Trying Not to Need the Bull Rider

Prologue

Baylor

The apartment is quiet when I open the door, and I know immediately that Todd’s not here.

He told me he was coming home to change, and we could grab dinner together before he went back to the office.

I’m heading home tomorrow for a surprise baby shower for my older sister, Ellison.

I won’t be home for a week, and I wanted to spend some time with him before I left.

Closing the door, I step inside and kick off my heels. I love my job, numbers are my jam, but the heels, ten out of ten, do not recommend having to wear those torture devices all day long. This girl misses her cowboy boots.

I can’t help but smile when I imagine my boss and my coworkers’ expressions if I were to roll up into the office on Monday morning wearing them.

The smile fades as quickly as it comes.

The apartment doesn’t just feel quiet… it feels empty. Not the peaceful kind of quiet I used to crave after a long day, but the kind that presses in on you, that makes every small sound too loud. The hum of the fridge. The soft tick of the clock over the stove. The faint echo of my own breathing.

I set my bag down on the counter and glance toward the bedroom, half-expecting to see a trail, his jacket tossed over a chair, his shoes kicked off by the door. Something that says he was here, that he meant it when he said he’d come home.

But everything is exactly the way I left it this morning. If not for the stack of mail on the counter, I’d think he was never here. Reaching for my phone, I hit his name and place it to my ear.

“Baylor,” Todd greets me.

“I thought we were having dinner together tonight?”

“I came home to change, you weren’t there, so I picked something up on my way back to the office.”

“Really, Todd?” I ask, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice.

“I’m busy. Is that all?”

His words should affect me in some way, but this has been our normal for far too long. I don’t know what it will take to get us back to what we used to be. “What time will you be home?”

“Late.”

“Of course,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

“Don’t wait up,” he says, and the call ends.

Placing my phone on the counter, I brace my hands, bow my head, and slowly exhale.

I know he’s trying to make partner. I know his job is demanding, but lately, okay, a lot longer than lately—over the last year, probably even longer—he’s been even more distant.

He puts every part of himself into his career, and there’s nothing left for me. For us.

I walk over to the fridge and open it, staring at the contents without really seeing them. I had my heart set on going out. I hate cooking for one, and I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I close the fridge a little harder than I need to without taking anything out.

My stomach twists, but it’s not with hunger. It’s anger and disappointment. It’s an all-too-familiar, sinking feeling settling in my gut, the one I’ve been trying to ignore, trying not to name. The one that whispers that this is becoming a pattern, our new normal.

I hate it.

I lean back against the counter, arms crossing over my chest, as I stare out into the apartment.

At the space that’s starting to feel a little less like ours and a little more like it’s just mine.

We hardly see one another these days, and I don’t know when it happened, but it’s not Todd that I miss. It’s his company.

Too many nights at the office. Another dinner missed.

Another promise that sounded good when he said it, but didn’t last long enough to matter.

Rinse and repeat. That’s our life. We met five years ago.

I’d been living in New York for three years in a shitty one-bedroom, but it was mine, and I loved it.

He came to my office for a meeting and asked me to dinner.

A year later, I was moving in with him. We were good for a while, but ever since he was told he had a chance at making partner nearly two years ago, each day we’ve drifted further and further apart.

I know he’s busy, but it no longer feels like we’re in a relationship. We’re roommates at best. Hell, it’s been months, far longer than I care to admit, since we’ve been intimate. I don’t even get goodbye kisses in the mornings before he leaves anymore.

I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t know how to bridge this gap that’s formed between us.

With a heavy sigh, I push off the counter, pull the stack of mail toward me, and start sifting through it.

Of course, Todd left his all open, and papers everywhere.

The “maid” will get it. In other words, he knows I’ll pick up after him because that’s what I do.

I justify it by saying he works so hard, but what about me?

I work hard, too. When I reach the bottom of the stack, I see it’s a medical bill.

My eyes scan the bill. Neither of us has been to the doctor, to my knowledge, but this is dated three weeks ago. My heart sinks when I keep reading.

No. No, this can’t be right.

Reaching for my phone, I pull up an internet tab and search the medical facility, and tears prick my eyes.

He didn’t.

Rage. Shock. Pain, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, courses through my veins.

Grabbing the bill, I shove it into my purse, reach for my keys, and rush for the door.

I realize I don’t have shoes on, so I slip on a pair of winter boots that most definitely do not match my outfit, but I couldn’t give a single fuck about that right now.

I’m not putting my feet back into those torture devices, and I need to see him.

I need him to tell me to my face what he’s done.

The truth is written in black and white, but I need him to say it.

I don’t have a car. I don’t really need one living in New York. I sold mine when I moved. Now, if I want to go home, I rent one. Sometimes I just fly. Todd’s office is three blocks from our place, and mine is three blocks in the opposite direction, so we both walk.

That’s why I’m walking now. Well, stalking is more like it.

