Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
IZZY
The next two days blur in a delicious haze of ranch work and being together. I spend more time in Dylan’s bed than in my own trailer, and the more time I spend there, the less I want to be anywhere else.
Ron’s nephew, Travis, has been a great help. He’s young and green but doesn’t shy away from hard work. I can already tell he’s a natural with the horses. The gentle way he talks to them makes me think he’ll be a great ranch hand one day.
When the work is done and Travis leaves, Dylan and I take long showers together and then I sit at the kitchen table in one of Dylan’s shirts and not much else while he cooks a simple meal for us—pasta or grilled meats.
We wash the dishes side by side. Every time our hands brush against each other, our conversation stops, replaced with heated glances, shots of electricity sparking between us.
Then he takes my hand and leads me up to his bed, where we worship each other’s bodies and talk long into the night.
About horses. About the future. About the kind of rancher Dylan wants to be.
He thinks he wants to keep the foals longer, break them in, give them the skills to be the best damn rodeo horses in the state.
Selling them when they’re stronger, more confident. I like that idea, too.
We both know this is a bubble. Tomorrow, Mad will be home from camp and Chase will swing by. Next week, Jake and Harper will return from Hawaii and then Mama from Florida the following week. And somehow, we’ll have to figure out how to fit this thing between us into the chaos of real life.
But right now, lying in Dylan’s bed, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and my mind buzzing like a live wire, I feel suspended between sleep and something that feels a lot like joy.
There’s a smile on my lips I don’t try to hide.
I don’t know how this is possible. How something that started as a mistake could feel so right.
Beside me, Dylan’s breathing is steady, but the slow, lazy path his fingers are tracing over my thigh tells me he’s not asleep.
For the first time in years, I feel safe.
I feel settled. It feels like the walls I spent years building have crumbled, and in their place is Dylan’s solid, steady presence. I don’t want to be anywhere but here.
“Which mare do you think would be best for a late-summer foaling?” Dylan’s voice is low, rough with sleep, but there’s curiosity in his tone.
I turn my head on the pillow, finding him watching me in the dim light. “Callie would be my first choice. She’ll be coming into season soon and I think she’s ready for another foal. Are you thinking of breeding this year?”
His fingers trail higher, brushing over the curve of my hip. “If you agree, then yes.”
I hum, thinking. “Buckshot is a great stallion for her. He’s all speed and agility. Their last foal sold well at auction. And it’s good to have the injection of cash later in the season.”
Dylan nuzzles my neck. “I like hearing you talk like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this is your ranch too,” he replies.
The words settle deep in my chest, and I arch into his touch, my body responding to the warmth of his skin, the slow scratch of his beard on my shoulder as he moves his lips to kiss my neck.
His hand moves lower, fingers teasing, and oh God I’m ready to lose myself in him again.
Until his ringing phone shatters the moment.
“That’s the second call in an hour,” I say, eyes still closed. “You gonna answer it?”
“Kinda busy right now,” he replies, shifting over me.
I laugh, pushing him gently back. “Answer that phone, Sullivan, or we’re not getting any peace tonight.”
He groans, rolling onto his back and grabbing the phone from the bedside table. “It wasn’t peace I was looking for.”
I laugh at his words as they send desire curling low in my stomach, but the moment vanishes as he swipes to answer.
“Coach,” Dylan says, his body tensing. He swings his legs over the bed, planting his feet on the floor. Awake. Alert.
The warmth between us—the safety I felt only seconds ago—vanishes in an instant.
It’s just one phone call. It doesn’t mean anything.
Doesn’t change anything. And yet my heart starts to hammer in my chest as Coach talks, his gruff voice rumbling through the quiet, loud enough for me to hear every word.
“Finally answering your phone, eh, son?”
Dylan rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, Coach. It’s been a busy few weeks.”
“Mama spoke to you about the opportunity?”
There’s a pause before Dylan replies. Unease streaks through me. What opportunity?
“Yeah, she did.”
“Truth is, we could really use your help, Dylan,” Coach Allen says.
“The team is the strongest it’s ever been.
We’ve got a real shot of getting to the Super Bowl, and for that to happen, the coaching team needs to be at its strongest too.
I’ve let Philip and Jason go and I’m rebuilding.
I want someone who knows the team, someone who understands these boys and what we’re doing here.
I can’t think of anyone better for the job than you. ”
My stomach tightens. Dylan is being offered his old life back. Or a form of it anyway. I feel sick and unsteady.
Turn it down!
The words are a whispered prayer in my thoughts. A rock seems to form in my throat. I can’t swallow. He promised he was here for this ranch and for us.
“And selfishly,” Coach continues, “I’m looking at retiring in five, maybe six years. I want to know I’ve left the Stormhawks in good hands. This isn’t just a temporary gig, son. This is a future.”
Dylan exhales slowly. “That’s a fantastic offer…”
There’s no escaping the excitement in Dylan’s voice, which cuts into me as easily as a knife.
“But—” Dylan starts, hesitation thick in the air. I hold my breath.
Please remember your promise.
I trusted you!
“I know you’ve got something else going on now,” Coach cuts in, his tone gentler. “I’m not asking you to make a decision tonight. Take some time to think on it. Come by my office sometime before the season starts if you’re interested.”
“I will. Thanks, Coach.”
“You’re one of us, Dylan. We need you,” Coach says before ending the call.
