Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
KRISTIN
The music pulsed softly through the fairgrounds hall, a fiddle running hot over steel strings while the crowd stomped to the beat.
The rhythm rolled through the old building, shaking the boards beneath my boots until it felt like the whole world was shifting.
Laughter, boots scuffing across the worn wood, the thick smell of beer and sweat—all of it wrapped around me like a blanket I couldn’t quite settle into.
The air was close and heavy, vibrating with energy that should have made me feel alive.
Instead, it pressed harder against my ribs.
I told myself I was here for distraction.
For normal. For anything that didn’t feel like the ache in my hip or the pull along my ribs every time I moved too fast. The medic I’d finally seen said I’d be sore for days, that the bruises would fade, but I had to take it easy.
He hadn’t mentioned how every song, every burst of laughter, would drive the ache deeper, how being surrounded by people who were laughing would make me feel even more alone.
The hall lights were dim, yellow, and uneven, casting shadows that danced across the walls with every sway of the crowd.
Someone bumped into me, sloshing beer down my arm, and muttered an apology I barely heard.
I nodded, smiled like it didn’t matter, and wiped my sleeve with the back of my hand.
My hip flared again, a dull, deep burn pulsing with the music.
And then I saw him.
Lincoln.
He was across the room near the bar, broad shoulders catching the glow of the neon sign, as he leaned on the counter in that slow, easy way like he owned the air around him.
The sight of him hit harder than I was ready for.
He looked steady, unbothered, the kind of calm that could freeze a storm mid-spin.
Tanya was pressed against his side, red nails glinting as she looped her arm possessively through his.
She laughed at something he said, or maybe she forced the laugh, because his mouth didn’t move much, just the faintest pull at one corner.
Our eyes met.
Just for a second.
Everything else fell away. The music, the chatter, the stomp of boots against the wood, all of it blurred into silence.
The sound of the fiddle turned thin and far away, and the only thing left in the world was him.
His gaze hit like a brand, searing hot, dragging across the back of my neck.
My body went still, every muscle remembering him before my mind could stop it.
My ribs tightened, my hip throbbed, every bruise reminding me of the fall, telling me that he’d been the one to catch me when I hit.
He shifted, a slight movement that drew my eyes to his hand, the one that looked like it might take a step toward me, but Tanya leaned closer, her red mouth moving fast against his ear, and whatever was in his eyes shuttered closed.
I swallowed hard. Told myself I didn’t care. Told myself to move. To breathe.
“Wanna dance?”
The voice came from beside me, a drawl rough with whiskey.
I turned, blinking at the tall figure standing there.
A team roper I vaguely recognized, tall, lean, dark hair curling under his hat brim.
Jake? Jack? Josh? Something starting with a J.
He grinned down at me, boyish and cocky, the kind of grin that promised easy trouble.
Before I could answer, his hand wrapped around mine, the skin rough and warm, tugging me straight into the crowd.
The fiddle kicked up again, wild and quick, and the floor shook under a dozen pairs of boots.
I let him spin me, the motion sending a sharp flare of pain through my hip.
I bit it back and forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
His palm was hot against my waist, his steps confident enough to make up for mine.
He smelled of leather and dust and too much bourbon, and his laugh came easy, full of himself and the moment.
He smiled as if the world were his, and for one short breath, I wanted to believe I could borrow some of that.
If Lincoln could stand there with Tanya’s claws in his arm, I could damn well laugh with someone else.
Except I wasn’t laughing. Not really.
The lights blurred overhead, strings of bulbs swaying slightly in the rafters: the crowd’s energy pressed close, a whirl of color and sound.
My boots scuffed, my ribs protested, and my breath came in shallow gasps.
Every time Josh’s palm slid a little too low at my waist, every time his breath brushed too warm against my ear, my eyes kept returning to the bar.
Searching. Finding.
Lincoln was still there. Watching.
