Chapter 29
twenty-nine
. . .
SIENNA
That night in Brock's bed, I could barely sleep. The old frame creaked softly under me, and the scent of him lingered on the pillows. I kept my eyes closed anyway.
Brock got up silently to go to the barn, and I pretended to be asleep.
The wind rattled the windowpanes while I lay there, memorizing everything I was about to lose.
I’d pack my bags, take the fall for everything, and give Avery what she wanted.
It was the only way to protect everything he’d spent years fighting for.
But my boss beat me to it.
The email arrived at 7:14 a.m.
I'd mentally prepared for this after the dust settled in the driveway yesterday, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
From: Avery Ryan
To: Sienna Starling
CC: HR Department; Legal
Subject: Termination of Employment
Sienna,
Effective immediately, your employment with Gold Coast Media is terminated for cause. This decision follows confirmed reports of unprofessional conduct in direct violation of company policy and client contracts.
Because you are being terminated for cause, you are ineligible for severance or your end-of-contract bonus. Please return all company equipment to the Chicago office by October 15th.
Avery Ryan
I read it three times, sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in Brock’s gray hoodie, the soft fabric still carrying his warm, familiar scent. She’d fired me by email instead of calling. Coward. At the very least, I’d earned that bonus.
I waited for the anger to hit. It didn’t. My brain was a hollow, buzzing void. I stared at the phone until the screen timed out and went black.
Mara’s tuition was due by the end of October. She was in the middle of midterms. Only three nights ago she’d sent me a photo of her study group huddled around a whiteboard covered in diagrams, her tired but determined smile glowing under the fluorescent lights.
Draining my savings could cover part of the bill, and calling Mom and Dad might help with the rest. Telling my sister wasn’t an option yet, not while she was surviving on four hours of sleep and pure caffeine. I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and stood up.
Cold seeped into my bare feet as I eased the bedroom door open and padded quietly down the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, Moose flicked one ear at my footsteps but stayed curled in his bed, his big body rising and falling with slow breaths.
I went upstairs to the guest room, staring at the half-empty suitcase still sitting open on the bed like an accusation. I shoved the rest of my things inside.
Jeans. Sweaters. My Kindle. The photo strip from the Douglas fair, its edges already starting to curl.
My hands shook too badly to fold anything properly, so I just pushed it all down.
I needed to get to Sheridan. Catch the first flight out.
But I couldn’t just disappear. Brock had already lost someone who walked away without fighting for him. The flat, hollow tone in his voice when he talked about his brother echoed in my head, making my chest ache.
I couldn’t be another person who left him with nothing but an empty room and unanswered questions.
I peeled off Brock’s hoodie, suddenly too warm, and tossed it onto the bed before zipping the suitcase shut. I stood there for a long moment, fingers lingering on the cool metal pull.
Then I pulled out my phone, vision blurry, and typed.
I need to see you now. Living room
His reply came immediately.
On my way
I hauled the heavy bag off the bed. The wheels rumbled loudly against the old floorboards as I dragged it toward the door.
A wet nose suddenly pressed against my bare ankle. I looked down. Moose had followed me upstairs. He stood in the doorway, big brown eyes fixed on me, then rested his chin on the edge of the suitcase. His tail thumped against the floor.
"I'm sorry, buddy," I said.
He whined softly. Crouching, I buried my fingers in his thick fur, pressing my face into his warm neck for a moment, breathing in the smell of hay and dog.
I grabbed the handle and lugged the suitcase down the stairs, its plastic wheels thudding against every wooden step. It had barely hit the entryway floor when I heard boots cross the porch outside. The front door swung open.
Brock filled the frame, chest heaving as if he’d jogged straight from the barn. He was still in his thick canvas coat, bits of straw clinging to the sleeves. Then he saw the suitcase.
He went dead still. He dropped both gloves onto the entry table and stared, his broad shoulders tensing.
"What’s this?"
"Avery fired me," I said. "She’s probably calling Outlaw right now to try and pull your sponsorship."
From the kitchen down the hall, something sizzled faintly in a pan.
