Chapter 12
That night, I dream of Will.
Hot, tangled, erotic dreams that leave me flushed and aching, like my body’s trying to make sense of what my heart still can’t. But when I blink awake, tangled in too-warm sheets and hazy memory, that’s all they are. Dreams.
Will’s on the floor, one arm slung over his face, soft snores breaking the stillness of the morning. A pillow beneath his head. Blanket half-kicked off. Like last night didn’t happen. Like the walls we tore down in the dark rebuilt themselves overnight.
Even though he comforted me, held me like I mattered, it doesn’t mean anything’s changed. To him, I’m still Sam’s little sister.
Rolling over, I reach for my phone, needing a distraction. Needing something that doesn’t twist the knife.
Nash Kimzey
Hey, this is Nash. How are you doing?
I stare at the message longer than I should. My fingers hover. My stomach twists. Every instinct tells me to pretend I’m fine. But I’m not.
So I don’t lie.
Been better. How are you? How’s Natalie?
His reply comes almost immediately.
She’s good. I explained to her that we just met and that the internet isn’t always a good place.
My heart clenches at the thought of him sitting across from his daughter, trying to protect her from the ugly parts of the world. Explaining how people rewrite your story with half a picture and none of the truth. How something as simple as a kiss can become a headline you didn’t ask for.
My fingers hover again, heavy with the questions I don’t have the courage to ask:
Do you regret it?
Do you regret kissing me?
Do you regret being seen with me?
But before I can type a single word, another message comes through.
I also told her that I’d like to get to know you. That is, if you’re still game.
I blink. And then blink again. In the middle of all this noise, he’s offering clarity. Choosing me.
My fingers shake as I type back.
I’m still game.
Good. Want to grab some brunch? I know a great place.
Brunch sounds great.
I’ll pick you up in an hour.
I set the phone down and sit on the edge of the bed, my pulse thudding in my ears. Behind me, Will shifts in his sleep, sighs.
I don’t know what I’m walking into. But I know exactly what I’m walking away from.
I’m slipping on my boots when I hear him stir.
The rustle of the blanket. A soft groan. Then his voice, rough with sleep, edged with something else.
“Where are you going?”
I freeze for a half-second, adjusting the strap on my bag. “Brunch.”
Will props himself up on one elbow, eyes still heavy-lidded but focused. “With who?”
His tone isn’t casual. Not even close. I hesitate just long enough for him to catch the truth before I say it.
“Nash.”
He sits up fully now, blanket pooling at his waist, tension rolling off him in waves. “Seriously?”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “He asked. I said yes.”
His mouth pulls tight, jaw flexing like he’s grinding back a thousand things he wants to say. “After last night?”
“That’s exactly why,” I say, voice low. “Because whatever that was? It didn’t change anything, did it?”
Will doesn’t answer. His silence is confirmation enough.
I turn to face him, hands curled around the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing holding me upright. “You kissed me, Will. You touched me like you meant it. But when the sun came up, you were back on the floor. Back to keeping your distance.”
“I was trying to respect you,” he snaps, standing now. Barefoot. Frustrated. Beautiful.
I shake my head. “No. You were trying to un-feel it. Just like always.”
He steps closer, but I don’t move. I don’t let him close the space unless he’s ready to fill it with something real.
“I can’t do this with you if you’re only willing to have me in the dark.”
He swallows hard, but I don’t wait for his answer. I’ve waited long enough.
The knock at the door breaks the silence like a final bell. I open it. And leave.
Nash smiles when he sees me, easy and warm, like the night before didn’t spin my world sideways.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” I say, managing a real smile.
“You okay?”
I let out a soft, shaky laugh. “That’s a loaded question.”
“Oh?” He opens the truck door for me, and I slide inside.
“My brother sent his best friend to keep an eye on me,” I say, buckling in. “Let’s just say he’s not exactly thrilled with the photos.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“Will Flowers.”