He didn’t move, smile, or blink. He simply stood there, eyes fixed on me with a look that seemed like it could tear the air between us. It was anger, possession, heartbreak—something I couldn’t name and didn’t want to. It made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with pain.
The song changed, one bleeding into another, faster now, and Josh laughed, spinning me again. My shoulder and ribs screamed in time with one another. The bruise at my hip throbbed with every turn. Sweat slid down my neck. The music built until it felt like the floor might give.
And Lincoln was still watching me like he wanted to tear the room apart.
The music blurred, one song bleeding into another until I was dizzy.
The rhythm pounded through the soles of my boots, the fiddle scraping so fast it felt like sparks were flying off the strings.
Josh’s grip grew firmer, less playful, like he was trying to stake a claim he hadn’t earned.
His laugh slurred, and the smell of whiskey thickened around us until it coated the air.
His hand slid lower. My stomach clenched.
I told myself to step back, to push away, but the music kept pulling bodies closer, the crowd surging like a tide. I was trapped in the middle of it, every direction blocked by someone shouting or stomping or swinging another drink overhead.
Josh leaned in again, his breath hot against my cheek. “You dance better than you look,” he said, words soft and slick.
I forced a smile. “That’s not a compliment.”
He grinned wider, not hearing the warning in my tone. His fingers pressed harder into my hip, right where the ache still burned from the fall. Pain shot through me, sharp enough to steal my breath. I tried to shift, but he moved with me, his hand tightening like a shackle.
Every nerve in my body screamed no, but the stubborn, hurting part of me, the part that had watched Lincoln with Tanya, didn’t pull away. Because if he could pretend not to care, so could I.
By the time Josh and I headed back across the gravel to my trailer, the night air had cooled, but his palm was still hot at the small of my back.
Too hot. The temperature difference made the skin there sting, a reminder I didn’t want.
The fairgrounds had emptied some, the music fading into a distant hum behind us.
The lights from the hall glowed weakly, halos in the dust kicked up by boots and tires.
His laugh was too loud, carrying across the open lot, breaking the quiet. His steps were unsteady, heavy, each one crunching hard against the gravel. I tried to match his laughter, to keep things light, but the sound that came out of me was thin, brittle, nothing like the easy laugh he wanted.
Every ache from the fall seemed sharper now, like my body knew I’d made a mistake.
I reached the trailer and fumbled with the latch, muttering something about calling it a night. My voice barely carried. The keys jingled against the metal, my hands shaking harder than I wanted them to.
His hand landed on the door above my shoulder, caging me in. The sound of his palm hitting metal made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Don’t run off on me now, sweetheart.” His voice was slurred velvet, lazy but edged with something colder.
The faint hum of music still carried from the hall, but out here the shadows pressed close. The lot lights hummed overhead, one of them flickering in and out, throwing flashes across his face. My pulse jumped, sharp and uneven. The smell of dust and beer clung to the air.
“I think you’ve had enough fun for one night,” I said softly, pushing at his chest. My voice sounded too calm, even to my own ears. Pain sparked in my ribs when I did, the motion sending a dull ache up through my shoulder.
His grin didn’t fade. “You don’t sound convinced.” His breath hit my cheek, sour with whiskey.
I turned my face away. The cold metal at my back felt safer than his warmth. “I’m done, Josh.”
But he wasn’t listening. His arm slid around my waist again, pulling me closer, his fingers digging where I already hurt. His weight pressed me against the door, his body solid and heavy. My ribs flinched every time he leaned in, and I could smell the salt of sweat rolling off him.
I tried to shove him away, to make him see I was hurting, but he laughed, that careless, cocky laugh that somehow drove my chest tight with panic and frustration all at once.
I should have screamed. I should have run. But my body wasn’t moving the way I wanted it to. The soreness from the fall slowed everything, turned every motion into something sluggish and uncoordinated.
My mind spun, half panic, half shame. Flashes of the arena, of Lincoln’s hands brushing dirt from my face, the heat in his eyes, it all came back in a rush. I wanted him out of my head, out of my body, but he was tangled there, in every breath.
