Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Rodeo Showdown & Kisses
Cash
The final rodeo of the season is supposed to be another two night event. Town’s buzzing with it, barbecue smoke curling into the sky, fiddles warming up on the fairground stage, and banners flapping in the warm breeze like they’ve got something to prove.
But I’m a million miles from cheerful.
I lean against the fence near the chutes, boots dusty, hat low, arms crossed like they might keep my insides from unraveling. Cowboys mill around, slapping backs, tipping hats, adjusting ropes. Normally, I’d be right there with them. Laughing. Competing. Focused.
Not today.
Today, all I can think about is Avery. And the road she’s on. And whether that road leads back to me, or takes her farther than I can follow. I keep replaying the last time I saw her, the way her hand lingered just a second longer on the doorknob before she turned it.
She said goodbye. And that she needed to do this.
Said it quietly, like she was afraid if it got too loud, it might become permanent.
I told her I’d be here if she needed me, but I didn’t say the thing I should’ve, I love you.
And now, that silence between us feels like a canyon I don’t know how to cross.
She said it was just a day. One meeting. She packed a bag to spend the night at her apartment. But I’ve lived enough years to know that the first step is often the one that changes everything.
The scent of cinnamon kettle corn and grilled sausage drifts past, and it should make me smile. Should make me feel like I belong here, in the thick of it, where I’ve always felt most alive. But right now? It’s just noise around the ache in my chest.
“You look like someone stole your horse and kicked your dog,” Harper says behind me, her tone light but probing.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s holding Emmy on her hip, the little one waving a tiny flag and chewing on a churro like it’s a serious responsibility.
“Just tired,” I mutter.
“Mmm,” Harper says, clearly not buying it. She adjusts Emmy’s hat, then hands her off to me. “Well, maybe this’ll help.”
Emmy wiggles in my arms and grins up at me. “Cash, are you gonna ride the big bulls?”
“Not today, sweetheart. I’m just watching this time.”
She pouts. “But you always ride. You’re the best.”
That small, simple truth nearly knocks the wind out of me. I kiss the top of her head and hold her a little tighter. “Not today,” I say again, voice rough, like gravel dragged through longing.
Harper watches me, arms folded. “She’ll come back, you know.”
I want to believe her. God, I do. But hope feels like a razor’s edge, too easy to bleed on. I just shake my head and set Emmy down.
She dashes off toward the petting zoo, squealing when she spots a goat in a party hat, her laughter floating behind her like wind chimes in a storm.
“Go on,” Harper nudges. “You need the distraction.”
So I follow her and Emmy to the stands, take a seat near the arena where the crowd’s buzzing with excitement. Horses thunder past in warmups. The announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers, full of bravado and cowboy grit. But it’s all static in my ears compared to the silence Avery left behind.
I scan the crowd, part of me foolishly hoping I’ll see her there. That she changed her mind. That she came back.
But the stands are filled with familiar faces, and none of them are Avery.
The rodeo kicks off in a blur of broncs and barrels, crowd roaring with every clean run and wild buck. I smile when Emmy cheers from Harper’s lap, cotton candy on her chin and joy in her voice.
And even though my heart is somewhere else, I hold onto that moment like a lifeline. Because right now, it’s all I’ve got. I can't imagine these three people in my life moving back to the big city and leaving me here to do what?
When the sun dips behind the hills and the last of the rodeo dust settles, I find myself standing alone outside my truck. The fairgrounds are emptying fast, families piling into pickups, kids falling asleep with boots still on, laughter and tired chatter drifting into the twilight.
But all that joy feels like it’s happening behind a glass wall I can’t reach through.
Harper offered to take Emmy back and put her in bed. Said she had a new storybook to read and would make popcorn even though it was already way past bedtime. I didn’t argue.
Didn’t trust myself to speak much at all. My throat’s been tight all damn day, like if I open my mouth too wide, something raw might fall out, like the truth I’ve been avoiding.
That I’m terrified she won’t come back. That maybe I’m not enough to make her stay.
That loving her might not be enough if her dreams live somewhere I can’t follow.
I’ve always been the steady one, the rooted one.
But right now, I feel like I’m standing in quicksand, and every minute without her drags me down a little more.
The ride back to the ranch is quiet, save for the creak of the leather seat and the steady hum of tires on asphalt. Every fence post, every curve in the road feels like a memory with Avery’s name on it. That corner where she stalled out the first week.
