Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Eli
The place is already loud when I get there.
Music spills out through the open doors, boots thudding against wood, laughter rising and falling in loose waves.
The air smells like beer and dust and something fried that's been sitting too long under heat lamps.
Familiar. Easy. The kind of place where nobody expects anything from you except to show up and not spill your drink.
I stand just inside the doorway long enough to take it in. Shae's already laughing with someone near the bar. Addie's halfway through a story, animated and bright. Chace leans in like he's waiting for the punchline.
Hazel's there too, already part of the noise and movement.
She looks lighter. Shoulders looser than I've seen them since she got back. Hair down, dress that catches when she moves, boots I've seen a hundred times that suddenly look different on her. Like she belongs in a room full of people again.
That's the problem.
For a second, I let myself look.
Her dress is short enough to skim the tops of her thighs, showing off legs that are all muscle and smooth skin.
The kind of legs I want under my hands, hooked over my hips, locked around my waist. Boots I've seen a hundred times suddenly look dangerous on her—scuffed leather over strong calves, like she could pin me back with just a step forward and I'd let her.
The fabric clings when she moves, tracing the curve of her hips, the line of her waist. It makes me imagine sliding my palm over it, feeling her warmth through the cloth, pushing it higher just to see how far she'd let me go before she told me to stop—or dragged me closer instead.
Her hair is loose down her back, dark against the bare line of her shoulders, brushing over her spine when she turns.
I want to gather it in my fist, tilt her head back, see her eyes when I say her name.
I want to feel the shiver that runs through her when my mouth finds the place where her neck meets her shoulder.
Heat hits hard and fast, low and insistent.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her waist, her hips, the inside of her thigh where the dress doesn't quite cover.
I want to back her up against a wall, close the space between us until all I can feel is her body pressed into mine, until the rest of the room disappears and there's nothing left but her breath against my mouth.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
It's been two days since we found out we can't afford the entry fee.
Two days of working that colt at four a.m., being professional and careful and so goddamn polite it makes my teeth ache.
Two days of her talking about plans and possibilities—restoring the ranch, training and boarding, everything that could be again—without ever promising she'll stay to see it through.
I move farther into the room, nodding at a couple of familiar faces. Someone hands me a beer without asking. I take it, more for something to do with my hands than because I want it.
The music shifts, a familiar song pulling a few people toward the floor.
Hazel laughs at something Addie says, her head tipping back just slightly, and the sound hits harder than it should. It always has. There was a time when that laugh felt like a promise. Like something I could count on.
Now it just reminds me how much work it took to stop wanting it.
I keep my distance. Not pointed. Just careful. I don't ignore her. I don't hover either. When our eyes meet, I lift my bottle in brief acknowledgment and look away before the moment can turn into something else.
This is supposed to be light. That was the point of coming. Noise. Distraction. A couple of hours where nothing matters beyond the next song or the next round.
It works. Mostly.
Still, my attention keeps pulling back to Hazel. The way she leans into the table when someone bumps it. The way she doesn't check her phone. The way she fits here without trying.
I tell myself that doesn't mean anything. That people can belong in places they don't intend to stay.
I take a drink and look back toward the dance floor, grounding myself in the noise and the movement and the simple fact that tonight doesn't ask me to decide anything.
Chace finds me near the edge of the room, beer already half gone, grin firmly in place like nothing in the world has ever stuck to him for long. He bumps my shoulder with his.
"You're wound too tight," he says, like he's commenting on the weather.
I don't answer. I don't need to. I just look at him.
Chace takes that in stride. He always does. "I mean it," he adds, lowering his voice just enough to pretend this is private. "She's trying."
My pulse skips. I keep my eyes on the dance floor, on the way Hazel shifts her weight with the music, how she laughs when Shae elbows her too hard.
"Trying isn't the same as staying," I say.
Chace hums, thoughtful in a way that doesn't quite match the grin still tugging at his mouth. "No," he agrees. "But it's also not nothing."
