28. Gracie
Chapter 28
Gracie
W e spent the next three days together, me taking videos of every angle of this cute and amazing town and posting them on social media. It had been a blur of dusty boots, golden sunsets, and the best, happiest kind of exhaustion. The kind that came from building something real. Something lasting, not only here but between us.
Lonesome Creek was taking off. My posts were catching fire, with tons of shares, likes, and comments pouring in. Many of my videos were going viral. Bookings had skyrocketed. The reservation line was ringing endlessly, and when I showed him, Tark, my sweet, wonderful Tark, looked at the screen with wide eyes, stunned and maybe a little overwhelmed.
“This is…good?” he asked, his voice full of cautious hope.
“It’s amazing.” I threw my arms around him. “It’s working!”
His biceps flexed as he lifted me off my feet, spinning in a slow circle. “It’s happening.”
The disbelief in his voice cracked something deep in my chest. He’d worked hard on this dream, and now, finally, it was coming true. Success was rushing this way, and I was grateful I could be a part of it.
What an easy sell it was. I took video after video, content practically spilling out of every corner of this place. The glowing prairie at dawn, the orcs moving through town like a Wild West fantasy come to life, the way the wind caught the wooden storefronts, making them hum with promise.
But the best content of all? Tark himself.
“Hold still,” I said, angling my phone. He stood in the middle of the street, the rugged spire of the mountains behind him, his cowboy hat tipped low enough to cut a shadow across his dark eyes and chiseled features. He was an orc god come to life, and he was all mine.
“This is still strange,” he grumbled but didn’t move.
“You’re getting used to it,” I teased, stepping closer to adjust the shot. “And you look incredible.” Nothing beats a guy in chaps except for big, brawny orcs in chaps, boots with spurs, and a vest that only highlighted their bare, muscular chests. Tark in particular.
He ducked his head. “This only works because you’re handling it all.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.” But secretly, I melted.
He might still fumble through social media and human customs, but he had no clue how swoon-worthy he was. I made sure to remind him of that fact daily.
“Let me make you lunch to celebrate,” he said after I'd gotten shots from every imaginable angle. His voice shone with that tenderness that turned me into a puddle.
“Shall we eat inside the saloon?”
“No, outside.” His chest puffed with pride. “A picnic. I saw them on the streaming images. I placed everything I’d made in the fridge.”
Strolling over to join him on the street, I curled my finger, waiting until he'd obliged, lowering his face for a kiss. “You know you don't need to keep using old Wild West wooing techniques. You've won me, love, heart and soul.”
“That doesn't mean the wooing should stop. I still need to keep you.”
The simplicity of his statement only made me adore him even more. If he wanted to sweep me away on a picnic date like some kind of romance movie hero, who was I to argue?
“I’ll grab a few things from the store while you prepare our meal then,” I said, already grinning at the mental image of him in that kitchen. He sure loved to cook, if only for me.
He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and strode toward the saloon, his excitement so evident I swore he bounced on his spurred heels.
I followed him onto the boardwalk and turned to stride down Main Street, still half-lost in the daze of how incredible my life had become.
And then the car rolled in.
Seeing who was driving made my heart come to a shuddering halt.
My parents.
The world tilted beneath me, years of tangled emotions rushing up like a wave ready to knock me off my feet.
No. Not this time. I stiffened my shoulders, my heart hammering but steady. I could handle this. I wasn't the same Gracie they'd controlled and manipulated for most of my life. I was new, stronger, in love. Surely, they’d see that. Surely, they’d?—
The doors opened. My mother stepped out the passenger side first, her expression a delicate mask of concern, though her calculating gaze betrayed her. My father followed, stiff, brimming with restrained irritation, like usual.
Tough and sweet love all coiled together—a snake ready to strike where they sensed the most weakness.
Panic clawed at my ribs, but I shoved it down.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You don’t belong here. You need to leave.”
