Chapter 45
Shannon
Jamie stood alongside Bucky in the viewing gallery, arms folded, legs planted wide.
She didn’t need to look over at him to know he was watching every fence Trixie carried her over.
She’d slept for over ten hours the night before, but it didn’t seem to touch her exhaustion.
Every movement she made must have looked sluggish, her shoulders drooping, her body heavy.
Trixie responded well, but Shannon wasn’t fully present. When the canter ended, she swung her leg over the mare’s back and slid to the ground.
Her boots hit the sand, and her knees wobbled.
Black spots clouded her vision. The arena spun. She reached out and gripped the stirrup leather, fingers tightening to keep herself upright.
Her spine tingled, sensing him before the warmth of his hand settled at the small of her back. Even with the fog dulling her thoughts, Jamie’s presence cut through like sunlight through mist.
“You looked good out there,” he said.
She turned toward him, but her body swayed before she could speak.
“Shannon?” His arms came around her, pulling her to his chest with quiet urgency. “You’ve gone white as a sheet.”
She tried to nod, but the pressure behind her eyes pulsed harder. Still, she forced a small smile, the kind that tried to deflect.
“I’m okay, Jamie. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t lie to me, love,” he said, one hand cradling the back of her head.
Jackson, ever the shadow at Jamie’s side now, let out a bark like he agreed with him.
“We’re going home. Now.” His words were clipped, final. “You and me. Pizza. Beer. Sofa. No yard work. No arguments.”
“I don’t know…” She sighed, her stomach churning and her head swimming.
Bucky stepped in and took Trixie’s reins from her shaky hand.
“I’ve got the yard sorted, Shannon,” he said, already walking away. “You pushing yourself like this won’t help anyone.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, Bucky.”
Jamie stepped closer, crowding her space without smothering it. His scent—mint, cedarwood, and something purely him, moved around her.
“No, you won’t.” He took her hands in his. “A weekend off means your sexy ass at home until Monday morning, doing nothing but resting and eating.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, the sentiment tender and commanding all at once.
“You’re mine to take care of, love. Remember?” he whispered, the words a vow. “And right now, that means stripping your schedule until you remember how to fucking breathe.”
Jamie didn’t need her to be strong. What he expected, though, was a full surrender. And deep down she accepted that in his arms, she wasn’t falling apart.
Rather, he held her together.
“I know I need a few days off,” she admitted, brushing sand from her breeches, “but there’s so much to sort on the yard. I’ve a new client arriving tomorrow. They’re dropping off their horse. I need to be here in person.”
Jamie’s brow lifted, unimpressed. “I’m not asking you to take a break, Shannon Stubborn Colter. I’m telling you because it's what you need. I’ll arrange for someone else to greet the new horse. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She huffed, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she pulled herself up on tiptoes and kissed the curve of his pout.
“You might be right,” she whispered against his mouth, “but I’m not taking a break just because you said so. Got it?”
She poked a finger into the solid wall of his chest, playful defiance in her eyes, even as her body leaned into his.
“A few days off…in bed…with a certain good-looking guy is my idea of rest. Strictly rest, of course. Nothing else.”
Her cheeks ached from smiling when his mouth curved into that slow, knowing grin, the kind that made promises without saying a word.
He didn’t speak right away. Just stared at her like he already knew how the next few days were going to go, and resting wasn’t part of his plan.
“I’ll grab some more stuff from the loft,” she said, pressing her forehead to his chest. “Meet you at the helicopter.”
“That’s why you like me, isn’t it? Because I know what’s best for you.”
She unclipped her safety helmet and pulled it free, shaking out her hair.
“Hmm…do I like you?” She puffed out her cheeks and released a slow, thoughtful breath like she had to think about the answer.
Then she blinked up at him with fluttery lashes and a grin that tried to hide the truth.
“Okay, fine. I do like you. A lot, actually. But don’t let it go to that big head of yours.”
He smirked, dimples flashing, but she was already backing away, heading toward the barn doors. The thought of a full weekend off settled warm in her chest.
Rest. Quiet. Him. It was more than she’d dared to want.
“I like you lots too, love,” his voice rang out behind her. “And I’ve already claimed you. The rest is just detail.”
She turned mid-step, her heart giving a little kick. That grin she didn’t mean to show spread wide across her face.