Nash huffs a quiet laugh as he starts the engine. “That doesn’t surprise me. Will’s always had a hot head. Used to throw punches before he learned to keep his gloves on. We got into it a few times when he was still on the circuit.”
I blink. “You fought Will?”
“More than once. He’s got that bottled-up energy. Either uses it or explodes.” Nash glances sideways at me, one brow raised. “Interesting that he agreed to come all this way just to keep an eye on you.”
I shrug, looking out the window. “We’re not dating, if that’s where your mind’s going.”
He chuckles. “Wasn’t gonna ask.”
“Good,” I say, then pause. “But really, we’re not. He’s just loyal to Sam. To a fault.”
Nash hums like he doesn’t quite buy it, and part of me doesn’t either.
As if on cue, my phone dings.
Sam Stone
Will said you’re going out with Kimzey again.
Are you sure this is a wise move, sis?
It’s only going to get worse before it gets better.
I let out a dry laugh and tilt the screen toward Nash. “See what I have to deal with?”
He squints at the messages, then raises his brows. “Damn. On one hand, I approve that he’s looking out for you. On the other… yeah, I can see how that would drive someone to tequila before noon.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. We step out into the lobby, but the air feels lighter somehow.
Will smiles and offers me one of the coffees he brought earlier.
“Well,” he says, tapping his cup against mine, “Here’s to telling overprotective brothers and ex-rodeo stars to mind their own business.”
I grin. “Cheers to that.”
We walk a few blocks to a place Nash knows. It’s a converted brick warehouse with string lights across the ceiling and a menu full of things like jalapeno cheddar grits and brisket Benedict.
The hostess clocks Nash immediately.
“We’ll get you a table on the patio,” she says with a smile that’s too practiced to be genuine.
“Hope you like feeling like a zoo exhibit,” Nash murmurs to me as we follow her out.
“I prefer avoiding being watched,” I mutter back.
He just grins. “No such luck.”
We settle into a shady corner table beneath a giant oak tree, the kind with thick limbs that bend like old knees and cicadas humming somewhere nearby. The scent of smoked meat and syrup wafts on the breeze, and for a while, everything feels normal.
I sip my mimosa, legs stretched out under the table, and ask, “Be honest. Do you regret kissing me in public?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Not even a little.”
Heat curls under my skin. “You might after the next wave of headlines.”
“Then I’ll kiss you somewhere private next time,” he says, and takes a bite of his biscuit like he didn’t just casually threaten to ruin me in the most charming way possible.
I laugh, trying not to choke on my mimosa.
We’re halfway through our plates when it happens. That click. That subtle shift in the air. And suddenly I know. I glance across the patio and spot a woman with a camera phone held just a little too steady. Another one across the street behind a tinted pair of sunglasses.
And then a sound I dread. The hum of a notification.
I flip my phone over and watch the push alert bloom across the screen.
@BuckleBabeBuzz: Brunch date for Nash and Phern! After last night’s steamy kiss, these two are keeping it cute and caffeinated. But sources say former rodeo star and Sam Stone’s BFF, Will Flowers, is staying at the same hotel…
My stomach turns.
Nash catches the look on my face and leans in. “What is it?”
I show him.
He reads it. “Of course they’re turning it into a rodeo soap opera.”
“And you’re the hot, emotionally available single dad.”
“And you’re the scandal-prone sister of a country star.”
We sit in it for a moment, our own faces staring back at us from someone else’s narrative. And then we laugh. It feels good to laugh.
Nash sighs, wipes his hands, and leans back in his chair. “You want to bail?”
“No,” I say. “I want to finish my grits.”
But after the third passerby not-so-subtly angles their phone toward our table, Nash leans in, voice low.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I nod, already grabbing my purse. “Please.”
We slip out the back entrance, duck through an alley, and end up in a little downtown park with a half-hidden gazebo.
It’s shaded and quiet, framed by trees that block out most of the street noise.
There’s no one here. Just us. And birdsong.
And the hum of tension that’s been building since last night.
