Chapter 1 #2
Every nerve in my body flared to life. Three years since I’d felt that touch, and it felt like no time had passed at all. The air between us shifted, heavy with memory, anger, and something else I refused to name.
“I’m fine,” I croaked, the words scraping raw out of my throat. I pushed at his chest with my good hand. He didn’t budge. His body might as well have been made of stone. “Get out of here. I don’t need you.”
“The hell you don’t.” His jaw clenched, voice low enough that only I could hear. His eyes locked on mine, the same dark, steady look that had once made me feel like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing. He brushed a strand of hair from my face with maddening tenderness.
I hated feeling the urge to lean into his hand. Hated that even now, covered in dirt and pain, my body still remembered him. The sound of the crowd faded into a distant hum, and all I could hear was the hammering of my own heartbeat.
I forced myself upright, teeth grinding against the pain that shot through my shoulder. My legs shook under me, but I stayed standing. Somewhere above us, the announcer said something about me being tough as nails, and the crowd cheered. I raised my hand, managed a smile that felt paper-thin.
When I turned back, Lincoln was still there. Solid. Unyielding. Too close.
“Go,” I hissed, voice sharp but quiet. “I don’t want you here.”
His gaze darkened, filled with everything we hadn’t spoken in three years: regret, anger, hunger. It pinned me tighter than his hands ever had.
“Maybe not,” he said, voice rough but calm. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
My knees nearly buckled. God help me, I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kiss him.
Instead, I turned my back, ignoring the pain, and stalked toward the gate. My boots left faint prints in the dirt, the ache in my arm echoing with each step.
Behind me, I could feel him moving. His presence followed, heavy and constant.
Then came the sound of leather and hooves. I turned just in time to see Linc grab Lady’s reins, swing into the saddle with the same easy strength I remembered too well. Lady settled beneath him, as if she’d been waiting.
She knew him. Trusted him.
He guided her back into the arena, calm and deliberate, trotting her around the final barrel and through the alleyway. It wasn’t just about finishing the ride; it was about making sure she was okay.
And no matter how mad I was, no matter how hard I tried to hate him, he was still the only person besides Griff I’d ever trust on her back.
Linc’s easy control over Lady hit me like a punch straight to the gut.
He guided her in a slow, looping trot, checking her gait with the reins loose in his hands.
The crowd didn’t even realize what they were seeing; most of them thought it was just a cowboy helping out.
But I knew better. I knew every move he made came from years of knowing her, knowing me.
He leaned forward, whispered something to her, and Lady flicked her ears back as if she understood. The sight of it burned my throat. She’d always listened to him, even when I didn’t.
He finished the circle, lifted his hand to the announcer, and trotted back to the gate. I stood there with my good hand pressed against my shoulder, the pain pulsing steadily under my palm. My heart pounded out of rhythm with the crowd’s cheers.
When he slid off her back, Lady turned her head to nuzzle his sleeve, searching for the sugar cubes he used to keep in his pocket. I wanted to hate that memory. I wanted to scrape it out of me and throw it in the dirt with the rest of the past. Instead, my chest just hurt.
He led her toward me, the reins draped over his arm, his walk steady. Even covered in dust, he looked like he’d stepped out of another time, hat in one hand, jaw set, the quiet kind of man who didn’t need to announce his strength. He’d always been that way.
“Looks like she’s fine,” he said, stopping just close enough for me to smell the sweat and dust on him. It was a smell I knew too well. It had once meant safety.
“She would’ve been fine without you,” I said. My voice sounded thin, half-angry, half-exhausted.
He nodded once, slow, as if he’d expected that. “Maybe. But you were down, and she needed a steady hand. Didn’t seem like anyone else was moving.”
The words weren’t cruel. They were simple, almost gentle, and that made it worse.
I turned my face away, staring at the packed dirt beneath my boots. My shoulder throbbed. My pride was burning. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence between us grew heavy and thick. The noise from the crowd faded as the next rider was announced, but it all felt far away, like I was underwater.
Finally, he said softly, “You think I could watch you hit the ground and not come?”
The question cut straight through the wall I’d spent years building. I didn’t answer, couldn’t, not with my throat closing tight.
An event staffer ran up, clipboard in hand, asking if I needed medical help. I shook my head quickly. “I’m fine.”
Linc’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. His jaw flexed once before he stepped back. I thought he was leaving. I hoped he was leaving.
He wasn’t.
He walked Lady toward the pens, unhooking her cinch, loosening the strap with the easy rhythm of habit.
His movements were methodical, efficient.
The same way he handled every crisis, calmly, competently, like emotion had no place in it.
But I could see the muscle twitching in his temple, and the way his eyes followed me even when I turned away.
When he came back, I was already half limping toward my trailer, clutching my arm against my ribs. The noise of the rodeo echoed around me, boots crunching in gravel, the hum of generators, the faint metallic twang of a distant announcer’s mic, but it all sounded muted, unreal.
“Kristin.”
My name stopped me.
I didn’t turn. I couldn’t.
“What?”
He approached me more slowly this time, careful as if I were a spooked colt. “You need to get that shoulder looked at.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Fine’s not the same as okay.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the heat climbing behind them. He always knew how to find the crack in my defenses, the exact spot I didn’t want him to see.
“Why are you even here?” I asked.
“Diamond business,” he said plainly. “We sponsor part of the circuit now. I was checking stock.”
The words hit harder than I expected. Of course, he was here. Of course, he’d built something stable while I was still chasing adrenaline around dusty arenas. That was Linc, steady where I was wild, grounded where I ran.
He reached out before I could step back, his hand hovering near my arm, careful not to touch. “Let me help you get to the trailer.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You fell hard, Kristin.” His tone softened, but he didn’t give an inch. “You can fight me after you sit down.”
Something inside me cracked, small but undeniable. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the sound of my name in his voice again. I didn’t argue this time.
He matched his stride to mine, staying just close enough to catch me if I stumbled but not close enough to brush against me. We crossed the lot in silence, the gravel crunching under our boots. The light had shifted; the sun hung low, casting everything in a golden glow.
When we reached my trailer, he stopped at the door. I reached for the handle, but my shoulder screamed. His hand came up, covering mine, warm and strong, steadying me. I jerked back as if burned.
“Thank you,” I said, the words rough and final. “You can go now.”
He nodded once. “All right.”
He turned to leave, and for one sharp heartbeat, I wanted to call him back. I wanted to tell him that I hated him for still caring, that I hated myself for wanting him to. But the words stuck behind my teeth.
He stopped halfway to the pens, glanced over his shoulder. “You did good out there. Before the fall.”
The compliment landed heavier than it should have. I didn’t answer, just watched him walk away, the back of him framed by the orange light bleeding across the arena.
Somewhere, a loudspeaker blared the next rider’s name, the crowd’s cheer rising again. The world continued to move as if nothing had happened.
But everything inside me was shifting, old walls cracking open, letting light and pain in the same breath.
And deep down, under all of it, was one steady truth I didn’t want to face.
No matter how far I’d run, Lincoln Felder still had a hold on me.