Chapter 11
I barely get the door shut behind me before Will’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
“So that’s what we’re doing now?”
I freeze, fingers still curled around the handle. “Excuse me?”
He steps closer, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it looks like it hurts. “Kissing some man you just met today. Dancing with him like you’ve known him forever.”
My heart stumbles. “How do you—?”
His jaw tics. “You think it didn’t make the rounds? Photos. Videos. I saw all of it. Hell, anyone with a phone and a pulse saw it.”
Heat rises up my neck, burning. “We went out. It was one date. That doesn’t give you the right—”
His laugh is sharp. “The right? Jesus, Phern. You’re out there playing rodeo princess with a guy who’ll forget your name by next week.”
“That’s not fair,” I snap. “You don’t get to do this.”
Two long strides, and he’s in front of me. Close enough I can feel the anger radiating off him, feel his breath, fast and shallow, crashing into mine. But I’m not scared of him.
No, I’m anything but scared.
“What am I doing, exactly?” he growls. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m losing my goddamn mind over a woman who acts like none of it ever mattered.”
My chest tightens. My pulse thrashes.
“You’re jealous,” I breathe.
“No,” he says, voice rough and low and way too close. “I’m furious.”
Then he grabs me—hands tangling in my hair, anchoring at my waist—and his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not sweet. It’s not cautious.
It’s wildfire and gasoline.
A kiss that hits like a storm, all heat and fury and years of things unsaid. It tastes like frustration, like longing, like heartbreak on the edge of breaking again. My body folds into his before I can stop it, pulled to him like gravity.
Because right now? I don’t care what comes after.
Will’s mouth moves against mine like he’s trying to undo every second we’ve spent apart. His hands roam urgent and rough, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he doesn’t touch all of me at once. And, God help me, I let him.
I don’t just let him.
I match him.
My fingers fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, like I can climb inside this moment and hide there. His body pins me to the wall, hard lines pressing into soft curves, and still it’s not close enough.
It’s never been enough with Will.
He groans against my mouth when I kiss him harder, deeper. Like I’m mad at him. Like I want to punish him for making me feel all of this. For never giving us a real chance. For letting me go.
“You drive me crazy,” he rasps, lips grazing my jaw as his hands slide beneath the hem of my dress. “Wearing this dress twice for men who weren’t me.”
My breath stutters. Heat floods low in my belly. “You could’ve said something.”
His mouth hovers just over mine, his voice a whisper of regret and need. “I’m sayin’ something now.”
Then he kisses me again and this time, there’s no hesitation. No holding back. Just heat and history and two people starving for something they’ve tried to deny for too damn long.
His hands are under my skirt now, rough palms gliding up the backs of my thighs, sending sparks shooting up my spine. When he reaches the lace of my panties, his fingers pause, teasing just enough to make me gasp.
I moan into his mouth as he presses me harder against the wall, his hips anchoring me in place. His mouth moves to my neck, tongue and teeth grazing skin, like he’s trying to learn every inch of me all at once.
“You think I didn’t want you?” he growls against my throat. “Every goddamn night.”
His fingers skim higher, over the damp fabric at my center, and I buck into his hand, helpless.
“I dreamed about this,” he says, lips brushing my ear. “You. Begging me to finish what I never should’ve stopped.”
I breathe, desperate, already undone. “Will—”
Rrring. Rrring.
The phone cuts through us like a gunshot.
Both of us still panting, on the edge of something we might not be able to take back.
Rrring.
He curses under his breath and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the phone like it physically hurts to break contact. His jaw tightens when he sees the name.
“Don’t answer it,” I beg.
Will stares at the screen, jaw tight, thumb hovering. Then he exhales, swipes to answer, and presses the phone to his ear.
“Sam.”
I drop my head back against the wall, swallowing a curse of my own.
“Yeah?” A pause. His voice drops, low and hoarse. “Yeah, she’s fine.”
He looks at me. Still disheveled, still flushed, still trembling.
“Yeah,” he says again, softer this time. “I’m with her now. Will do, buddy.”
Then he drags a hand through his hair and exhales so hard it sounds like it takes something out of him.
“I’m so fucking sorry, kiddo.”
The words punch a hole in my chest.
I blink at him, heart twisting. “Don’t call me that.”
His eyes jerk back to mine. “What?”
“Kiddo.” The word tastes bitter in my mouth now. “You don’t get to kiss me like that, touch me like that, and then call me something that makes it sound like none of it meant anything.”
