Chapter 21 #2
“Here.” I push a mug of cocoa toward her, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not on those long legs of hers.
She comes to lean against the counter beside me and takes the mug. “Thanks.” She hesitates, like she’s weighing her words, and then adds, “You were right. I was an idiot.”
I can’t stop the half-smile tugging at my lips. “Sorry, what did you say?”
She glares at me over the rim of her mug. “Shut up.”
“No, no.” I chuckle. “I just want to make sure I heard you. Izzy Brooks admitting she was wrong about something. This could be national news.”
“Very funny. And for your information, I’m wrong plenty.”
“Yeah, but how often do you admit it?”
Izzy makes a face. “About as often as you do.”
She’s got me there. I take a long sip of sugary warm cocoa.
From his bed, Buck heaves out a sigh like he’s wondering why we’re still awake.
It’s late, but I’m enjoying this softer version of Izzy.
The one who can admit she’s wrong sometimes, the one wearing my clothes and nothing else.
I gesture toward the table and Izzy nods, slipping onto the bench and tucking her legs under her, wrapping her hands around the mug like she’s soaking up every bit of warmth.
I rub my hand over my beard as I take the bench opposite.
“I have to ask,” I say carefully, searching for the right tone.
One that won’t immediately have Izzy throwing her walls back up.
“What were you doing out there? And don’t just say you were fixing a leak.
I mean, what possessed you to climb onto a roof in the middle of the night, in the rain? ”
“I can look after myself.” Izzy’s tone hardens, but I swear I catch a flicker of vulnerability in her face. Enough to make me swallow my own retort.
“No one’s saying you can’t,” I reply carefully. “But there’s a difference between looking after yourself and being so stubborn you put your life in danger.”
She looks away. The tension in her shoulders eases. I can’t tell if she’s about to shut me down or open up. “Wow, this is really good cocoa,” she says, taking another long sip.
“Making cocoa is one of my superpowers,” I reply.
“How many superpowers have you got?” she teases, her brows arching.
“Don’t change the subject, Brooks.”
She drops the smile and sets the mug down, her fingers tracing the rim.
“I fucked up,” she says, hesitating. “When I was sixteen, Hooper moved into our neighborhood and I fell madly in love with him. By eighteen, he was trying to make it as a country singer, and I was pregnant and dropping out of med school. I ignored every single one of the warnings my parents gave me. Turned out, Hooper wasn’t the man I thought he was.
I was nineteen when Madison was born, still a kid myself. ”
Her voice cracks a fraction, and I can see the rawness of what she’s telling me, how hard it must have been. Every part of me wants to reach out and take her hand or get up and scoop her into my arms, but I don’t want to interrupt her.
“I was completely alone with a newborn baby,” she continues.
“It was terrifying. Hooper was… out a lot. Trying to make it as a singer, and avoiding us too, I think. Every second of every day I was solely responsible for this beautiful, innocent little girl. If I didn’t feed her or hug her or love her, then no one else would.
I realized I had to do it. And I had to do the same for myself too. ”
My chest tightens as I watch her. She’s so composed, but the weight of what she’s saying feels like it could crush me.
Losing my dad was hell. Feeling responsible for my brothers.
Being a rock for Mama. Watching her sell Dad’s horses.
Then finding purpose in football. Every bad game.
Every loss. And my injury, when it felt like my world ended.
Through all of it—for my entire life—I’ve never been alone.
I’ve always had Jake and Chase. They might not take much seriously, but I know I can count on them.
And Mama too, who wouldn’t hesitate to drop everything and walk through fire to get to me if I needed her.
I can’t imagine raising a child alone now, let alone at nineteen. Being abandoned by the one person who should’ve had her back and not feeling like she belonged in her own family. That’s a whole different level of strength.
“Hooper and I fell apart real quick and I came back to Denver with Madison. My parents wanted to help, but I felt like I couldn’t let them.
It was like… I had something to prove. I’ve always been the fuck-up.
They weren’t even surprised when I got pregnant.
It was like they’d been waiting for it to happen.
Then Bill offered me a job as a ranch hand.
