Chapter 29
Fable
I loved Harleigh and the way she found any excuse to celebrate. Bars, music, drinks—it was her way of marking the good moments. For me, it was a lot to manage. The noise, the bodies, the pulse of energy. It wasn’t what Beau had said that sent me spiraling—it was everything, all at once.
While the last thing I imagined myself doing since the accident was standing in a barn, running my hands over a horse’s coat, I did it anyway. Because it was quiet. Because it was slow. Because Beau was steady.
Because, somehow, being near him felt safer than being anywhere else.
“Is this what life out here is like?” I said as I rocked and looked out into the stillness of the night.
“Boring?”
I glanced over at Beau and realized how fucking fucked I was. He was sitting there, beer in hand that he’d gotten for us, rocking away.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Peaceful. Quiet.”
“Sure is,” he murmured. “Didn’t always appreciate it, though. That’s why I moved to Dallas for a while. Hated the stillness out here. When I came home from events, I wanted to party and fuck my way through the week.”
“Of course you did.” I chuckled, tipping my bottle to my lips.
Come home and fuck me.
Nope. Weird thought. Way too close to home.
I focused on the horizon, anywhere but him—on anything but the way that stupid cowboy hat sat low on his head, how that belt buckle caught the dim porch light, how his presence filled up all the empty spaces around me.
I turned my chair slightly, facing him fully. “I get why you do it.”
His mustache curled a bit, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched me.
“Bull riding. Risking your life for eight seconds.” I clarified. “I get it.” I sighed and tucked my knees up to my chest. “When my parents passed away, I wanted to live like that—fearlessly. I still do. I understand why you chase that high.”
A pregnant pause settled between us.
“Yeah. If I die out there, I imagine I’d get a chance to be with her again.” His voice was quiet, almost lost in the night air. “It doesn’t scare me as much as I think it scares others.”
My chest ached at the way he said it, so certain, so at peace with the thought of it. Death terrified me. I couldn’t see it the way he did, probably never would, but I knew one thing. I had to stop letting my anxiety dictate my life. I had to start living it for myself.
I wouldn’t be first in line—if ever—to climb atop a bull or a bucking bronco, but petting Ginger was a step in the right direction.
A small act of defiance against the fears that had gripped me for so long.
Before the accident, I’d loved horses. I could go back to living my life with fewer fears than I had in the moment, then I’d be living it better.
“Two truths and a lie?”
I smirked. “Hit me, bull rider.”
“I’ve never had a friend—”
“Lie,” I answered immediately, thinking of how he and Dalton were always around each other.
“Hold on,” he said. “I’ve never had a friend who has ever come inside my house. Dad’s been the only one who ever comes in.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously?”
He nodded, taking a slow sip of his beer.
“Dalton? Gatlin? None of them?”
“Nah.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “We drink at the bar, hang at Kline’s or out at events. No one ever comes here.”
My shoulders dropped. “That’s kinda sad, Banks.”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t sad. Just how I like it.”
I rocked slowly in my chair, staring out at the dark horizon, but my mind was miles away, spinning over what Beau had said.
I was the only one who had been inside his home. The only one who had sat at his table, eaten his food, and stood in his kitchen while he cooked for me.
Beau had a way of making it seem like he was open, like he was easy to know. The way he joked, the way he flirted, the way he carried himself like he had the whole world figured out. But this? This told me otherwise.
His home wasn’t a place to sleep. It was a place where he let the world stay on the outside, but he let me in. I wasn’t sure what to do with that thought.
Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
I knew better, and as I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, I risked a glance at him. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, his gaze fixed on the land in front of us, the beer in his hand dangling lazily between his fingers.
This wasn’t a game to him.
I exhaled softly, forcing a smile. “That was the truth then?”
“Sure was,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to mine. “Alright, let me come up with another two.”
I turned away, watching as a bird soared overhead, its song carrying through the quiet night.
“My dad and I have a phenomenal relationship.”
That had to be a lie—or at least not the full truth.
He told me he’d moved out young, and though repaired, their relationship couldn’t have been seamless.
Maybe it was a foundation, but one with cracks.
Still, his dad followed him to events, stayed involved.
That had to count for something . . . right?
“What’s the last one before I make my final decision?” I turned my rocking chair slightly, dropping my knees so I could see him better beneath the brim of his hat.
“The last one . . .” He lowered his beer and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
I arched a brow. “Oh, the suspense is killing me.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, but his gaze stayed locked on mine, unreadable. A beat passed, and then another, before he finally spoke.
“I want to kiss you again.”
I couldn’t. No. This was wrong.
I shouldn’t feel the same.
I couldn’t feel the same.
My stomach clenched, a hot twist of something I refused to acknowledge curling low inside me. I forced a laugh—something between a giggle and a sputter that sounded so unnatural I almost cringed at myself.
“Yeah, that’s a lie,” I blurted out, trying to shove the words between us like a physical barrier.
Beau didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Panic prickled at the edges of my mind. He couldn’t want to kiss me.
It was the lie. It had to be.
But what if it wasn’t?
If we kissed—if I let this happen—then what?
