Chapter 14
Fourteen
Ihaven’t seen Holden since the night I broke up with Logan, when we sat on the couch until long after the candle was extinguished and early traces of sunlight peered in through the curtains, talking about everything from our childhoods to our futures.
I explained that I’d be staying at Logan’s house for the summer because moving back into my mom’s house for any amount of time was sure to give me a stomach ulcer.
I’m a teacher. I deal with immaturity and wild behavior daily, but there’s something extra agitating about sharing a space with an emotionally immature parent who prioritizes skeezy romantic partners over their child.
Holden and I agreed to keep our distance until the fall. For all of our sakes.
I hadn’t even planned on coming to the rodeo.
But when Holden asked if I’d come see him for a minute before the team roping event, I folded instantly.
I find him saddling his horse at the back of the trailer, too focused on his task to notice me sidle up next to the truck.
I lean against it to study—ogle, rather—the handsome cowboy with denim stretched over his thick thighs and round, biteable ass.
And I can only assume he’s picked up on how hot sleeve-rolling is from one of my romance books, because I’ve never seen forearm porn from him quite like this.
I catch a glimpse of his veined hands as he tightens his horse's cinch, and my knees threaten to buckle. Who gave him permission to look this good when we’re supposed to be pretending we’re strictly friends? Wasn’t me.
When he looks up and sees me, he smiles. My heart aches at that grin. It’s one most people don’t get often. Something in my soul magnetizes and pulls me straight to him.
He drops what he’s doing and takes a step toward me. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I glance around for a sign of Logan. His horse is gone, so I can assume he is, too. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did. Just for a second.”
We stand there. Too close, not close enough. For a split second, I think we might do the right thing here, and part with a longing look and a promise to connect when he’s back home.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I am.” I mean it.
“It’s already been weird not having you around. Quiet.”
“You miss having someone to call you out when you’re being unbearable?”
His mouth quirks. “Unbearably hot?”
“Humble, too.”
He steps closer, crowding me against the hot metal box of his pickup. “Keeping me humble is your job. You’ve been slacking, angel.”
A few cowboys stroll past, making my nerves skitter and my heart momentarily stop, and Holden shifts our bodies to shield me from view. It’s protective and possessive and hot. When he’s so close, it’s nearly impossible not to think about the feel of his body pressing into mine with an earnest gasp.
My breath saws through my lungs at the heat and scent of his body. My finger hooks in the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “We’re being reckless.”
“Might be,” he mutters, warm breath washing over my cheek as his lips find my ear. His fingers glide along my waistband, leaving a wake of goosebumps behind and rousing the desire in my core. “But I don’t care.”
“Holden…” I warn, but it’s useless. We both know it.
My fingers tease the fine hair on his forearm, and for a second, I just look at him. Take in his chocolate brown stubble and the faint freckles on his cheeks. There’s turbidity in his ocean eyes, something restless and yearning. I wish I could know exactly what he’s thinking.
He kisses me then, as if he’s been suffocating and I’m a much-needed breath of fresh air. It’s loaded with unspoken promises and confirming what I already know—Holden Kearney is the best. My best.
Holden pulls back a centimeter, panting and smiling against my kiss-plump lips, before we kiss like that again. Another and another.
“What the fuck?”
I pull back so fast, the world spins. Holden’s hands lift instinctively as he puts space between us.
Logan.
He’s standing a few yards away, eyes locked on us. He lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief, and I can feel the heat of his glare burning me from the inside out. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Logan, I—” I start to explain, but he throws his hand up to cut me off.
Admittedly, I’m grateful. What explanation could I possibly give him that would feel like enough?
“Don’t,” Logan snaps. “I don’t want to hear it. Fuck both of you.”
Holden shoves his hands in his front pockets. “We didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“Like fuck—you’ve been jealous and pissed off at me since I asked her out,” Logan sneers. Then he points a trembling finger at me and spits fire-laced words. “And you’re a fucking cunt.”
“Hey!” Holden immediately jumps to my defense, angling himself so he’s between his brother and me.
“And you?” Logan glares at his brother and lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “You’re dead to me.”