He takes a step toward me, eyes dark. “It meant something. It meant everything.”
“Then why the apology?” I snap, crossing my arms tight over my chest like they can hold me together. “What, is this the part where you pretend it never happened? Put it back in the box and shove it down until you get jealous again?”
His throat works, silent. That damn muscle in his jaw tics again, the only betrayal of how hard he’s trying to hold it all in.
I wait for a second. For a heartbeat. For something.
But he says nothing. So I turn. Because if I don’t, I’ll either scream or beg him to kiss me again. Maybe both.
I take two steps away before his voice comes, raw and splintered.
“I apologized,” he says, “because I know I don’t have the right to want you like that.”
I stop.
He exhales like he’s ripping the words straight out of his chest. “But I do. I have for a long time. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to want anything else.”
“Then maybe you should figure it out, Will.”
I don’t wait for a response. I walk straight into the bathroom and shut the door behind me with more force than necessary. The silence in there is loud. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes still shining with everything I didn’t say.
With a sigh, I grab a makeup wipe and start scrubbing off the night. Nash’s sweet smile, Will’s kiss, my own spiraling confusion. None of it comes off clean.
When I finally step back into the room, Will’s standing next to the bed, arms at his sides, staring at the mattress like it’s a goddamn live wire.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mutters, voice rough. His gaze flicks to mine, unreadable. “It’s safer that way.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, reaching for my bag, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
He watches me for a second longer, then grabs his change of clothes and disappears into the bathroom. The door shuts with a soft click, sealing off whatever storm is still brewing inside him.
I let out a breath and peel off the dress that’s seen too much tonight.
My nightshirt slips over my head, cotton soft and safe.
Unlike everything else right now. I climb into bed and lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of water running and regret pooling just beneath my ribs.
That’s when I make the mistake of looking at my phone. More photos of me and Nash have hit the internet, along with more comments.
@GiddyUpCowboys: Didn’t know Sam Stone’s sister was so thirsty.
@NashStachLover: No way she’s not using him for clout!
@MissyLovesD: Another buckle bunny trying to ride her way to relevance…
@CountryTangle: Wowwww. Phern Stone is NOT who Nash should be with! He can do so much better!
The words aren’t even clever. Just cruel. Careless. But they land. Right where they’re meant to.
I stare at the screen, thumb frozen, heart thudding louder than it should. It’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said today. But this one? This one gets in. Because the thing is… they’re right.
Nash is charming. Accomplished. Revered. He’s steady and kind and already been through enough. And me? I’m a half-broken girl with an unfinished career, a complicated past, and the tendency to fall for men who never fully show up.
I bite the inside of my cheek, throat tightening.
Nash can do better than me.
So can Will…
The screen blurs slightly as tears well—silent, embarrassed, unwelcome. But I don’t cry because I believe them.
I cry because a part of me always has.
I set the phone down and press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
The bathroom door opens, and Will steps out, barefoot, his T-shirt clinging to his chest and his hair damp from a quick rinse.
He freezes the second he sees my face.
“What happened?”
I don’t answer. Just turn my head to stare at the ceiling again, blinking fast.
Because suddenly, the soft cotton of my nightshirt feels too thin. The bed too big. My skin too exposed.
When I finally speak, my voice is barely above a whisper. “They’re everywhere.”
I reach for my phone, unlock it, and hold it out so he can see for himself. He takes it from me slowly, scrolling in silence. His jaw tightens as he swipes through the photos, the comments. The parts of me now scattered across the internet like I asked to be consumed.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, voice thin. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ve already decided who I am.”
He sets the phone down, carefully. Like he’s afraid he’ll crush it if he holds it a second longer.
“Let them talk,” he says, his voice low and steady. “They don’t know you.”
“They don’t have to.” My voice cracks. “They don’t care about the truth. Just the story.”
Will walks over slowly, crouching beside the bed so he’s eye-level with me. His hand brushes my arm.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says again, softer now. “You had one good night. One moment that belonged to you. And they took it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure what to do with the knot in my throat.
He reaches for the blanket and pulls it higher over me, like I’m something fragile he finally sees how to hold.
Then, after a moment, he says, “Come here.”
I hesitate.
But then I shift, sliding closer to the edge of the bed where he kneels. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest, my cheek landing over his heart.
It’s solid. Steady.
And when he speaks again, it’s barely a whisper.
“I’ve got you, sugar.”
And for the first time all night, I believe it.