I’m sure I look like a pissed-off woman as I storm down the street, shoulders colliding with mine, muttered curses trailing behind me. I barely notice any of it. The walk blurs, swallowed by the heat building in my chest.

The paper in my purse might as well be on fire for the rage it’s causing inside me. By the time I reach his building, I don’t hesitate. I shove through the doors and stab at the elevator button, jabbing it over and over like I can force it to move faster.

My destination is the eighth floor. Todd started on the second. His goal is the top twenty-five. I know that because it’s all he ever fucking talks about when I do see him.

My finger hammers the button again. And again. As if sheer persistence will drag the elevator up to me quicker, make the doors open faster.

Finally, they slide apart.

I step inside and hit the number eight just as the doors close behind me.

My foot taps on the floor, and I wring my hands together.

The ride is smooth and quick, thankfully, and less than a minute later, I’m stepping off the elevator and stalking down the hall toward Todd’s office.

The lights are dim, and on this floor, it seems everyone has gone home.

Only Todd, the man who likes to burn the midnight oil, skip dinner, and sneak around behind my back to get procedures, is here.

His office door is open, so I step inside. He looks up, surprise written all over his face.

“Baylor? What are you doing here? I have work to do,” he says as soon as he sees me.

My hands shake as I tear my purse from my shoulder and dig for the piece of paper. A medical bill, left open for the world to see on our kitchen counter. Once I have a grip on the bill, I slap it down on his desk.

“What is that? What’s going on?”

“Explain that.” I point to the crumpled-up medical bill.

“Are you going through my mail now?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

I huff out a humorless laugh. “You left it out on the kitchen counter. I was cleaning up your mess.”

“Why are you here, Baylor?”

Is this man for real? “Seriously, Todd? Three weeks ago, you told me you were at a conference, and this”—I stab my finger at the paper on his desk—“tells me that you were indeed not at a conference. You were getting a fucking vasectomy! Tell me I’m wrong,” I plead.

Because we’ve talked about this. About a family, and how important that is for me.

He agreed. We were on the same page. At least, we were.

“You went through my mail, you read the statement, why are you here asking me?” He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

My mouth falls open in shock. “You lied to me, Todd. You made a decision about our future, one we both had already discussed multiple times, without talking to me.”

“My body, my choice.” He smirks.

I’m trying real damn hard to keep my country roots from showing. “You’re right.” I nod. “It’s your body. Your choice, but we said we wanted kids. We made plans to get married and have a family.”

He shrugs unapologetically. “Changed my mind.”

“And you didn’t think to clue me in?” I ask, my voice shaking from anger.

“Apparently, not.”

He has a bored expression on his face as he watches me.

This man before me, he’s not the same man I met five years ago, who swept me off my feet.

He’s disconnected, cold, and uncaring. This career has changed him.

Hell, maybe it was this city. He’s not a New York native either.

Whatever it is, or a combination of that and so much more, it’s clear to me that we are no longer compatible.

Not just because he had a vasectomy after we planned for a family, so many things over the last couple of years, but I’m tired.

I want to be valued.

I want to be appreciated.

I want to be needed.

I want to be loved.

None of those things are present in our relationship.

I should have ended things with him a long time ago, but I thought it was just a phase until he made partner.

Clearly, I was wrong. What’s worse is that I’m not all that upset about it.

If I’m being honest, it’s a relief knowing that we’re parting ways.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” I tell him.

The anger is suddenly no longer roaring through me.

I’m still pissed, but being fuming mad and yelling isn’t going to change anything.

It isn’t going to change him. He’s changed—hell, maybe I have, too; we’re different people, and this is no longer working.

“I’ll see you at home,” he says, shoving the medical bill into his desk and getting back to work. I’ve been dismissed, which stings, but it’s also expected. That’s the sum of our relationship, or was, because as of this moment, we’re over.

I don’t wave. I don’t say goodbye. Instead, I quietly make my way to the elevator and calmly push the down arrow.

I wait patiently for the elevator car to arrive, and when the doors finally slide open, I don’t bother looking toward Todd’s office.

Instead, I hit the button for the lobby and close my eyes for the ride.

I’m leaving tomorrow to go home for a week, and in my heart, I know what I have to do.

I walk the three blocks back to the apartment with a clear head and a plan.

Once inside, I grab my laptop and fire off a resignation letter, stating a family emergency.

I hate to leave them without notice, but it’s a massive firm, and I’m just another body.

They won’t miss me. Then, I start packing.

All I need are my clothes and pictures. All of the furniture was Todd’s when I moved in, and even if it wasn’t, that can all be replaced.

There’s a reason New York is called the city that never sleeps, and tonight, I’m thankful for that. I’m able to secure a rental for an SUV for the drive home, and I’ve booked a cab to the car rental place. Some might see this as a rash decision, but I’m done. It’s been a long time coming.

I want to go home.

I miss my sisters, and I miss Magnolia Ridge.