The patch of pasture she pointed to and said, “One day, I’ll build my dream stable right there.”
After driving by way of the lake, I pull into a parking spot to avoid going home without her there.
I finally head home and pull into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the front porch.
It’s dark except Emmy's light on upstairs, too quiet without Avery’s humming in the kitchen or Emmy’s little feet padding down the hall.
Even the wind seems reluctant to stir the chimes she hung by the door. The house feels hollow, like it’s holding its breath, like the walls themselves are waiting for her voice to echo through them again.
Inside, I kick off my boots and make my way through the dark. I don’t bother flipping on the lights. Just let the moonlight guide me. Every shadow stretches longer. Every corner feels colder. Her tea mug still on the counter. A sketch Emmy left on the table.
One of the horses, with a smiley face and big heart next to it over the top of a cabin. It damn near guts me. I run my thumb across the corner of the paper like touching it might anchor me to something solid.
The scent of lavender from her bath salts lingers faintly by the stairway, ghosting around me as I pass. I sink into the couch, elbows on my knees, and let the silence press in. My chest aches in a way I can’t fix. This place, this life, it was finally starting to feel like ours.
The mornings with coffee and teasing, the nights with whispered plans on the swing and Avery’s head on my chest. It all felt real. Solid.
The air smells faintly of her perfume, sweet and woodsy, like the memory of something wild you almost caught. I rake a hand through my hair and lean back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But all I see is the echo of what I want. What I’m scared I’ve already lost.
I close my eyes and whisper, “Come home, Avery.”
Not because I need her to save me.
But because this place, without her in it, doesn’t feel like home at all. I start to drift off a little.
The sound of gravel crunching under her car is soft, barely there, but it wakes me. I see the headlights moving over the ranch.
I push off the couch, heart thudding like it’s already guessed what I haven’t dared to hope for.
My hand hesitates on the knob, breath caught somewhere between dread and hope. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, palms suddenly clammy.
Part of me is afraid to open that door, afraid it’s just my imagination conjuring her silhouette from the shadows.
But I do it anyway.
When I open the door, she’s standing there in the porch light. Wind in her hair, shoulders tense, suitcase in hand.
My breath catches. “Avery.”
Her eyes are wide, uncertain, but there’s fire in them too. Determined fire. The kind I’ve always admired, and always feared would burn too bright to stay.
“Hey,” she says softly.
I step back, but I can’t speak. Not yet. My throat’s too tight.
She crosses the threshold slowly, like she’s not sure if this is a dream or a mistake. Her boots scuff against the hardwood, and when she sets her bag down, I hear her exhale, deep and shaky, like she’s been holding her breath all the way from Austin.
“I didn’t take the job,” she blurts. “I couldn’t. I sat there in that high-rise conference room with all their glass and chrome and perfect smiles, and all I could think about was this place. Emmy. You. Us."
"I also put in notice to get rid of my apartment."
I move closer, afraid if I blink she’ll disappear. “You came back.”
She nods, and her eyes start to glisten. “I love you, Cash. I didn’t say it before I left, and maybe I was scared, but I love you. And I want this, this life, messy and hard and beautiful. I want you.” Tears are streaming down her face.
The breath I’ve been holding all damn day finally lets go.
“I love you too, darlin’,” I say, voice hoarse as I pull her into my arms.
She doesn’t pull away.
She melts into me like she’s come home.
The rest, well, it can wait ‘til morning.
But she doesn’t let me pull back.
She took my hand in hers, her touch both gentle and firm, the heat of her palm searing into my skin like a brand I never wanted to fade.
She led me up the stairs, the pads of her fingers lightly tracing along the back of my hand with each step, grounding me with that small, electrifying contact.
The ascent was slow, deliberate, as if each footfall stitched us back together, thread by invisible thread.
The hardwood beneath our feet creaked softly, a lullaby of reunion, the only sound breaking the hush of the house save for the shared rhythm of our breathing, the tension humming between our bodies.
When we reached the bedroom, she turned to face me, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.
She closed the door behind us, the soft click of the lock echoing like a promise. The sound sent a rush through me, a jolt of anticipation that tightened my chest and quickened my breath.
She’s not just here.
She’s mine.
And I’m going to spend the rest of the night with her in my arms.