I take a slow drink. The beer tastes flat. I let the silence stretch, let Chace feel it instead of filling it for me. That's always been our balance. Chace talks. I listen. Decide later.
"You don't have to let her back in like that," he says, softer now.
"I get why you're guarded. I really do." He tips his head toward Hazel without looking directly at her.
"Just saying—keeping your distance might feel safer, but you're not even in the game.
And I've never known you to sit on the sidelines. You didn’t before. Not with her."
I exhale through my nose.
Friendship—the word doesn't get said, but it's there. The years Hazel and I spent just being that, before it ever got complicated. Before it turned into something… more.
Maybe that's the risk now. Not falling back into love, losing the chance to stand beside her at all.
Can I separate the two?
Chace straightens, decision already made for him. "Anyway," he says, the grin sliding back into place like armor. "I'm not built for brooding."
With that, he drains the rest of his beer, sets the bottle down wherever there's space, and heads for the dance floor without hesitation. He doesn't scan the room. Doesn't second-guess. Just steps into the noise like it belongs to him.
Someone shouts his name. Addie groans when she spots him coming. Chace grins wider, already moving to the beat, boots light, shoulders loose, laughing like tonight is exactly what it's supposed to be.
I watch him go, the ease of it catching in my chest.
Letting go has never been Chace's problem.
I turn my attention back to the room. To Hazel.
She's dancing now. Not carefully. Not for show. Just moving because the music's good and her body remembers how. Her hair swings across her shoulders. Sweat gleams at the back of her neck. She's laughing at something Addie says, breathless and flushed, and I can't look away.
She looks alive. The way I remember from before she left. Before everything got complicated.
And watching her like this—easy in her own skin, fitting back into this life—makes the ache in my chest sharper than it's been in years.
The music shifts. Faster. She spins with Addie, both of them laughing, and I grip my beer harder.
That's when some guy cuts in. Someone I vaguely recognize from town—doesn't matter who. His hand catches her waist, slides lower to her hip, and she laughs, tipping her head back.
It's nothing. Friendly. The kind of thing that happens a hundred times on a dance floor.
She's not mine. Never really was. Won't be in a few weeks when she goes back to Denver.
My jaw locks anyway.
Knowing that doesn't stop the heat that flares when his hand lingers.
I grip my beer hard enough the glass might crack.
Then her eyes find mine across the room.
She goes still. Just for a second. Like she's been caught.
Or like she was looking for me.
Something passes between us. Electric. Unmistakable.
The guy says something. She nods but doesn't look at him. She's watching me watch her, and the air between us feels charged even with twenty feet and a dance floor in the way.
I don't look away.
Neither does she.
My pulse pounds harder than the music warrants.
Then someone pulls her into another spin and the moment breaks.
But when I look back, she's still watching me over her shoulder.
Chace's voice echoes in my head: You're not in the game. I've never known you to sit on the sidelines.
Fuck it. He's right.
Five years I've spent convincing myself I'm fine with absence. Fine with the distance. Fine with wanting someone I can't have.
And maybe in a few weeks I'll have to go back to that.
But tonight—
Tonight I'm done pretending.
I set my beer down.
She's on the dance floor, breathless and flushed, laughing. I start across the room.
The crowd shifts. Bodies move between us. But her eyes find mine through the noise.
She goes still.
I don't look away. Don't slow down. Just keep moving toward her.
The music pounds. People brush past. But the space between us narrows with every step.
When I reach the edge of the dance floor, I stop.
She's watching me, chest rising and falling from dancing, waiting.
I hold out my hand.
"Dance with me."
For a second, she doesn't move. Just looks at my hand, then my face. Like she's not sure she heard me right.
Then she smiles.
It's not the careful smile from earlier. Not the one she uses to cover hurt. This one is real, breaking across her face slow and surprised, and something in my chest cracks wide open.
"You sure about that?" she asks, eyes bright. "You're a terrible dancer."
