Chapter 25 #2
I stiffen, pulse flickering hard beneath my skin. I can practically see the gears turning in his head. The amusement slips, fading into something closer to realization. His eyes narrow, then widen just a fraction.
“Oh, shit. Please tell me you’re not sleeping with one of the fuckers in the bunkhouse.”
My stomach plummets through the floor as nausea curdles hot in my throat, humiliation and panic twisting together so tight I can’t separate them. My fingers curl around the hem at my thigh.
The hallway tilts, the walls closing in. That familiar roar starts in my ears, the beginning of a spiral I have no grip on.
“I—I gotta go.”
He watches me for another beat, his brow furrowed. Then he exhales, rubbing a palm over his face. “Okay, sure. Probably better off not knowing. I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see…this.”
I move past him, slipping into my room with shaky hands. The door clicks shut behind me, but not before I hear him muttering to himself, “What kind of walk requires no pants?”
It’s hot.
The kind of mid-July heat that sticks to your skin, thick and unrelenting. Sweat trickles down my back and my tank top clings to me, but I don’t mind. There’s something steadying about it, like the weight of summer pressing down.
The air hums with the buzz of cicadas. Dust drifts through shafts of sunlight, swirling each time a horse shifts in their stall.
Iris is lying in the middle of the breezeway, gnawing on a buffalo horn Wesley bought for her. Her training has come a long way, but she still needs a lot of work. I’m sad I won’t be here to see her become the amazing dog I know she’ll be.
Most of the guests and staff are in the lodge for lunch, leaving the ranch in a rare moment of peaceful stillness.
It’s just me, the horses, and nothing but uninterrupted time to overthink everything I’ve ever done and said.
Pausing for a much-needed break, I grab my water bottle that’s conveniently right next to Wesley’s hoodie.
I stupidly tossed it on a bale this morning, right out in the open, literally asking to get caught. I shouldn’t have even kept it on, but a part of me wanted to surround myself with his scent for as long as I possibly could, even if it meant risking a heatstroke once the sun came out.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
“Hey.”
I jump, spinning around to find Lydia standing in the breezeway, sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, setting the bottle down.
Her eyes drift slowly around the barn, her entire body tensing when she sees the hoodie. She studies me, like she’s piecing everything together—but her face is a stone wall, betraying nothing.
Shit.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she says, her smile tight. “Brought you lunch since you didn’t stop by earlier.”
She hands me the brown paper bag, and something about the gesture feels…off. Too formal, too guarded.
“Thanks,” I say cautiously, pulling out the foil-wrapped sandwich.
Neither one of us speaks, the tension growing thicker.
I hate secrets.
Her gaze snaps back to the hoodie, tilting her head to the side. “Emmett came to see me during his lunch break today.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, fiddling with the reins hanging on the wall. “He said he saw you this morning and that you’re hooking up with someone in the bunkhouse.” She looks back over her shoulder to me.
I’m going to kill Emmett.
“Uh, no.” I half-laugh. “I’m not.”
Her gaze flicks back to the hoodie and she tilts her head. “Oh really? Then whose is that? Because I know for a fact it’s not yours.”
“Uh…no, I borrowed it. I’m not sleeping with someone in the bunkhouse. I went for a walk this morning. It was chilly. I grabbed the first thing I saw.”
If I’m going to lie, I should at least be consistent.
“So you unintentionally grabbed Wes’s hoodie?”
I hesitate. “It’s not Wesley’s.”
The moment she registers my words, there’s a shift in the air.
Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly—like I said something I wasn’t supposed to. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Sadie…Did you have sex with Wesley?”
“What? No. Why would you—”
She crosses the barn in two strides, fingers tugging the neckline of my shirt before I can stop her.
I pull away, but it’s too late—her eyes catch on the faint bruise beneath my collarbone. She stares at it as if it were a betrayal etched into my skin. My hand instinctively covers it, embarrassment washing over me.
“You did,” she says softly, and it lands like a verdict.
“It’s not that serious.”
“I beg to fucking differ.” Her eyes narrow. “Well, if it’s not Wesley’s, then whose is it?”
My brain flatlines.
“Oh my God. Is it Landon’s? Please tell me you did not fuck my brother,”
“What? No. I would never—It’s not—”
She sucks in a breath. “Was it Emmett?” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.
“No. I can’t tell you who, but I promise it wasn’t him.”
She nods slowly, masking her emotions again. “Can you at least swear to me it’s not Lane? I’d honestly rather you fuck my brother than that dickwad.”
A laugh slips out, tension lifting for just a second. “I swear it.”
Her lips twitch, but her eyes stay sharp. “Don’t think I’m going to let this go. That bruise didn’t put itself there.”
“I promise, when I can tell you, I will.”
She sighs. “I’m still mad at you. Feels like you’re lying to me, and that breaks, like, a hundred friend codes.”
I nod, guilt a stone in my chest.
She shakes her head and drops her sunglasses back over her eyes. “Congrats on the sex bruise.”
And then she walks away, leaving me standing there in the middle of the barn, heart pounding and drowning in shame.