Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’m done.
I tell myself that for the fifth time as I shove another handful of clothes into my suitcase. Shirts, jeans, socks—all balled up and crammed in. I don’t even care if I forget something. Hell, I could just buy new shit once I’m gone.
I glance around the cabin—the cheap pine paneling, the dust-covered blinds, the old leather couch. It all feels too damn small, too damn quiet. Especially after the shouting match Charli and I had not even an hour ago.
I still hear her voice in my head.
“Because you’ll be gone soon.”
She said that like the past month didn’t matter.
I’m here every day, working. Helping. Trying to be patient while she pushed and prodded and tested me at every turn.
I should’ve known better.
I slam the suitcase shut and zip it halfway before grabbing my boots from beside the door. I need to get the hell out of here before I say something I can’t take back.
There’s a knock at the door.
I ignore it.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Go away,” I mutter, tossing a handful of socks on top of the suitcase and pushing down on it with my knee.
Whoever’s out there doesn’t take the hint. The knocking turns into full-on banging, rattling the frame.
I stomp across the room, every muscle in my jaw tight. The second I yank the door open, I’m already barking, “What?” expecting to see Charli standing there, ready to throw more fire my way.
But it’s not her.
It’s Matty.
She stands there on the porch with rain dripping off the brim of her hat, eyes sharp and steady and pinning me to the floor. “We need to talk,” she says, brushing past me before I can stop her.
The scent of rain and hay follows her inside, mixing with the stale air of the cabin. She stops just a few steps in, taking in the half-packed suitcase on the couch. I watch the way her expression changes from disbelief to something like disappointment.
“Going somewhere?” she says finally.
“Yeah. Cutting out early. Gonna catch up with the Pbr Challenger Series in Vegas,” I tell her. My voice comes out flat, mechanical. “Don’t worry. You’ll get all the money the contract promised.” I don’t even look up when I say it.
She spins on me so fast, and I can feel the heat coming off her. “You think I give a damn about the money?”
I drag a hand down my face and let out a humorless laugh. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To talk me into staying? What, you want me to crawl back on the back of a bronc and pretend to fucking like it?”
Her arms cross, one eyebrow lifting. “I couldn’t care less if you rode a bronc.”
“Good,” I snap. “Because I’d rather break my neck on the back of a bull than ride a bronc.”
Matty tilts her head. “Good news for you,” she says evenly. “You can break your neck on either one.”
For a second, I just stare at her. Then I huff out a breath and look away, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. She’s got that same sharp tongue her sister does, but hers doesn’t hit quite as deep.
“You’re not here to tell me what you think I should do?” I ask.
“You’re a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Try telling that to my team.”
“Sounds to me like maybe it’s time for a new team.”
“It’s not that simple,” I snap.
“Sure it is. You started without one. I’m sure you rode in many a rodeo without one.”
“Back when I was a broke drifter,” I say.
She nods. “If I were a gambling woman, I’d bet that you were happier as a broke drifter than you are right now.”
She’d be right.
“Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about starting over,” she continues.
“It can be hard. It can bruise the hell out of your ego, but if something’s important to you, it’ll be worth it in the end.
The people who truly matter will hang in there with you.
And the people who don’t? The ones who walk away easily?
Fuck them. You’re better off without ’em. ”
I consider her words.
“Thanks for the advice. But if you didn’t come here to convince me to stay, why did you?”
“Because,” she says, stepping closer, “my sister’s in love with your stupid ass, and apparently, my father wants to go into business with your stupid ass.”
Love?
That one knocks the wind right out of me. I blink, shoving that aside for the moment. “Albert already talked to you.”
“He did.” She moves around the couch, trailing her fingers along the back of it before stopping near my half-zipped suitcase. “And I was intrigued. But I gotta tell you”—she glances at the suitcase again—“finding you here, packing up to run off, doesn’t exactly breed confidence.”
I sigh, raking both hands through my hair. My boots scuff against the old wood floor as I cross to the couch and sit down hard. The springs groan beneath me.
She doesn’t move for a long moment, just studies me with that steady Storm stare that could probably break wild horses if she wanted to. Then she sits beside me.
I can feel the weight of her gaze even when I don’t look up.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit finally. My voice sounds smaller than I expected. “It’s like she’s trying to run me off. The woman pushes every one of my buttons.”