Before either of us can react, he pivots and drills the heel of his boot into the side of Holden’s pickup truck. The metal caves in with a sickening crunch, and I flinch instinctively. Holden’s horse backs away, rocking the entire horse trailer.
Logan cuts through us with one last blazing look before storming away, lost in a cloud of dust and the crackling sound of arena speakers.
Holden scrubs his palm over his face, exhaling harshly. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “We fucked up, Holden. I shouldn’t have come here. He’s your brother. He’s right… I’m a fucking cunt.”
I shouldn’t have shown up here today. I knew that, and I still did it.
At the end of the day, I’m no better than Logan.
Even worse, possibly, because I found him kissing another girl and, rather than confronting him like a reasonable adult, I fucked his brother.
And now I’ve destroyed the only familial relationship either of them still had.
“Don’t say that shit. We didn’t plan this, and he’s allowed to be pissed at me, but not you. If he didn’t treat you like shit, you wouldn’t have even glanced in my direction. If he wanted to keep you, he wouldn’t have put you in a situation where you’d need someone else to lean on.”
“Fuck,” I mouth. My eyes sting, my nose burns. I sniff. “I should go… I gotta get my stuff out of Logan’s house.”
He stares off at the rodeo grandstands. “I should ride over to the arena and see if he’s there. I know he’s pissed about this, but he’s also the most competitive guy I know. Would take a lot more than seeing me kissing you to make him drop out of an event.”
I huff a laugh and watch as Holden finishes getting his horse ready. He slips the toe of his boot into one of the stirrups and pops himself up on top of the horse.
“Wait for me,” he says. “I’ll help you get your stuff from his place after I’m done, in case he shows up there wanting to confront you.”
“I don’t have much there.” A depressingly small number of belongings, honestly. “It won’t take long. I’ll be fine.”
Halfway through the fairgrounds, somewhere between the poutine food truck and a grilled corn stand, I stopped in my tracks and spun on a dime to make my way here.
If I never watch another rodeo, smell the thick scent of horse sweat, or feel the grit of arena sand in my socks ever again, I won’t be heartbroken.
There’s something rare in the moments when Holden and Logan rope together, though.
And unbeknownst to everyone but the three of us, this might be their final run. Someone needs to bear witness to that.
So I ease my way back through the crowd and find a sliver of space between two older cowboys posted up along the fence rails.
I lean against the warm metal of the fence and watch the far end of the arena.
As Holden suspected, Logan’s here. His head hangs low, hat shadowing his face, as he runs his rope through his hands in a devotion of sorts.
Finally looking up, Logan pulls himself from the trance in time to back his horse into the far corner of the roping box and steadies his eyes on the steer waiting in the chute.
Holden’s seated atop his own horse, already in the other box. The brothers don’t share so much as a sideways glance. The magic is already gone. I should’ve known this wouldn’t be anything like the other hundreds of runs they’ve shared.
The steer bolts out ahead of them, and Logan’s horse lurches forward, closing the distance with the speed and accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.
It’s all slow motion, somehow. The spiritless motion in Logan’s upper body, the looped rope landing in a pillow of dust, the sharp stop of Holden’s horse, the silence of the crowd.
My breath catches in my throat. Logan swings his leg over his saddle and jumps to the ground, then marches toward Holden. The announcer poses a question I can’t quite make out. My pulse drowns out every sound.
Holden climbs down from his horse. I watch his lips move, and Logan’s fist cracks into his brother’s jaw before Holden can finish his sentence.
I think I scream. I can’t say, for sure, but the startled reaction of the grizzled, rugged men on either side of me is a good indicator. I push off the fence rail, choking on my own breath, and shove my way through the whispering onlookers.
Holden doesn’t fight back. Not at first. He takes a hard blow to the mouth, accepting a punishment he seems to think he deserves.
On the second punch, he stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet, then swings at Logan.
The hit’s more forceful than anything he received, and Logan reels backward, hands bracing his nose.
A few men on horseback herd the steer away. Men rush in to pull the brothers apart, and making light of the situation, the announcer declares, “Let’s get ready to ruuumble.”