The lightness in her voice makes me want to pull her close right now. Skip the dancing entirely.
"That right?"
"I've seen the evidence." She's grinning now. "Multiple times."
"That was—"
"Three separate occasions," she cuts in. "And you stepped on my boots. Repeatedly."
"You didn't move."
"Because you told me not to."
I huff a laugh. "So is that a no?"
"No." She reaches for my hand, still smiling. "That's a yes."
Her fingers slip into mine, warm and slightly damp from dancing, and the feel of her hand in mine after five years hits harder than it should. I pull her closer, my other hand finding her waist—
"Well, well."
Cole's voice cuts through the moment like a knife.
Hazel's hand tightens in mine before she pulls away. We both turn.
"Hazel," he says, nodding. Then his gaze slides to me, amused. "Dawson. Some habits die hard, huh?"
I step forward. "You should keep moving."
Cole ignores me, attention settling back on Hazel. "Mae give any more thought to my offer?"
The question lands exactly how he means it to. Public. Direct.
Hazel's voice is tight. "When Mae wants to discuss business, she'll call you."
"Of course." Cole shrugs, easy. "Just seems like the kind of decision that shouldn't wait too long. Market being what it is." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Hate to see her wait until there's no choice left."
I step closer. "She said no."
Cole finally looks at me, amused. "Did she? Or is that you deciding for her?"
"Back off, Cole."
"I'm having a conversation." Cole's tone stays pleasant. Reasonable. "About business. Which, last I checked, doesn't concern the hired help."
That does it.
The words hit like a slap. Hired help. Like I'm nothing. Like five years of holding that ranch together means nothing.
My hands curl into fists. I step forward, anger flashing hot and immediate.
Hazel reaches for my arm but I'm already moving.
Chace is there before I can do something I'll regret.
He wedges himself between us, one hand out, firm but controlled. "Alright," he says, voice steady. "That's enough."
Cole chuckles softly. "Touchy."
"Yeah," Chace says, not looking at him. "And you're done."
He turns to me, lowers his voice. "Not worth it."
My chest is tight, every muscle coiled. I don't look away from Cole.
Chace leans in closer. "Let's call it a night."
The silence stretches.
Cole takes a step back, satisfied. He looks at Hazel one more time. "Offer stands, Hazel. For now."
Then to me, still smiling: "Enjoy the rest of your night, Dawson."
He walks away like he's already won.
My jaw aches from clenching it so hard.
"Come on," Chace says quietly. "Let's get some air."
Outside, the cool night hits my face. The noise from the bar fades behind us, replaced by the sound of gravel crunching under boots.
Shae's already heading for her car, phone out, clearly done with the night. Addie touches Hazel's arm, says something quiet. Hazel nods but doesn't look convinced of whatever Addie just said.
My hands are still fists. The adrenaline hasn't faded. If anything, it's worse out here in the quiet.
Hired help.
Like I don't bleed for that ranch every goddamn day.
Hazel's standing near Shae's car, arms wrapped around herself. Her expression is tight. Angry. But there's something else underneath it. Embarrassment, maybe. Or fear.
Cole just made it public. Made his offer known. Everyone in there heard him talk about Mae's situation, about him trying to buy the ranch. About the fact that Mae might need to sell.
About me being nothing but an employee.
I look at her across the gravel lot.
She looks back.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then I'm walking toward her.
I stop a few feet away. "Ride with me."
I’m not asking.
She looks at me for a long moment, like she's trying to read something in my face.
Then she nods. "Yeah."
I walk to my truck, open the passenger door, and step back giving her access. She climbs in without another word. I close the door, walk around and get in.
We pull out of the lot in silence.
But it's not empty.
It's full of everything that almost happened back there. Me crossing that room. Her saying yes. The moment Cole stole before her hand could stay in mine.
And underneath it all—the question neither of us has answered.
What the hell are we doing?
I grip the steering wheel and drive.