“Yeah, well,” Matty says, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, “that probably won’t ever change.”
I let out a short laugh.
“But you know what would help?” she adds.
“What?”
“If you’d sit her down and tell her your plans.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “It’s the uncertainty that’s making her act the way she is. She knows your heart isn’t in the training. She knows you’re going back to bull riding. She just needs to hear you say it.”
I stare down at my hands. My knuckles are rough and scabbed from weeks of work, my palms callous. I’ve been thrown, trampled, hit, but nothing has bruised me quite like this woman has.
“I’m not used to this shit,” I say quietly. “I’m not used to having to explain myself. Or caring what another person thinks about the decisions I make.”
Matty laughs. “Welcome to adulthood. This is where we have grown-up conversations and real relationships.”
She glances around the cabin, smirking. “It’s great. Granted, the hangovers are worse, and the responsibilities are staggeringly higher, but it’s a lot less lonely.”
I chuckle despite myself, rubbing the back of my neck. “You make it sound so appealing.”
She grins. “Oh, it’s terrible. But it’s worth it.”
I stare at the floor for a long moment, the sound of rain hitting the tin roof filling the silence.
“What if she can’t deal with it?” I ask finally.
“She may not,” Matty says honestly. “But you’ll never know until you ask her.”
She stands then, brushing her jeans off, her tone shifting back to business.
“If you do end up staying and we build your school here, you might want to throw a little of the budget at this place.” She gestures toward the cabin’s bare walls and tiny kitchen.
“That’s if you don’t want Charli sneaking out to the comfort of her king-size bed and soaking bathtub every morning for the rest of your lives. ”
That earns a real laugh out of me.
I shake my head, pushing to my feet. “You Storm women sure know how to put a man in his place.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” she says, walking toward the door.
Before she steps out, I call her name. “Matty.”
She pauses, hand on the knob.
“Thank you,” I say.
She offers me a small, knowing smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Go talk to her. Let her know that you don’t quit—not on bull riding, not on your dreams, and not on her.”
Then she’s gone, leaving the cabin filled with nothing but rain and the echo of her words.
I stand here for a long time, staring at the door after it shuts. My chest feels tight, like someone’s laced a rope around it and pulled. I walk back to the couch, drag a hand through my hair, and stare at the half-zipped suitcase.
She’s right.
Hell, I hate that she’s right.
I drop onto the couch again, elbows on my knees. I came here to pacify my management, to recover and get my head straight. I didn’t come here to fall for someone and upheave my whole damn life.
But since day one, Charli Storm has done just that.
Every look, every word, every stubborn tilt of her chin—she gets under my skin in a way no one else ever has.
One minute, she’s soft and laughing, letting her guard down just enough for me to see the woman beneath the fire.
The next, she’s throwing walls up so fast that I can barely breathe.
Every day with her has been like riding a tornado. You don’t want to tame it; you just want to hold on and ride up into the funnel, enjoying the thrill of the storm until it dumps you on the other side.
I don’t wanna go. But, damn, she makes it hard to stay.
I glance at the suitcase again and stare at the contents. My whole life packed into one bag. I’ve done this more times than I can count—hotel rooms, rodeo grounds, apartments in towns I barely remember. Leaving’s always been easy.
Until now.
I can still picture her face earlier—her eyes flashing, rain still clinging to her lashes from when we came running in from the storm. Her voice shaking, not from anger, but something else. Something I didn’t want to name because if I did, it might break me open.
“Because you’ll be gone soon.”
Instead of stomping off, I should have reassured her. That’s what she needed, what she was asking for.
But I didn’t say it. I got defensive instead.
I sigh and push to my feet, pacing. The rain outside has turned softer now, tapping steady against the window. I stare out at the gray sky over the pastures, the line of trees swaying in the wind.
Matty’s words echo. Sit her down and tell her your plans.
Simple enough. Except it’s not. Talking about what I want means admitting what I feel.
I grab my hat and shove it on my head. Fuck it.
I’ll find her. I’ll tell her everything—about the school, about my retirement plan, about how I might be about to fire everyone on my team and start from scratch. About how I don’t give a damn about the consequences or how any of it plays out, as long as she knows where my head and heart are.