Part-time, doing what I could while Mad slept, which wasn’t often to start with.
Bill gave me a lifeline and I never wanted him to feel like I was a burden or make him regret the offer.
So I worked hard. Did everything myself.
” She stops, her fingers tightening around the mug.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” I say. “But you’ve raised one hell of a kid all by yourself, while also becoming a damn good ranch hand. You have nothing to prove anymore.”
Her face lights up at my encouragement, but she hesitates for a moment before murmuring, “Yeah, it’s just…”
“Hard to change,” I finish for her.
Izzy nods and suddenly it doesn’t feel like we’re talking about her past anymore.
The silence between us stretches out and I swear I can feel every unspoken thought passing between us.
I’ve always thought I had Izzy figured out—stubborn, prickly, self-reliant—but now I see the cracks in her armor.
She’s fierce and vulnerable, a walking contradiction.
I have so many questions I want to ask her.
I want to know everything. Every badass, sharp edge she has.
Izzy lifts her face, eyes defiant as they lock with mine, like she’s waiting for me to challenge her or argue, but I have nothing in that moment but sheer admiration.
“It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” Izzy says. And suddenly the air around us is shifting again.
I can’t help the slow smirk that touches my lips. “Just to be clear, I’m a gentleman and I won’t be taking advantage after inviting you to spend the night.”
Izzy rolls her eyes. “Just to be clear, Sullivan, that’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, but I’m growing on you, aren’t I?” I tease.
Her eyes narrow, but there’s amusement dancing in them too. “You’re barely tolerable, I suppose.”
“Tolerable?” I place a hand over my chest like she’s wounded me. “That’s what I get for rescuing your ass from a roof? High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it, Sullivan.” She smiles. “And for the record—I’m no damsel in distress who needs rescuing.”
I stand and cross to the stove, grabbing the cocoa pot and leaning over her as I top up her mug.
I’m so close I can smell the soap from the shower on her skin.
I pause for a moment, feeling the heat between us before dropping my voice to a low murmur, my lips a whisper from her ear.
“And I’m no knight in shining armor.” I step back, and despite all my resolve, I can’t stop my eyes from dragging to her lips.
“You may not be a damsel in distress, but you might be trouble, Brooks.”
Her smile widens. “And you might like that.”
The air feels charged, like anything could happen. If we let it. “Come on,” I say before I can change my mind. “I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”
I lead her upstairs to Chase’s room. It hasn’t changed much since he left for college—it’s a shrine to his teen years, complete with Stormhawks flags on the walls and matching bedcovers. I flick on the light and Izzy laughs as she takes it in.
“Just be glad Chase doesn’t have a life-sized cutout of himself in here,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.
Izzy turns to face me and in a blink the tension is back. Her lips part, and I catch a flicker of want in her expression that lights a fire inside me.
“Quit looking at me like that, Brooks. I meant what I said. I didn’t rescue you to take—”
“I know.” She flashes me a teasing smile. “You don’t want to take advantage. Such a gentleman,” she says like I’m anything but. “What if I want to take advantage of you?”
“Not gonna happen,” I reply, trying to ignore the raging hard-on growing in my shorts and the challenge in her eyes.
“It’s late,” I remind her. “And you’ve been working nonstop for weeks.
Take tomorrow off,” I add, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory before I lose the last shred of my willpower.
“Have a rest before Mad arrives. I can handle the horses.”
Izzy opens her mouth, ready to fight, but I give a warning noise in my throat. “Do you ever not argue?”
She takes a slow step closer and my mind flashes to the driveway after Quicksilver was born, and to the paddock earlier, to every near-miss and almost-touch this week that’s left me feeling like we’re on the edge of something dangerous and inevitable.
I shut down the voice in my head telling me this is a bad idea, and without a word, I take the mug from her hands and set it gently on the floor.
“I wasn’t done with that,” she says, but she doesn’t stop me.
When I look into her eyes, they are dark with need. Slowly, I reach up and cup her face in my hands. I hover my lips a whisper from hers, wondering if I’m about to make the biggest mistake. Or maybe my best one yet…