The bone-deep exhaustion was still there, but somehow, his words fed her. Lit her up from the inside out.
“It’s like you’ve tied me up with a damn lasso,” he said, smirking.
Her stomach flipped. Jamie McGrath wasn’t just a fantasy, he was the real deal. Supportive. Gorgeous. And somehow, he was hers.
“Lasso, Jamie?” she teased. “That one of your fantasies?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he called back, hands on his hips. “I bought you a Stetson, by the way.”
“Hope you’ve got one, too.” She winked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and flashing him her best come-hither look. “I might have a thing for cowboys.”
Jamie’s low chuckle followed her like a heat trail.
Shannon walked away, her boots kicking up sand as she left the indoor arena behind. The crisp afternoon air greeted her as she crossed the yard.
She climbed the stone steps, her muscles stiff but her grin still in place.
By the time she reached the top, her heart was still beating just a little faster than normal.
When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she froze, staring at the cramped space.
Everything had changed since the days she’d curl up on the couch, alone and hollowed out.
Her gaze drifted over the space, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Loneliness had been her constant companion, something she’d convinced herself was necessary to survive, maybe even to succeed.
But Jamie had shattered that illusion.
Now, the loft was nothing more than a soulless shell. Not her home, just a place to store what she’d outgrown.
With that realisation came a chill of dread. What would happen if Jamie grew tired of supporting her? When he decided her baggage wasn’t worth carrying anymore?
Deep down, she feared ending up right back in the loft, alone with her ghosts, heartache and silence for company.
Despite the doubt, hitting the brakes wasn’t an option now. She’d already signed, sealed, and handed over her heart with no return address, no backup plan.
The past had scorched itself to ash behind her, and all she wanted now was a shot at something real.
At happiness…with him.
Moving to the bedroom, she paused at the made bed, a little dizzy. The air still smelled of her body spray. Everything looked untouched…except the drawers.
Her brows snapped together .
They hung open like snapped teeth, her clothes rumpled in a way that didn’t look like her usual mess. No, this was different. Searched. Rifled through.
Her pulse kicked hard when a click echoed from the galley kitchen, teamed with the thud of a door closing.
“I’m nearly ready,” she called, reaching for her perfume.
She grabbed her trainers from under the bed and shoved them into a tote, followed by the old photograph stuck to the mirror on the dresser.
Harry wore a proud smile that day, his arm around her shoulders as she held up her first ever rosette.
Confident footsteps moved through the loft…stopping at the bedroom door.
“I told you, I don’t need any hel?—”
The words lodged in her throat when Niall appeared, smirking like the devil himself, framed in the doorway.
Her heart plunged like a stone, taking her smile with it.
He leaned against the frame, arms folded across his pale blue shirt while his gaze slithered over her.
“Moving somewhere, Shan?”
“Why are you here? Does anyone else know you’re back?” The words tumbled out in a breathless rush, her lungs tight.
Niall unfolded his arms, rubbing his palms together fast, like he was trying to start a fire. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, a twitchy joy stretched too tight across his pale face.
“Just Bucky,” he said, acting cool. The friction stopped, and he slipped a hand into his jeans pocket. “I always hated that asshole…but today? He’s a fucking legend.”
He pulled his hand out, dangling a small bag of white powder from his fingers.
Her blood ran cold.
“He’s a dealer?” she whispered, her heart thumping faster.
“Fuck, Shan, the guy thinks I needed a bump to help with the grief,” Niall grinned, “he gave me this as a gift. I think he’s trying to win me over so I don’t fire him.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. Jamie was outside, waiting at the chopper. Close, but not close enough.
“I couldn’t be bothered with rehab,” Niall continued, treating it like a joke as if all the money his dad had paid for the facility didn’t matter. “Amsterdam, though…yeah, that was a way better retreat.”
He chuckled.
Keys jingled as he dug into his other pocket. Metal scraped, plastic crinkled.
Then he used his teeth to rip the pouch open, the gesture feral. With a practiced flick, he balanced a mound of coke on the length of a key and inhaled it up his nostril with a long, greedy snort.
Shannon’s throat closed.
“What the hell do you want?” she hissed.
Her gaze darted to the doorway. He was blocking it. Narrow frame or not, he stood like a wall. If he attacked her again, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to fight back, let alone escape.
