Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Ace
The bag swings back, and I catch it with a left hook that sends a jolt up my forearm. The kind of hit that tells me my body's right. My head's right. Everything's dialed in for Saturday.
Jett holds the bag from the other side, bracing with his legs.
"Again," he says.
I go again. Combo this time. Left jab, right cross, left hook to the body. The bag shudders. Jett grunts.
"Harder."
"I hit you any harder, you're going through the barn wall," I say with a laugh.
"Do it anyway. You need to be meaner than that bull, Ace."
I reset. Bounce on my toes. I throw another combination, and the chain holding the bag groans.
"Good," Jett says, stepping back and wiping his forehead. "You're sharp. Saturday's yours."
"Saturday's always been mine." I unwrap my hands, flexing my fingers. "I just need my head clear and my body right. Everything else takes care of itself. I want this."
Jett grabs a water bottle and drops onto the bench. Tips it back, drains half of it, and then pulls out his phone.
"Speaking of Saturday," he says, scrolling. "Your socials have been dead."
"Good."
"Not good. You've got a title ride this weekend, and your last post is from a week ago. That's a dead account, Ace. Sponsors notice."
"Sponsors notice when I win. Which I will."
He turns his phone around. On the screen is a shirtless photo of me from last season.
Leaning against the chute fence, hat low, sweat on my chest, looking at the camera like I was trying to sell something.
Which I was. Because that's the game. Post the thirst trap.
Get the engagement. Get the followers. Get the sponsorship deals. Rinse and repeat.
"One of these before Saturday," Jett says. "That's all I'm asking. Post-workout, towel over the shoulder, maybe shirtless with Seven in the background. The girls go insane for the horse content. You know this."
"No."
"Ace."
"I said no."
He frowns. "Why? You've done it a hundred times. This is literally how we got the Wrangler deal."
I toss my hand wraps into my bag and grab my water. Taking a long drink before I consider answering him.
"Because it makes my girl upset, and I don't do that."
Jett stares at me. "Harper has a problem with you posting shirtless?"
"Harper told me it makes her uncomfortable. And you know what? If it were the other way round with hundreds of guys commenting on her body, I’d probably snap." I shrug. "So no more shirtless."
I caught her the other night scrolling through the comments on my recent post. And to be honest, I was as horrified as her. I never paid much attention before. But seeing her face as she was reading them, I knew I was done with this.
"Ace, it's marketing. It's not real."
"It's real to her. The comments are real. I respect my girl too much."
"She's dating a professional athlete. It comes with the territory. It’s not like you engage back?"
I look at him. Hold his gaze long enough that the easy grin he was wearing starts to fade.
"Let me explain something to you, Jett. If Harper tells me something bothers her, it bothers her. I don't get to decide it shouldn't. I don't get to tell her it's not a big deal or she's overreacting or it comes with the territory. She told me how she feels. That's the end of the conversation."
He opens his mouth.
"And if I do something that makes her mad," I continue, "I'm not taking it out on her. I'm taking it out on you. In this barn. With those gloves on. So, unless you fancy being my new heavy bag, I'd drop it."
He closes his mouth and nods. "Fair enough."
"Good."
"For the record, I think she's got you wrapped around her finger."
"She does. And I'm exactly where I want to be. Trust me. Never be concerned about me being whipped around by Harper."
He laughs, but he lets it go. That's the thing about Jett.
He'll push, but he knows when the wall is real.
This one is real. Harper asked me for one thing.
One small thing. She sat on my bed and told me that seeing those comments made her feel like she had to compete for something she'd already won.
And the look on her face when she said it, the way she braced herself like she expected me to brush it off, told me everything I needed to know.
So no more shirtless workout videos. These abs are hers. And I'd make that choice again tomorrow without thinking twice, because the only person whose opinion of my body matters is the one sleeping in my bed.
I grab a towel. Wipe my face. Check my phone.
A text from Harper. A selfie. Her in her car, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, middle finger up at the LA skyline in the background.
Goldie: Heading into the office. Wish me luck. Love you always.
I grin. Type back.
ME: You don't need luck, Goldie. You need a getaway driver. I volunteer. Love you.
I'm about to hit the shower when the barn doors creak wider, and Colten walks in.
He doesn't look right.
It's not obvious. Colten never looks panicked. He never looks scared. I've known this man my entire life. I know his breathing. I know the way he walks. And right now, his stride is wrong.
"Ace," he says.
Just my name. Nothing else.
Jett sits up on the bench. I set my phone down.
"What?" I ask.
"You need to come with me."
"Where?"
"East fence."
"Why?"