He sits on the edge of the low stone wall surrounding the space, knees wide, elbows resting on his thighs. I stand in front of him, and for a second, neither of us says anything.
Then he reaches up and takes my hand, pulling me gently between his legs, his eyes locked on mine.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Not really,” I admit.
He nods, like he gets it. Like he’s not either.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not hurried. It’s not for the cameras. It’s just for us. His lips are soft, sure, and the hand that cups my jaw is warm and callused in the best way. But the thing that kills me is that it’s not Will.
“I like you, Phern,” he murmurs.
“I like you too.”
And then his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He exhales, already pulling away. I step back as he fishes out the phone. One glance at the screen and his whole expression changes.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s Natalie.”
He answers, voice soft. “Hey, sweetheart.”
I can’t hear her words, but I can tell. She’s upset.
His brows pinch together. “I know. I saw. Yeah. People can be mean sometimes. They don’t know you. They don’t know me.”
A pause. His eyes close for a second, and I can hear the edge of guilt in his voice now. “No, sweetheart. I’m not replacing your mom. I’d never do that.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
Another pause.
“Yeah. I’ll come home early. I promise.”
When he hangs up, the quiet stretches between us again.
He tucks his phone away, staring at the grass. “She saw the brunch photos. Someone at school sent them to her. Said I was already on to the next one. She’s twelve, Phern. She doesn’t even understand what this mess is, but she’s still stuck in it.”
I step closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair to her. Or you.”
He finally looks at me. “I need to go back tonight.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“But I want to see you again,” he says, fast, like he needs to get it out before something stops him. “This doesn’t change that. But she comes first.”
“She should,” I say.
Because I know what it means to be someone’s afterthought. And I’d never want to be the reason a little girl feels like one.
“I’m probably heading back to Broken Heart Creek,” I say, quiet but certain. “Will you be there for the Love Lost Rodeo?”
Nash nods. “I will.”
“Good.” I take a step back, not because I want to, but because it feels like the right thing. “I should probably go back to the hotel alone. I don’t want to traumatize Natalie any more than the internet already has.”
His smile is soft. Grateful. “I appreciate that, Phern.”
We say our goodbyes and then I walk away.
By the time I unlock the door and step into the hotel room, I’m halfway ready to crawl into bed and breathe for five uninterrupted minutes.
Instead, I stop cold.
Will’s sprawled across the bed like he owns it. Boots off, one arm behind his head, scrolling on his phone like this is his room and I’m the one who needs to knock.
My stomach drops.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
He doesn’t even flinch. Just sets his phone aside and looks at me, calm as ever. “Waiting on you.”
I cross my arms.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asks, voice too casual to be real.
“Going back to his hotel.”
Will nods once, slow. His jaw tics like he’s chewing on something he knows he shouldn’t say.
“Did you have fun?” he asks, still watching me like he’s trying to read between my words, like fun means more than just pancakes and polite conversation.
“Yes,” I answer, lifting my chin. “I did.”
He sits up, arms resting on his knees now, tension bleeding through every line of his body. “You kiss him again?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His voice is quiet, but it lands like a gut punch. “I asked if you kissed him.”
I stare at him. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
Before I can reply, his phone starts buzzing on the nightstand.
Missy’s name flashes across the screen.
I don’t even flinch.
“Maybe instead of worrying about me,” I say, nodding toward the phone, “you should take care of your own things.”
Will glances at the screen and curses under his breath, scrambling to silence it. “It’s not what you think.”
I let out a dry laugh and take a slow step toward the bathroom. “Good. Because I’m not thinking about you at all, Will.”
Lies. But I say it like I mean it. His mouth opens like he wants to argue, to explain, to fix something that’s already cracked too deep. I don’t give him the chance.
I pause just before the bathroom door, my back still to him.
“Just stay out of my way for the rest of the trip,” I say, calm and cutting. “And I’ll do the same.”
Then I disappear behind the door, locking it behind me. Because if I don’t put a wall between us now, I’m afraid of what I’ll let him tear down next.