The silence that follows feels like the moment before a storm—a stillness you can’t trust. Just like Dylan, I realize. I sit up slowly, watching Dylan’s broad shoulders tense, his phone still clutched in his hand. He’s facing away from me, but I don’t need to see his face to know what’s there.
Hope.
The same hope I’d been letting myself feel about this place.
About us. In one phone call, everything is shifting under my feet, the ground no longer steady but quicksand I’m sinking into.
A rush of anger scorches through me, and I let it in.
Let it drown out the pain threatening to crack open my chest.
I punch the lamp on, already scanning the floor for my clothes. “I knew this would happen,” I bite out, jumping out of bed. “I fucking knew it.”
Dylan twists toward me, his brows drawn tight. “Izzy, hang on. I haven’t decided anything.”
“Right. Keep telling yourself that.” I reach for my clothes and dress fast. The space in this room is suddenly too small.
Dylan moves to standing. He’s naked apart from a pair of shorts, and even in this moment, I can’t drag my eyes away from the muscles of his chest. “Hey, just stop for one second, Izzy,” he pleads. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I bite back as I grab at the clothes I’ve left in Dylan’s room, bundling them in my arms. Hiding the tremor in my hands.
His jaw tightens. The walls close in. “You don’t get to push me away again and destroy us over one phone call,” he says. “Nothing has changed.”
I pause, drawing in a ragged breath. He’s right. Even in my anger I can see that. I’m about to walk away from something amazing because of one phone call. Dylan could turn it down. He could stay. He could still be mine. Don’t run!
And yet I have to ask: “How long have you known about the offer?”
Dylan’s expression shifts like he’s warring with himself. “Since Saturday.”
Something cracks inside me at his admission. “Saturday. The same night we slept together for the first time, and you knew then you were going to sell the horses and go back to football.”
“I told you, I haven’t decided anything. Mama mentioned there might be a coaching offer coming. I didn’t know anything about it or whether it was real until thirty seconds ago. Please, Izzy. Let’s talk about this.”
I force my feet to stay rooted and my voice to remain steady. “Answer me one question, Dylan. Are you going to meet with Coach?”
His hesitation is a thousand splinters, each one digging deeper. But I hold my breath, force myself to wait. To hear his answer.
“I…” He drags a hand through his hair before finally he looks at me. “Going for one meeting isn’t me turning my back on this place. It’s just one meeting.”
The trust shatters. Our relationship shatters.
Everything disappears so fast it gives me whiplash.
I stare at the man I’d let myself start to fall for.
The open face. The scowl. Dark eyes I’ve lost myself in countless times.
That strong body I thought had my back. None of it was real.
I was just another part of his distraction. I can’t believe I fell for it.
I shake my head, my laugh harsh and broken.
“You’ve been kidding yourself this entire time, Dylan.
” I gesture toward the ranch beyond the window.
“These horses were a drunken mistake. And you’ve done a really good job of pretending they mean something to you.
Hey, you even fooled me for a minute there.
But you’re still lying to yourself if you think taking this meeting isn’t choosing football over the ranch. ”
“There might be a way to do both,” he replies, his voice sharp, desperate.
I meet his gaze, holding back the tears burning at the back of my eyes.
He will not see me break. “Before you were injured, when you were at the top of your game, if someone had come to you and told you that you could run a ranch in your spare time, would you have said, ‘Sure, sounds great,’ or would you have said, ‘No way, there’s no time for both’?
” I take a step closer, my voice trembling.
“Because there isn’t time, Dylan. This is an all-or-nothing life.
So do us both a favor and admit you made a mistake.
Sell the horses and go back to your real life, because I’m done here. ”
I think Dylan will argue. Tell me I’m wrong. Beg me to stay. But he doesn’t. He stays silent, irritation rippling from him with the same force as my own.
That silence is the final answer I need.
I turn on my heels and stride away. Down the stairs, through the kitchen.
Out of the back door, across the driveway.
Into my trailer. Only when the door is closed and locked do I lean against the wall and let the first sob shudder through my body. Then the next and the next.
Tears blur my vision. I trusted him. I let myself believe this was different, that he was different.
How could I have been so stupid? I should have known better.
I should have kept my walls up, should have protected myself, protected Madison.
But instead, I let myself fall. Not just for this life on Oakwood Ranch, but for Dylan too.
I opened myself for him. Let him in. And now it’s all slipping through my fingers like it was never real to begin with.
Fucked up again, Iz!
I bite the inside of my cheek. I cannot keep messing up my life.
I have to think about Madison. It’s that thought that forces me forward.
I move on autopilot, opening cupboards, throwing clothes for both of us into bags.
I’ll get my trailer moved next week, but for now, I just need a few things. And then I need off this ranch.
For one gut-wrenching moment, I think about waking up tomorrow in a place that isn’t Oakwood Ranch.
This isn’t just about leaving Dylan. Fresh tears spill down my cheeks, the pain of all I’m leaving behind.
I think about not being the one to feed Quicksilver.
I think about not being here for the horses I love as much as the work.
The guilt is fierce, but I swallow it back and fire off a message to Travis, asking him to take on more hours and days. Dylan can sort out the finer details with him, but I won’t leave without making sure these horses will be cared for. Until Dylan can find a buyer for them, anyway.
I pull my shoulders back and wipe my tears. Mad has to be my focus right now. My parents were right—Madison needs more than this. I shove the last of my things into the suitcase. Dylan hasn’t been the only one to make mistakes and pretend this is working.
My six weeks are up. It’s time to move on.