By the time I make it out of the crowd, the other cowboys have ushered them out of the arena.
Holden and Logan are standing about ten feet apart now, covered in an obscene combination of dirt and blood.
One of the other guys smacks Holden’s lost cowboy hat against his thigh to get most of the dust off before handing it over. Another is holding on to both horses.
Hot, indignant tears prick at the backs of my eyes as I approach the scene. Neither man looks at me. Or at each other. Or anywhere but the ground.
Logan cracks his neck and turns to grab his horse, mumbling a thank-you to the guy who wrangled it for him out in the arena.
Blood’s free-falling from his nose, catching on his chin and landing in heavy droplets over his light-blue shirt, but he shirks the suggestion that he should see a medic and stomps off.
“Are you okay?” I ask Holden gently. “Your lip’s bleeding pretty badly.”
He swipes the back of his hand across his bloody mouth, and at long last, he tilts his head to look at me. His chest heaves, and his words are barely audible through clenched teeth. “Been better.”
Somebody hands him the reins for his horse, and the crowd slowly dissipates, until it’s him and me and the noise of a rowdy rodeo crowd getting back to business.
Dappled sunlight emanates through the thick branches of a towering oak tree, and it dips the ends of Holden’s long eyelashes in gold.
His beautiful eyes are dulled and broken, like shards of a perfect stained-glass window that’s been carelessly dropped.
I hate that he’s standing here bloody and battered because of me.
“Holden…” My voice trembles, and I lift a hand before hesitating, unsure if I’m allowed to touch him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to apologize to me.” He licks the actively bleeding split near the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t throw the punch."
“Feels like I did,” I mutter.
He catches my wrist gently with his free hand. “This isn’t your fault. Logan made his choices. I made mine. Maybe one day he’ll wish he’d made different ones, but I won’t.”
I smile. “You just got punched in front of the entire town.”
He smirks despite his busted lip. “You should see the other guy.”
“I did,” I deadpan. “He kicked your truck earlier. Don’t know why he didn’t just punch you then.”
“No crowd. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic.” Holden’s thumb brushes over my pulse point. “At least now I don’t have to keep pretending I don’t want you.”
“You pretending you didn’t like me made it so hot, though.” I sigh. “Tragic.”
“Promise to find other ways to be insufferable.”
A laugh breaks through the hollow ache in my chest that’s made every breath difficult since Logan caught us earlier. “That’s what I love about you.”
I try to swallow the words, but it’s way too late. They’ve already fallen from my lips and are floating in the ether between us, like kicked up arena sand.
“I, uh…” I lick my lips and avert my eyes to the packed stands, the saddle bronc rider six seconds into his ride, the curling smoke from a barbecue food truck parked out front. “I really need to go grab my stuff from Logan’s.”
“Give me a minute to load up.” His head lists toward the gelding waiting patiently beside him.
I shake my head once. “No, we don’t need to risk another interaction between you and Logan. Most of my shit is still in my bags from being on the road with you guys. Like I said earlier, it won’t take long. I’ll text you when I get to Mom’s.”
“Stay with me,” he insists. “I know you’d probably rather sleep in your car than at your mom’s house.”
“That’s moving too fast, Holden.”
“We’ve already been living together for three weeks. We were planning on sharing the tiny ass livestock trailer for the rest of summer, anyways. My place is so big, you can’t even reach the kitchen counter from the bed.”
My mouth twists, and I shrug one shoulder. “That’s actually a deal breaker for me. I like being able to turn on the coffee and fall back asleep while it brews.”
“We’ll put a coffee machine next to the bed.” His smile sends butterflies whooshing in my belly and a zing of delight up my spine.
I step into him, feeling his magnetic pull humming through my body. The air picks up the charge that’s forever sparking between us. My fingers rap against his firm chest, then stay there. “Go finish your day and clean up that bloody lip.”
“See you at home, angel?”
I lift onto my tiptoes and press a sweet kiss to the non-injured corner of his mouth. “Don’t start any more brawls in the meantime.”
“No promises. I’m the devil, after all.”