18
D akota and I arrive in Resurrection at four in the afternoon. Blue skies, jagged mountains, crisp alpine air. As we speed past the welcome sign, my stomach flips.
The last two days have been a blur of motels and freeways and gas stations. But here we are.
This isn’t how I wanted to come back. For the last nine months, I buried Resurrection far in my mind. But now…
Now I’m here and have to make the best of it.
Although, after ten days spent in the hospital, home seems pretty good at the moment. I’m ready to get back to life. Or some semblance of it. I’ve been given exercises to continue doing at home, a referral to a PT in town, and a pharmacy of pills.
While everyone else packed up my shit, including my horses, and headed back to Resurrection, Davis, Dakota, and Wyatt stayed with me through my time in the hospital.
Wyatt slept in a chair beside my bed, refusing to leave my hospital room except for all the times Davis threatened bodily harm until he showered and changed.
“How are you feeling?” Dakota’s quiet voice fills the space. “You must be so stiff.”
“I’m fine, Koty. Christ,” I grumble. I swear she’s asked me at least ten times today.
Stiff from the commute, I shift in the backseat.
The pain in my hip is unbearable, as if someone has lit my leg on fire.
Not like I’d tell Dakota that. My sister’s become a mother hen.
Almost worse than Wyatt. He’s been a gnat. Hovering, always hovering.
I glance behind me through the rear window. Davis and Wyatt hot on our wheels.
There was no way I was driving back with Wyatt. Just us. I confessed too much in the hospital as it is.
Fear needles its way under my skin as Dakota turns onto Melody Drive. My charmingly quirky lavender cottage is tucked at the end of a dead-end street. Located between Runaway Ranch and Resurrection, it’s a perfect mix of desolate and quiet.
“We’re here.” Dakota’s voice rises in pitch. Too cheerful, too optimistic. “You’re home.”
I turn my gaze to the window. Home .
I hate that word. I had thought Arizona would be a new life, a new purpose, but it’s all gone. Poof, a blink of an eye, a bad ride on a bull. Now what do I have? Now who am I?
“I did it,” Dakota says as if reading my thoughts. “Broken bones. Going back home. You can, too.”
I look down at my hands. When I think of all the shit I gave her after she came back home. I was an asshole. I look up to say something, to apologize. Instead my words fall short.
“Oh god.” I groan as my ivy-covered cottage comes into view. A fleet of big rigs line the street. “She didn’t.”
A Welcome Home garland and pots of sunflowers sit outside on the front stoop. It brightens the cottage, but not the shadows inside me.
Dakota lets out a low laugh. “Ruby is happy you’re home. We all are.”
I watch as Charlie and Ford unload Lawless and Lovely into the barn behind my cottage. I think of the wild horses in Arizona, and tears prick behind my eyes. I miss them. I said goodbye to Vic in the hospital, but I never got to say goodbye to El Toro Ranch, or Black Betty, my wild mustang.
Dakota blows out a breath, gaze on a bright-yellow jalopy. “Dad’s here.”
I swallow. “Fuck.” Facing my father is not something I’m ready to do.
Dakota pulls into the driveway. Wrapping her arm around the seatback, she twists to look at me. “You ready?”
“No.” I make a face. “Don’t make me live with a boy, Dakota.”
She laughs.
“You and Wyatt will be okay. And if you’re not, you call me. You’re priority.”
No way in hell. They have a newborn and a bakery. It’s bad enough Wyatt’s been saddled with babysitting me. I left Resurrection so he didn’t have to worry about me. Now? Fat chance of that.
Dakota cuts the engine. I reach for the door handle, but before I can open it, Wyatt’s there.
“Here,” he says, and I hate the way I heat all over. “I’ll help you.”
“Ugh. Fine.” I hold out my arms.
It takes some awkward maneuvering, but after two days on this cross-country road trip, we have it down pat. Wyatt picks me up easily and keeps me there. In his arms.
“Put me down,” I snap, shoving at his shoulder. “I can walk.”
“Thought I’d carry you over the threshold,” he drawls.
I glare at him, and the sonofabitch has the gall to grin. “Don’t you dare.”
Chuckling, he sets me down beside him. He stands tall over me, long-legged, eager, so goddamn beautiful he catches my breath. Ugh, he smells like leather and pine. How does he smell so good after nine hours in a truck?