Then I wouldn’t have my friend, and I liked being with him.
Liked the easy quiet between us. Liked the way he looked at me like I wasn’t broken.
Liked that he didn’t push when he saw me spiraling, that he let me be until I could pull myself back together.
I couldn’t lose that.
“I-I don’t—” The words barely came out before my panic hijacked my body.
I shot up so fast the rocking chair flew back with a loud crack against the porch.
“Well, that’s all for me tonight.” My voice was too high and forced. “I’m gonna go!”
I threw my thumb toward the house like some dramatic idiot and all but launched myself off the porch.
“Fable.”
Nope. Not listening. I was already walking. Fast. As fast as I could without breaking into a full-on sprint, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
“You are not walking by yourself in the dark.”
“I am!” I huffed, picking up my pace.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and I heard the scrape of his boots against the porch.
No. No. No. If he caught up to me, I’d have to talk. If I had to talk, I might say something stupid. If I said something stupid, then I might—
I pushed forward, focusing on the path, on the shadows stretching out in front of me, but no matter how fast I walked, his footsteps were getting closer.
“We’re friends, Beau.”
“Fuck,” he grumbled as his boots hit the ground hard behind me until he’d somehow caught up to me.
I refused to look at him in the face, focused on getting to the guesthouse.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No.” I stopped abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest. “We have to be friends. You don’t understand—I like being with you.
I like that I was invited into your house.
I like our ridiculous truth-and-lie game.
I like that when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I have to wash my hands a hundred times.
” Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, silently begging them not to fall.
“Please. Just . . . please don’t ruin that. Let us be friends.”
In the dim light of the moon, I saw him nod, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry. I feel like I keep screwing this up. You’re right. I don’t want that to be ruined either because I want to kiss you.”
I groaned, throwing my hands in the air.
“What? What did I do?”
“Talking about kissing me is off-limits. End of discussion,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster.
He tipped his hat in my direction. “Got it, Cowgirl.”
“That’s another thing. No more nicknames. No Cowgirl. No . . . baby.” I spun back around and started walking toward the house, thankful I left a light on the porch because it was dark between the pastures.
Falling in step with me, he pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense, then shook his head. “Can’t do that, sorry. You’re my Cowgirl. But fine, I’ll throw friend in there if it makes you feel better.”
I chuckled. “Yes. Friend is what we are.”
We reached my house, and I stopped, turning to face him.
I shouldn’t have. Not when my body was betraying me, my mind conjuring thoughts I had no business thinking.
Why did I want to invite him in, to tell him to fuck me like he had at the hotel, but better—because this time, I wouldn’t leave?
Why did I want him to step inside and not feel like I needed to wash my hands after being outside in the dark, where anything could be lurking?
“Alright, well—”
“I’m practicing tomorrow morning.” He cut in. “Come watch. I need a spotter.”
I raised a brow. “A spotter?”
He shrugged. “Could help get content for the bulls too. Maybe we can take some auction stock or bulls Kline wants to breed out. I’ll ask him.”
That . . . was actually a solid idea.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “That sounds good.”
His lips curled into a smile, and he tipped his head back. “Alright, Cowgirl—er, I mean best friend—”
I laughed, shaking my head.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, stepping back.
I nodded. “See you then, Banks.”
I closed the door behind me, pressing my forehead against it as I let out a slow, shaky breath. My fingers twitched. I could feel the dirt beneath my nails, the idea that a bug could have landed on me, crawled up my arm or burrowed into my hair.
I rushed to the bathroom and quickly flicked on the light.
My hands met the sink in an instant as I twisted the faucet on and let the water rush over my skin.
I didn’t even hesitate before grabbing the soap, scrubbing, lathering, rinsing, repeating.
The water was too hot, but I didn’t care.
My skin burned, the rawness a familiar ache that told me I was clean.
But I wasn’t. Not really.
The anxiety, the obsession with being clean, with controlling what little I could when the rest of my mind spun out of control.
When my parents died, it got worse. When I got engaged, it got worse.
When I lost everything, it swallowed me whole.
I scrubbed and scrubbed, convinced that if I erased the dirt, I could erase the memories, the pain, the way my stomach knotted when things felt out of place.
But tonight, with Beau . . . it hadn’t been like this.
I didn’t think about the dirt when I was touching Ginger. I didn’t think about my hands when I was sitting with him on that porch, rocking, listening to him talk about his mom, his life, the way he chased something bigger than himself. I wasn’t obsessed with washing my hands when I was with him.
And that scared the shit out of me.
I turned off the water, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes were glassy, my lips parted as I dragged in a deep breath. I wanted to run, to push him away before he could leave me first. But the truth was, I needed him.
I needed his help, even if he didn’t know it.
I needed the ease of being around him, the way he made my world slow down, the way he saw me but never made me feel broken. I needed to figure out how to be his friend, just his friend, because losing him wasn’t an option. I couldn’t want him the way I did.
I had to learn how to do the rest on my own.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned off the bathroom light and grabbed my pajamas. I had to be his friend even though the ache between my legs wanted so much more.