My mother clutched her chest like I’d actually wounded her. “Sweetie, we just want to talk?—”
“I don’t,” I shot back. “I told you my answer already. I’m not coming back.”
My father sighed, though his posture remained rigid. “We were hoping we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.”
A shiver crawled across my skin. “What are you talking about?”
My mother stepped closer, her tone smooth as silk. “Gracie, honey, we love you. But your little rebellion has gone on long enough.”
“This isn’t a rebellion,” I snarled, my voice sounded more desperate than I liked. “This is my life .”
Dad scoffed. “A life playing cowgirl among beasts?” His gaze flicked down the street, distaste plain as day in his expression. “Be serious.”
“I am serious.” My pulse pounded in my ears, nearly drowning out my voice. “You’re the ones who need to accept it. I’m done with your world. I’ve built something here, something I want more than anything. I’m in love.”
A flicker of something—disdain or maybe disbelief—crossed his face.
“Love?” my mother echoed, her lips parting in mock surprise. “Darling, you don’t even know what that means.”
I clenched my fists. “And you do?”
She hesitated, her carefully constructed facade faltering for a blink before she donned her mask once more. “We know what’s best for you.”
A bitter shot from me. “Right. Like when you signed me up for a reality show when I was only six years old. Or when you negotiated my first, on-screen relationship at sixteen.” Their kind of love came with strings. Control disguised as concern. I wasn’t falling for it again.
Mom’s face hardened, her attempts at playing the loving parent slipping. “Now, Gracie, there’s no need to make a scene?—”
“You need to leave,” I snapped, my voice ringing through the empty street. “You’re trespassing.”
Dad took a step forward, towering over me like he always had when he wanted me to feel small. “We’re not going without you.”
“You’ll have a long drive back without a passenger.”
His expression darkened. “You owe us, Gracie. You think you can walk away?”
“Yes. I do.”
The air between us crackled with tension, years of their coercion rolling through me like slow-dripping poison. I fought to keep my breathing even, my resolve firm. They had no power over me here.
“You’re making a mistake,” my mother said, her voice velvety smooth. “Do you know what happens when people stop caring about you? When they forget your name? Because that’s what’s coming, Gracie. A slow fade into nothing. And then where will you be?”
I swallowed against the sting in my chest. “I’ll be happy. That’s more than I ever was with you.”
Dad stepped closer. “Enough.” Before I could react, his hand clamped around my upper arm.
The breath shot from my lungs.
Familiar panic surged, an echo of every time they’d pulled me along, made choices for me I couldn’t fight. But I wasn’t a helpless kid anymore. I wrenched away, twisting against his grip.
His hold tightened.
“Let go of me,” I snarled, shoving at his chest, but he was stronger.
“Gracie, don’t fight,” Mom said, her voice almost soothing. Like she was humoring a tantrum.
I yanked harder, but Dad was already moving, dragging me toward the car.
“No—”
The back door swung open with a practiced flick of Mom’s wrist.
A bolt of fear raced through me.
They’d planned this. Their patience had run out.
I kicked Dad’s shin, gritting my teeth as his grip bit into my arm, his strength unbeatable against my own. My pulse thundered, and my breath went ragged.
I wasn’t going back. I couldn’t.
A pair of rough hands shoved at my back, and before I could twist away, they forced me inside the car. Leather seats pressed against my chest as the door slammed shut.
“No!” I screamed, flipping around and clawing at the handle.
They got inside and the locks clicked. Cold spread through my veins.
Dad started the car. The vehicle lurched forward.
My stomach flamed as the car sped down the road, dust kicking up behind it. I slammed my palms against the window, my heart hammering.
The saloon doors swung open, and Tark stepped out, a basket in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips.
His gaze snapped to me.
The smile vanished, and his whole body went rigid. Sharga flapped his wings and took flight, soaring in a jagged, sad way toward the car that was quickly gaining speed.
I might be trapped behind glass, speeding away from the male I loved, but I could feel the fury radiating off him.
His lips pulled back over his tusks.
And he roared.