Chapter 15 #2
“Oh, of course, here take my card,” he says, holding his card out to me. As I reach to grab it, he holds it tightly so it’s a contest between us. “I look forward to hearing from you.” And there’s that slimy smile again, like he won this deal despite my never agreeing to anything.
He lets it go, and I take it, not bothering with pleasantries any longer.
As soon as I get in my car and turn the engine on, I make a mental note to scrub my skin when I get back to the ranch. No wonder Gage hates suits so much.
They suck.
The moment I get into the shower, I feel grateful. Scrubbing the soap on my skin felt like I was washing away all the scum Roger left in my orbit. Probably dramatic, but he gives me a bad vibe.
As soon as I go for my shampoo and place it in my hair, the lights cut out. Oh no, what the hell? Even in the shower, I can hear the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by stomping up the stairs.
The door of the bathroom swings open, and my eyes widen, grateful that the shower curtain blocks everything. “Sloane?” I calm my racing heart when I hear it’s Gage on the other side. “You alright?”
“I’m fine, what happened?” I ask, finding a quiet comfort in knowing that the moment the power went out, his initial thought was to run and check on me.
“There’s a blackout, and I got the guys working on the generator, but the thing is older than dirt. I’m thinking we’ll be out for a bit,” he says as I wash my hair out. “Do you need candles in here until you finish up?”
I squeeze my hair out of any excess hair, my brows furrowing at how nice he’s being to me. The Gage I met on the first day only grabbed my suitcase out of some type of obligation, but this Gage tonight is completely different.
“No. I’m okay. I’ll be finished in a moment,” I tell him before I hear the quiet clicking of the door shutting behind him.
I quickly finish up with my shower, and as soon as I get out of the bathroom, I see the soft glow downstairs. I follow it, the steps creaking under my bare feet. Peeking down, I see Gage sitting on the couch with a beer in hand.
He looks up and nods to me. “Care for a beer?” He asks, and I blink, surprised. My brain is telling me to stay as far away from him as possible, but my heart is telling me that if I do, I’ll regret it.
“Sure.”
He gets up and walks into the kitchen to grab a beer, still cold in the fridge. I walk into the living room and sit on the couch, the reminder of what happened the last time we sat here in the dark flashes in my brain.
He takes a seat and pops the cap off, handing it to me. I take a sip and then nurse it by the neck. “Why are you being so nice?”
“You’d rather I be mean still?” he asks, and I scoff, taking another swig.
“Not at all, but surely my telling you about my dad isn’t going to just change how you feel towards me, clearly. You couldn’t even listen to me before.”
He sighs, running his hand along the back of his neck.
“It’s because I didn’t want to.” He looks towards me, his eyes glowing in the candlelight.
“I had this ex, Marlene, she and I were great together by all accounts. We worked well together and honestly, I thought I was going to marry that woman,” he explains, before shaking his head again.
“So, what happened?”
“She was muddying the books, stealing from the ranch’s profits, and hiding it away so she and her boyfriend on the side could live comfortably. Nothing was getting paid because even though Uncle Sam passed recently, I was already manning the thing.
I nearly lost everything because of her, and I swore I wouldn’t let another woman catch me off guard like that again.” This was the answer I was waiting for, and somehow it didn’t make me feel any better.
It helps me see him more, of course, but knowing this woman crippled his ability to trust anyone is heartbreaking.
It’s lonely.
“Sloane, I am so sorry for how I treated you. Not just for not believing you, but that day in the barn haunts me. I feel sick to my stomach, knowing I walked out and left you like that,” he says, his face contorting in what looks like physical pain.
I place the beer on the coffee table and reach out, my fingers brushing his jaw before I still myself. I want to touch him—to ease the pain written all over his face—but wanting doesn’t mean I should.
“Thank you,” I say instead, quietly.
He frowns. “For what? All I’ve done is hurt you.”
“For telling me the truth,” I reply. “For not pretending it didn’t happen.”
His breath stutters, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The room feels smaller, the candlelight throwing shadows that flicker and stretch. He leans closer, slow enough that I have time to stop it. To step away.
I don’t.
But I don’t meet him either.
My hand presses to his chest, stopping him inches from my mouth. The heat between us is sharp and electric—but I hold my ground.
“Not yet.”
His eyes search mine, regret and understanding clear. “I understand.”
I swallow, forcing my voice to be steady even as my body betrays me. “You don’t get to fix this with words, Gage. Or apologies. I need to see it. I need to know this isn’t just tonight.”
He nods once. No argument. No reaching for me again. “Then I’ll show you.”
The promise hangs between us—quiet, heavy, unfinished.
I step back, putting space between us before I lose the resolve I fought so hard to keep. My heart is racing, my skin still warm where his heat lingers.
He picks up his beer, his jaw tight, and takes a long drink. “I’ll get some sleep,” he says finally.
“Me too,” I reply.
We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.
As I head upstairs, I know one thing for certain—this wasn’t forgiveness.
It was a line.
And whether he crossed it the right way would be proven by what he did next—not what he said.