Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Zander
My suitcase is already packed.
DeSoto’s been hovering outside my door as though I’m still on tour, guarding a hotel hallway instead of a family ranch in the middle of nowhere. I told him to knock it off. The only people trying to breach security out here might be the set of little girls I saw running around earlier.
I scroll through my phone to keep my head busy.
Not that I’m hot on reading blatant lies written about me.
Beau and the team did a good job spinning my absence as a post-tour break, but you can’t hide a caravan of trucks and an army of new faces in a small town.
Everyone will know where I am soon enough.
My phone pings with a text from Zara.
What is there to do out in Nebraska?
My thumbs hover my screen when a knock lands on the door.
“Beau, you get it handled or what?” I mutter, tossing my phone onto the bed and yanking open the door.
It’s not Beau.
“Romy?”
Her eyes are steady, and her chin is lifted. She tilts her head toward the room. “Mind if I come in?”
I step back. “Uh… yeah, sure.”
She walks past me, eyes scanning the room. “Not surprised they gave you the honeymoon suite.” She scoffs as if I’m undeserving.
“It’s the biggest room.” I shrug.
She shakes her head but doesn’t comment. Instead, she crosses the space to the farthest corner, deliberately keeping her distance from me. There’s resolve in her face and a tightness in her shoulders.
“Listen,” she says, her voice firmer than I’ve heard prior, “I know this is uncomfortable. But I’m not here to stalk you. I haven’t told my family what happened between us, so you don’t have to worry about them hating you on my behalf.”
I clench my jaw.
“I overheard Beau telling Scarlett you want out.”
“I do.” I force myself to hold her gaze.
She nods once. “Then let me make this easy for you. You don’t have to worry about me. I get it—it was a fling. Less than a fling. I was just another rabid screaming female in the crowd you picked out to pass the time with.”
My chest tightens. I want to stop her. Tell her she wasn’t like the others. That she’s still under my skin. But if I do that, I’ll give her hope that this can be something it can never be. Hope that I might be a different person than she thinks. That would make me even more of a bastard.
“Just…” She swallows hard, her voice catching. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but please… stay. Film the video here.”
Her words slice deeper than I expect. I study her. She’s flushed, but not the way she used to be when I kissed her. This looks more like exhaustion.
“Help me understand,” I say, arms crossing, feet planted wide.
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t have to understand.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
Her jaw drops open, disbelief sparking in her eyes.
You’re being a dick. Stop it.
“God, isn’t my asking enough?” Her voice rises, sharp edges breaking through. “Do you think I’d humiliate myself like this if I wasn’t desperate?”
Her fierce gaze locks with mine. And just like that, I’m dragged back to the memory of her beneath me as I slid into her. How I wanted to slow down, savor her, memorize every second because I knew even then she was too good for me.
“So, in just a few hours, you’ve changed your mind?” I ask, my words sharper than I intend. “What happened to it’s a big ranch. We don’t have to cross paths?”
Her annoyance spikes. “Fine. Whatever. Leave. I’m not surprised.” She storms toward the door, putting as much space between us as possible.
Let her go. Let her go. Get off this ranch.
But my hand betrays me, reaching out, fingers curling around her wrist.
She freezes. But she doesn’t turn or pull away.
“Fine,” I say, my voice low. “If it matters that much to you… I’ll stay.”
She exhales as though the air’s been punched from her lungs. I force myself not to trace the pulse on the inside of her wrist with my thumb. We just stand there, breathing the same air.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I let go, and after a beat, she walks to the door.
“Romy,” I say.
Her hand stills on the knob, but she doesn’t look back. “You should be careful,” she warns. “This might be a small town, but there are plenty of women who’d kill to get into this room. Maybe DeSoto should stick to the hallway instead of raiding the complimentary peanut butter cookies downstairs.”
I smirk. “They’re good cookies.”
Her shoulders loosen slightly. “Nothing compared to the pistachio ones.”
Our exchange garners the barest shift in her posture before she slips out.
I don’t try to stop her. Whatever drove her to me had to be monumental because I’m the last man she’d ever want to ask for help.
I walk to the window just to torture myself, desperate for one more glimpse.
She’s crossing the lot, climbing into a UTV. That blue dress of hers catches the fading light, hem fluttering around those long, tan legs I used to dream about being wrapped around me.
Still do, asshole.
Another UTV pulls up with Scarlett and Beau. He walks over to Romy, holding papers. He’s smiling, but she breaks the distance, her hand touching his arm, and his smile falls. He nods. They talk for one or two seconds before she climbs into the UTV and drives off.
Then Beau glances up at me. He sees me watching then shakes his head, laughing to himself.
Great. Now he’s gonna give me hell.
I wait for the knock, but he doesn’t bother. The door clicks open.
“Last I checked, this isn’t your room,” I grumble.
“Figured you wouldn’t let me in.” He tosses the papers onto the bed and finishes off the cookie he must have taken when he passed by reception. “These are some of the best cookies I’ve ever had.”
“I guess the pistachio ones are the best.”
“Really? Says who?”
“So?” I change the subject, not wanting to talk about Romy and how when she confessed her favorite cookie, I wanted to go down to the kitchen and beg the chef to teach me how to make them just to impress her.
“Here’s the deal. I granted your wish. Again. Which makes this a helluva lot more than three, so you’re out of genie requests. Then I hear you changed your damn mind?”
I grab my guitar, sitting on the edge of the mattress and settling it on my lap.
“Zan?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “We’re staying.”
Beau glares at me when I glance up at him. “You’re a fucker, you know that? Scarlett Ellis isn’t all sunshine and fucking roses. She threatened my balls. Promised to slit my throat. Might’ve cursed my unborn children. She’s probably gone back to that office of hers to put a hex on me.”
I arch a brow.
“Okay, maybe not,” he admits. “But it wouldn’t shock me if that’s next. So now I have to tell her we’re back on?”
“Yep.” I strum a chord casually.
“I quit.”
“You say that every day.”
“And if you weren’t such a sorry ass, I’d mean it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
He shakes his head, muttering as he grabs the papers again. “I should.”
“Probably.”
He stops in the doorway. “You’re buying me a new shirt. This one’s soaked in sweat.”
I chuckle.
“Stop laughing, asshole.”
The door shuts, and I’m sure he’s flipping me off behind it, but I’m thankful when the silence returns.
I scribble a line into my notebook, words coming fast and furious since Romy left.
Maybe Beau’s right. Maybe this ranch is exactly what I need. For inspiration or peace or mental torture, I don’t know.
It could be a good thing or a bad thing, but if I’m stuck here, I might as well benefit from it.