Brock didn't blink. "So."
"So I have to leave." Hot tears spilled over my cheeks. "You need to call Outlaw and tell them this was all my fault. That I got too close, and when Trent showed up… you lost your temper because of me. Maybe they’ll keep you if they think I’m the problem."
He closed the distance between us. "Are you out of your damn mind?"
"Please, I don’t want to ruin everything. I love you, and I can’t be the reason you lose your sponsorship."
The words hung there between us. I hadn't meant to say it like that—hadn't meant to say it at all—but there it was, and I couldn't take it back.
Brock stared at me for a long second. Then, he shoved the suitcase farther into the entryway, putting distance between it and the door.
"I don’t give a damn about Outlaw."
Before I could say anything, his hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing away my tears.
"I love you, Sienna."
He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"You really think I care more about a sponsorship than having you here?"
I shook my head. "No. But I want you to have the best chance at Vegas and get the ranch out of debt."
"You're not listening." He pulled me against his chest. "The debt isn’t going anywhere. It can wait. I’d rather do it slow than do it without you. I’m not losing you."
The fight drained out of me. I sagged into him, burying my face in his shirt. His strong arms wrapped tight around my body as he held me close.
"You’re not running from me, Starlin’," he said into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. “I won’t let you.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice was muffled by his shirt. “I’m sorry for freaking out like this.”
A throat cleared behind us.
I froze.
Silas stood near the bottom of the stairs with Wren and Colt right behind him. They must have heard us and come down the hall.
I pulled back just enough to turn to them. I could only imagine how I looked—red eyes, blotchy cheeks, a total mess.
“I’m not leaving,” I said hoarsely. “I was trying to… I didn’t want to cause any more problems—”
Silas walked over, his boots loud on the hardwood, and stopped in front of me. His weathered blue eyes studied my face for a long moment.
“The only thing that would break my boy’s heart,” he said quietly, “is if you walked out that door right now. So leave the bag where it is, sweetheart.”
A sob caught in my throat. I was trying hard not to start crying again, and that didn’t help.
Wren was there a second later, gently pulling me out of Brock’s arms and wrapping me in a tight hug. She smelled like fresh coffee and hay.
“You’re stuck with us,” she said into my shoulder, squeezing me harder. “I told you a long time ago. You didn’t believe me?”
A watery laugh escaped me as I hugged her back.
“Colt,” Silas said. “Grab her suitcase.”
“On it.”
Colt shoved the piece of toast he’d been holding into his mouth, crossed the room, and hoisted the suitcase onto his shoulder.
“This is going back upstairs,” he grumbled around the toast, crumbs falling onto his shirt. “And if you try to leave again, I’m hiding it in the barn and making you dig through hay bales for your shampoo.”
“Colt,” Wren warned, though her voice held a smile.
“What? I’m being supportive!”
Brock shrugged out of his coat and let it fall onto the entry table, then pressed his hand against my lower back, guiding me up the stairs. His palm was hot through my thin shirt.
The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind us, the noise from downstairs faded, leaving only the quiet creak of the old floorboards under our feet and the distant low of cattle outside.
I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. My body felt heavy, like I could barely hold myself up.
Brock knelt in front of me. He reached down and pulled off one of my socks, then the other, taking both of my bare feet into his rough hands.
"You're freezing," he murmured.
He lifted one foot just enough to press a slow kiss to the top before lowering it back down.
He shifted closer, easing off his jeans before settling onto the bed. We lay down together, and he guided my feet between his warm legs, letting his body heat chase away the cold.
I turned into his chest, curling against his side. He was solid and warm through his flannel shirt as he wrapped an arm around my back. He pressed a soft kiss to my temple, then another along the side of my neck, his lips lingering.
“We’ll handle the rest tomorrow,” he murmured against my skin. “Today, just let me take care of you.”
“Thank you,” I breathed.
His heartbeat thumped steadily under my ear. Downstairs, the house carried on around us—the sound of laughter, cabinets opening and closing, the dishwasher rumbling to life.
I closed my eyes and let myself be held.