as I sucked in a breath, heart thumping as my chest tightened like an iron suit of armor.
My eyes darted toward the floorboards, frantically searching around for the shards.
Warm liquid dripped down my palms, and I lifted my hands off the steering wheel, turning them over.
My hands shook, but there was nothing there. There never was.
Pancho tilted his head at me and whined, the sound breaking me out of my panic.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
The blast of a car horn pulled me out of my daze, and I looked up, noticing the light I’d been stopped at had turned green. The car behind me changed lanes, speeding by as the driver flipped me off.
I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, and the engine rumbled as I slowly started to inch along again.
My heart still raced in my chest, but I had to pull myself together.
It was one day.
A few hours.
I inhaled through my nose and exhaled a couple of long breaths through my mouth until I gathered my composure again. Pancho licked my arm in an attempt at comfort, and a wobbly sigh fell from my lips.
“What do you make of all this, Pancho?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.
He lifted a paw in the air, which was good enough for me.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “All right, bud. Let’s do the damn thing.”
I pulled into the parking lot of the rodeo grounds about five minutes later. The rodeo didn’t start for a few more hours, but I needed to let my horse, Lucky, get settled and rest for a while before warming him up for competition.
I hopped out of the pickup, fully intending to leave Pancho in the cab with the window rolled down.
He had too much energy to be running around, and he was a bit of a pain in my ass.
That dog found trouble wherever he went.
My life would be a bit easier today with him in the truck.
But he clearly had a different idea when he leapt over the center console to jump out of the vehicle and take off running.
Goddammit.
“Pancho! Come back here, asshole!” I yelled as I ran after him.
He’d run up to a random group of strangers and started jumping up on one of them. The damn dog was rubbing his back against the poor man’s leg, front limbs splayed out as he sat up on his hindquarters.
The man reached down to pet him, his straw cowboy hat blocking his face.
His friends just laughed, arms crossed in amusement.
They looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place who they were from afar.
The rodeo world was close-knit, though, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d seen them before on a big screen at a competition.
When I finally caught up to my devil dog, I leaned down to grab his collar so I could pull him away. “I’m so sorry about my dog, he’s—” I started to apologize, catching my breath. But as I stood up, I came face-to-face with a familiar pair of ocean-blue eyes.
Ones I remembered all too well.
How could I ever forget eyes like his?
Five years could do a lot for a person. His jaw was more defined, having lost the pesky baby fat in his face, and he could actually grow facial hair now, although it was still a bit patchy and looked as though he kept it short—clean and well-trimmed.
His hair was slightly darker than it was when we were kids, now more of a sandy brown or a dark, dirty blond.
Lean muscle rippled in his arms, a tell-tale sign he was no longer a boy—no longer the boy I’d fallen in love with at sixteen, despite knowing I could never have him, would never subject him to the pain I’d endured as a child.
My first love.
My first loss.
Decades could have passed. An infinite amount of time apart wouldn’t have mattered.
I’d have recognized him anywhere.
“Hi, Skip.” The corner of his lip twitched, and amusement shone in his gaze, but I didn’t miss the crack—ever so subtle—in his voice when he said my childhood nickname.
Hayden.