He doesn't answer. He just looks at me, and whatever he's not saying is louder than anything I've heard today.
"Colt. What happened?"
"Xander called it in ten minutes ago. I need you to saddle up and come with me. Now."
I don't ask again. The tone in his voice doesn't leave room for it. I grab my hat, cross the yard, and head into the stable. Seven is in his stall, already alert, ears forward like he knows something's wrong before I do. Horses are like that. They read the air better than people.
I saddle him fast. My hands are steady, but my chest is tight, that instinct you develop growing up the way we did.
Colten's already mounted. We ride out through the back gate and head east across the property. Neither of us speaks. The only sounds are hooves on packed dirt and the wind moving through the grass.
We ride for fifteen minutes. Past the cattle grazing in the south pasture. Past the water tanks. I see Xander first. Standing about a hundred yards out, next to the fence line. Hat in his hands. Head down.
Xander is never still. Xander is six-foot-four of constant motion, always shifting, always looking for something to do with his hands.
That’s what makes him so damn good at his job.
The fact that he's standing like a statue with his hat off tells me everything I need to know before I'm close enough to see.
I pull Seven to a stop. Dismount and hand the reins to Colten without a word.
I walk the last fifty yards on foot and come to a stop when I see it.
Paulie is face down in the dirt.
His hat is three feet away. His rifle is beside him, still slung across his back. He never even got it off his shoulder. Never saw it coming.
The knife is still in his back. Between the shoulder blades. Buried to the hilt.
I stop walking.
The world goes very quiet.
Not silent. Quiet. The kind of quiet that happens inside you when something breaks, and the sound hasn't caught up yet.
The world is still moving, and Paulie is face down in the dirt, and those two things can't exist in the same reality, except they do, and I'm standing in the middle of it trying to make my lungs remember how to work.
Paulie.
Paul Reeves. That's his real name. His full name. The one on his birth certificate, the one his mother called him, the one nobody on this ranch has used since he showed up at our back door with a bloody nose and nowhere else to go.
My dad took him in. Gave him a bunk in the barn that first night.
A room in the house by the end of the week.
I grew up with Paulie beside me. He was already here when I was born.
He might not be a Sterling by blood, but by everything else.
Every cattle drive. Every fence repair. Every late night on the porch when Dad would tell stories about the old days, and Paulie would sit on the steps and listen like he was memorizing our history.
He ran this ranch. Not officially. Not with a title.
But everyone knew. If something needed doing, Paulie had already done it.
If a fence was down, he'd fixed it before you noticed.
If a new hand was struggling, Paulie was the one who showed up beside them and worked in silence until they figured it out.
He held this place together the way the ground holds the roots. You don't see it until it's gone.
And now he's face down in the dirt with a knife in his back, and I don't know how to stand here and look at that and keep my legs under me.
I crouch down beside him. Close enough to see the dust on his hat brim. Close enough to see the calluses on his hands. Close enough to see the face of a man I've known since I was a kid, turned to the side, eyes open, expression almost peaceful. Like he was looking at the sunrise when it happened.
He probably was. Paulie loved the east fence at dawn. Said the light was different out here. Said you could see all the way to forever.
"Ace." Colten's voice is behind me.
I don't turn around. I can't. Because this fucking hurts.
"Who?" I ask. One word. All I can manage.
"We don't know yet. Xander found him twenty minutes ago. He was doing a sweep and saw tracks but no rider."
"This isn't Paulie's horse."
"No. He took one of the mares. She's about a quarter mile south."
So whoever did this came on foot. Knew the fence line. Knew the routine. Knew Paulie would be out here alone at dawn, the way he always was, because that was his job and he never missed a day. Not once in twenty years.
This wasn't random. This was a message.
I stand up. My legs hold. I don't know how, but they hold me upright.
I turn to Colten. His eyes are red. He's not crying. Colten doesn't cry. But the redness is there, and the way he's gripping Seven's reins says everything his face won't.
"Get Hunter on the phone," I say.
"Already done. He's on his way."
"Nobody touches him until Hunter gets here. Nobody moves him. Nobody pulls that knife."
Colten nods.
"And get me a name, Colt. I don't care how. Get me a fucking name and let me fucking kill them."
He nods again. Puts his hat back on and turns the horses. This is Colten's speciality, tracking, hunting.
I stand there. Yet again, someone else I loved is ripped away from me. And I can’t do a single thing to change that.
I don't cry. Not yet. There'll be time for that later, in the dark, in my room, when nobody can see. Right now, I need to be what this ranch needs me to be. What my brothers need me to be. What Paulie would want me to be.
Ready to end whoever did this.