Josh caught me by the arm, spinning me roughly toward the narrow sofa.
The motion yanked the air from my lungs.
I stumbled, my boot catching on the lip of the step.
My hip slammed against the edge of the counter, the impact sending pain sharp enough to blur my vision.
I gasped, a sound halfway between a sob and a whimper.
He laughed again, that same ugly, breathless sound. “Relax, sweetheart. You don’t need to play so hard to get.”
“Stop.” My voice was barely a whisper. I pushed at his chest again, but my arm felt weak, trembling. “I said stop.”
He didn’t.
His weight bore down on me, pressing me against the sofa cushions. Panic flared bright and wild. The smell of him, the heat of his body, the sound of his breathing, all of it blurred into a suffocating fog.
“No, Kristin, you’ve got to fight,” I whispered to myself, teeth clenched, voice shaking. My mind screamed it even as my body hesitated. I twisted, trying to push him off, but the sharp pain in my ribs made me cry out in agony.
That sound broke something loose in me.
I shoved harder, managing to slip sideways just enough to roll free.
My boots hit the floor hard, and I scrambled toward the small counter, my hand reaching blindly for my bag.
My fingers shook so violently I could barely grip the zipper.
Inside, my phone was buried under a mess of receipts, hair ties, and rodeo programs. I dug until I felt the cold rectangle of glass under my fingertips.
Josh straightened behind me, his voice low and mean now. “Don’t be dramatic.”
I didn’t answer. My breath came short and fast, my pulse pounding in my ears. I fumbled the phone open, my vision blurring around the edges. The world narrowed to a single need: get help.
My thumb hit the contact I’d never deleted. The one I swore I’d never use again.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my bruises. I could hear him moving behind me, and I could hear the floor creak as he took a step closer.
I bolted.
I reached the small door that separated the living space from the stock trailer and wrenched it open. My whole body protested. Pain exploded down my side. I didn’t stop. I slipped through and slammed the door, twisting the lock just as he lunged. The metal rattled under his fists a second later.
The sound was deafening.
“Kristin!” His voice rose, furious and slurred. He pounded harder, the metal booming like a drum.
I stumbled back until my shoulders hit the opposite wall, my phone still in my hand. My fingers trembled so badly I nearly dropped it. The smell of hay and sweat from the horses pressed in, grounding and claustrophobic all at once.
I needed help. I needed someone who wouldn’t hesitate.
There was only one person I knew who could handle this. Well, five of them, but only one was close enough to do anything about it.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I hit the number.
It rang once.
“Kristin, what’s wrong?” His voice was low, thick with sleep, and the guilt of waking him washed over me instantly.
“I’m in trouble, Linc,” I whispered. My voice broke halfway through his name. My chest heaved as the man on the opposite side of the steel door screamed again, each shout reverberating through the walls and into my bones.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, without hesitation.
“You don’t know where I am,” I sobbed, clutching the phone like it was my only lifeline.
“I always know where you are, Tin.”
The nickname, soft, familiar, a private thing, hit deep. It broke through the panic for a single heartbeat. My hip burned, my ribs throbbed, fear slammed through me, but just hearing his voice, just knowing he was coming, made my muscles unclench enough to breathe.
The pounding on the door intensified, each hit rattling the hinges. The sound filled the trailer, a metallic roar that made my ears ring. My heart felt like it might burst from my chest.
I pressed myself flat against the wall, whispering his name like a prayer I wasn’t sure anyone could hear.
The metal screamed under Josh’s fists again, and I flinched, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor, the phone still pressed to my ear. He was already moving, the muffled sounds in the background made my fear dissipate slightly.
The trailer felt impossibly small. The shadows stretched across the walls like they wanted to swallow me whole. My hands shook, my body ached, my lungs couldn’t catch a full breath.
But under the panic, something held steady. That tether that had always pulled between us.
Lincoln was coming.
And until he got here, I just had to hold on.