The grin on his face fades as he scans the cottage. “I don’t want you on stairs,” he says. “I’ll build you a ramp.”
I bristle. “I don’t want a ramp.”
A big sigh from Davis behind us.
“Tough shit,” Wyatt growls as Davis sets down my walker. A piece of me for the next three months. Discombobulated, I get my bearings by gripping the rubber handles of my walker.
Slowly, I hobble forward. I take the stairs like they taught me in in-patient therapy. Put the walker one step length in front of me then place my weaker leg into the middle of the walker. Stronger leg goes next to it.
Repeat.
For every. Fucking. Step.
I can feel everyone behind me waiting, hovering, walking slower than normal. My cheeks burn.
Fuck this. All of it. This shitty homecoming, this stupid walker, the sad eyes of my friends and family. This blue-sky bullshit like the world is so happy I’m back when all I want to do is scream.
When I’ve made it to the porch, Dakota opens the screen door.
My breath lodges in my chest as a surge of memories hit me.
I hate this house and what it means. It means Aiden/Danny. Aiden/Danny with his hands all over me, my body warming in response. Letting him kiss me. Letting him into my bed. Letting my guard down only to have regretted it ever since.
Your pussy is nice, but hers is nicer.
Aiden’s voice echoes in my ears. Then my own.
Weak.
Worthless.
You can’t do this, and everyone knows it.
“You okay?” Wyatt asks from beside me.
I pretend I don’t feel his arm on my elbow, guiding me. I draw in a breath, that string in my chest tightening, tightening. “Fine.” I wrap my hands tight around my walker, praying he doesn’t see the way they shake.
Five steps later, what feels like forever, I finally make it inside. My eyes widen in wonder. “It’s…”
“Clean,” Dakota says.
My brows draw together. “Different.”
“Wyatt did it,” Davis offers, setting my bag on the floor. “All last summer after you left.”
Every trace of Aiden, of that painful night is gone.
The bloodstained carpet torn up and replaced by hardwood floors.
A fresh coat of paint on the walls. Heavy furniture instead of the cheap IKEA pieces I purchased when I first moved in.
The old rock wall fireplace is stained sage green.
My tattered fabric couch swapped for a plush wine-colored velvet sofa.
I put my sweat and muscle into this place. Worked for months to get it cozy and safe, and suddenly it feels that way again. Like I can breathe.
Surprised, I glance over my shoulder to find Wyatt’s eyes locked on me. The faint blush on his chiseled jaw is so disarming I feel my own face flush.
“Why did you do this?” I ask.
He lifts a broad shoulder. “Had to tear some shit up after you left, so I figured why not start here.” His throat works. “Look okay?”
Yes. It’s perfect. I love it. Fuck you for doing this, but also, thank you. So damn much.
But I don’t say any of that. Because before I can answer, the room is filled with sound and laughter.
“Fallon!” Reese tosses her arms up and comes flying at me. I’m gently hugged and passed around my circle of friends, all while Wyatt growls warnings to be careful with me.
When the crowd of people part, my father stands there.
Fuck.
My mouth goes dry. Nerves have me in a stranglehold.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say.
“Kiddo.” Craggy features creased with concern, he shuffles forward and pulls me into a hug. But there’s a tenseness in his body that shouldn’t be there. “You made it,” he says when he pulls back.
I lift a brow. “You’re disappointed.” I can read it all over his face.
“We’ll let you talk,” Dakota says, and everyone follows her down the hall into the kitchen.
Except Wyatt. He stands behind me, bracing me. Something kindles in my chest at the act. He’s here. Ready to take the fallout with me.
“Accidents happen, Fallon. I’d never be disappointed in you taking a bad fall.” He gives me a sad, earnest smile.
I snort. A bad fall is the understatement of the century.
“Not that.” I twist toward Wyatt. “In us.”
The conversation level in the kitchen increases. Everyone’s talking louder than normal, trying not to listen.
My father runs a finger over his silver horseshoe mustache. “Well.” He chews the words around then says, “I won’t lie about that. I am.” He sighs as he turns to Wyatt. “Son.”
Wyatt straightens. “Sir.”
“You and I need to talk. But now’s not the time.” I watch my father’s fingers flex. “As a cowboy, I expected better of you.”
My father’s jab cuts. Wyatt flinches.
So do I.