“You didn’t keep your promise, Shan.” His voice dropped, slick with resentment. “Gracie told me you haven’t been staying here. She said McGrath’s been sniffing around my yard, trying to replace my da.”
Something cold slithered down her spine.
“She’s been keeping a close eye on you,” he added, like it was something she should thank him for.
“Has she been in here?” Shannon’s voice broke. “Going through my things? Fucking with my head?”
Niall shrugged. “I paid her well to fuck with you a little and keep an eye on things.”
His pupils blew wide, her breathing coming in bursts.
“You bastard,” she gritted out, gripping the tote bag tighter.
“So…back to Jamie?” He cocked his head. “In my fucking yard? After I warned you?”
“He’s been helping,” she snapped. “Because unlike you, he actually gives a shit about Harry’s legacy. This place doesn’t run on its own, Niall. The money for all the cocaine you hoover up your nose? It comes from work. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it punched you in the fucking face.”
Her patience frayed, but her voice shook anyway.
“Jesus, Niall,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you to come back. To scatter Harry’s ashes.”
His hair flopped over his forehead, hiding his brows, but she could still see the emptiness behind his eyes. The constant sniffing, the twitching. He was a hand grenade, ready to explode.
“He’s dead, Shannon.” Niall’s lips twisted into something between a grin and a sneer. “I don’t give a fuck what happens to his ashes. It’s all bullshit, anyway. You really think they clean out the burners between corpses? Could be anyone in that urn. A lovely little cocktail of dead fuckers.”
His laugh was quiet, almost gleeful.
Then his shoulders lifted in a lazy, dismissive shrug as if he hadn’t just spat on the last shred of something sacred.
“You’re sick in the head, Niall.”
He grinned, pinching his nostrils from the last hit.
“Gracie’s quite the little good girl,” he said, voice oily. “She’s been watching you for months now. Keeps me updated between shots and stories. Likes the party life as much as I do. Might even share this with her later.”
He jabbed the key into the bag again, scooping another mound of powder. One long sniff and it disappeared, leaving him snorting and blinking through watering eyes.
“Jesus,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t realise Bucky had his fingers on the pulse. Quality shit.”
Shannon’s skin crawled.
“Your father’s ashes, Niall,” she snapped, heat rising to her cheeks. “We need to honour his wishes. Do you even care? Or was it you? Did you ram the limo?”
The question tasted like acid, but she had to ask.
He clucked his tongue, like she’d disappointed him.
“Oh, you’d love to pin that on me, wouldn’t you?” He cocked his head, amused. “Why the fuck would I kill my da? He was my primary source of cash. What kind of dumb bitch thinks I’d do that?”
Another trail of powder vanished up his nose.
“What part of stay away from McGrath did you not understand?”
Her hands balled into fists, nails biting into her palms. Fury burned through her chest like wildfire.
“Go to hell, Niall,” she spat. “You’re fucked up. And jealousy makes you even uglier.”
He smiled. Slow. Creepy. Confident in all the worst ways. It made her jaw tick with rage.
“Jealous?” he repeated. “Of the guy who’s using you? Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already been there with you, sweetheart. I got there first.”
The words hit like a slap. Vile. Violent.
“You’re pathetic,” she bit out, gaze darting behind his head, worried what would happen next.
Whatever scraps of decency he’d once held to were long gone. If anything good had ever existed inside him, it had vanished behind whatever dark thing now lived within him.
“You know the horses are mine now, right?” he said, tone light. “I can do whatever the fuck I want with them. And Trixie? Yeah, she’s not up for sale anymore.”
He ran his tongue along his gums, watching her like he was chewing her apart inside his mind.
“Actually, scratch that. She is for sale. Just not to you. And definitely not to your billionaire boyfriend.”
Shannon’s breath caught. Her jaw slackened.
Billionaire ?
“What?” she whispered. “He’s not…”
Niall’s grin widened. Ugly. Triumphant.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” he chuckled. “Of course you didn’t know the McGraths are gangsters. Poor little Shan, living in fantasy land with your white knight and no clue what he really gets up to. Oops. Did I just plant a bomb in your perfect love story?”
He cackled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The wet sound made her stomach churn.
“Fuck you,” she said, voice shaking with rage.
He stepped closer.
The stench of his cologne hit her, arrogance soaked in alcohol and sweat. Her stomach turned, her head swam, and she staggered a few steps, legs weak.
Niall knew something about Jamie she didn’t.