I’ve waited years for Wyatt to drop out of my father’s good graces. So I don’t know why I feel bad. Why I hate the crestfallen look on Wyatt’s face, the way his broad shoulders bow.
Wyatt doesn’t deserve my father’s wrath, not when I’m the one at fault. Sure, it was his idea to get married, but I was the one who came onto him first. For my own selfish reasons, casual sex, blowing off steam. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I don’t know why I do it. Brush my fingers against Wyatt’s. Maybe to show him I’m sorry. To show him my father doesn’t have any right to be upset with him. Without looking my way, Wyatt loops his pinkie around mine. The contact, the curl of his fingers makes my cheeks rosy.
Regret swallows me up.
“Dad, I’m sorry.”
My father shakes his head. “I expected better of you, too, Fallon.”
Wyatt hisses a breath.
Fuck. It feels like he’s slapped me.
“Well,” my father says, avoiding my eyes. “You’re home, so let’s get you settled.”
Hot tears sting the backs of my eyes as he walks away. My father might be pissed at me, but he’s still going to take care of me.
“That fucking sucked.” I sag back, pretending not to notice how I’m braced by Wyatt’s hard chest.
His voice is rough in my ear. “It’s not your fault.”
I incline my head to look up at him and give him a soft smile. “It’s not yours either.”
Those bright-blue eyes land on my face. “At least we’re in it together.”
“Yeah. Right.”
In it together. His words do something nauseating to my heart.
My chest tightens as Wyatt rests a big hand on the small of my back. He doesn’t have to say a word. It’s always been this way. He guides me, and I just know.
Together, we slowly head into the kitchen.
Dakota arranges my medications on the counter, while Davis unloads boxes. Reese stocks the fridge with food, while Ruby adjusts a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter. Ford and Charlie are somewhere in the barn, helping with the horses.
My chin begins to quiver. Guilt. It’s all around me. I don’t deserve them. I left them on read this entire last year, and they’re still showing up for me.
Goddamn this pain medication, I blink back angry tears. It’s making me tired. Making me soft.
My sister appears in front of me. Her sad eyes tell me she’s overheard my conversation with my father. “C’mon, let me show you what they did.”
Dakota shows me the few adjustments made to my cottage—grab bars in the bathroom and my bedroom, clear pathways down the hall. By the time we’re finished, the sun is setting and I’m fully unpacked. I’m hugged, kissed, and then everyone is gone, leaving just me and Wyatt.
Alone.
God help us both.
I’d rather get my eyeballs plucked—nay,gouged—out thanlive with Wyatt Montgomery for an extended period of time. It’s not the rodeo. We can’t pretend we like each other, can’t have sex.
We’d both be better off with distance between us. Or better yet, a chasm.
Rules. We need rules.
“You look warm.” A big hand palms my face, jolting me out of my reverie. Wyatt stands over me, long fingers tangling in my hair. “Are you feelin’ okay?”
Rule number one. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, batting his hands away.
Wyatt’s expression hardens. “You need food.”
“I don’t want food.”
He sighs. “You know I’m not going to accept that.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
Rule number two. Escape.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, trying to maintain my attitude even as pain ricochets through my body. My hip screams its protest as I roll my walker in the direction of the hallway. “Is that allowed?”
He scowls.
Finally free of Wyatt, I seclude myself inside the bathroom. Christ, I’m winded just trying to get around. Breathing heavily, I rest my brow on the door.
Stupid. Broken. Busted.
That’s me. Fallon McGraw.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Where is the darkness inside my head going to go if I can’t ride? If I can’t get out and away from myself?
I can’t resign myself to my fate. The thought that I’ve possibly had my last ride.
The buzz of my phone saves me from my tears.
I retrieve it from my back pocket and swipe it open.
There’s a DM on my Instagram account. I blink. In the chaos of everything that’s happened, I’ve forgotten all about those cryptic messages.
I open it.
My stomach plummets.
It’s a video of my ride.
Tears blur my eyes, but I fight past them. Ever a glutton for punishment, I watch it.
Won’t be weak. Won’t back down.
I rewatch it.
I see everything. Cowboys and Pappy and Tripp all crowded in the chute just waiting for my inevitable downfall. I see me. On that bull, losing my grip, only lasting seven-point-six seconds.
I growl low in my throat. I almost had it.
Another buzz from my phone.
Another message.
Sent eight seconds ago.
Uneasiness curls in my belly.
I told you this would happen.