Chapter 5
Five
Tessa
Iwoke up on the couch with my face stuck to a tortilla chip, which honestly summed up my life. A low groan rattled out of me as I peeled the chip off my cheek; it made a faint tearing sound, like it had fused to my skin through sheer force of tequila and sadness.
I blinked at the blurry room, my eyes protested the light; my brain protested existence. Two empty bottles sat on the coffee table. A bra hung off the lamp like a flag of surrender. Half a lime lay on the floor.
And then there was Dani, laying on the floor, cocooned in a blanket like a corpse that died sometime during the night. One foot was sticking out and twitching occasionally as if she were dreaming of running.
My head throbbed, my stomach churned, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed dust. I pressed a hand to my temple, groaned again, and slowly sat up.
That’s when it hit me.
Ray.
The memory slammed into my chest. My breath caught mid-inhale, sharp and painful. I froze, hands gripping my knees as my stomach dropped fast and hard.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “Oh God. Oh no.”
Last night rushed back in a fragmented montage, tequila shots, Dani’s terrible dance moves, me crying, the knocking, the stranger at the door, the hat in his hands, the words he’d said.
Uncle Ray was gone. Really gone. The man who raised me, the man who’d taught me how to tie knots, how to sit a stubborn horse, to recognize a fever in a calf before it got dangerous. The man who’d never once made things easy on me.
“Hey,” Dani croaked again, dragging herself upright like a resurrected corpse. Her hair was tangled, and her eyeliner smudged, making her look worse than I felt. “You okay?”
No. Not even close. But my throat was tight, so I nodded.
She scooted closer, blanket still wrapped around her, and rested her head on my shoulder.
She was warm and familiar and exactly what I needed, steady pressure in a world that was cracked open.
We sat like that for a while, quiet and hungover and broken.
Then she whispered, voice hoarse, “Did we hallucinate the hot cowboy?”
I let out a weak sound, something between a sigh and a dying animal. “No. Wyatt’s real. I didn’t know him well when I was growing up, but he lived at the next ranch.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, thank God. I was scared we’d invented him. That man looked like a responsible older lumberjack with emotional trauma.”
I groaned into my hands. “Please stop talking.”
“No, seriously,” she said, rubbing her face.
I grabbed a pillow and covered my entire head with it. “Oh my God.”
She snorted. “I can’t believe he said he’d come get you this morning after the things we said to him.”
I froze under the pillow, my heartbeat thudding loud enough that I could hear it. Right. He was coming back to take me home. To whatever waited at the ranch that was now my responsibility.
My stomach twisted. Grief pulled tight in my chest. Underneath it, something else flickered, fear maybe, pressure, reality. Everything was going to change.
I forced myself off the couch. My body screamed with every shift; my hips were stiff, my neck tight, my stomach rolling in protest. I needed water, painkillers, a shower, a therapist, and possibly divine intervention.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number, and my pulse skittered.
Dani perked up like a meerkat sensing danger. “Is it him?”
I nodded.
“Answer it,” she squealed as she held her head.
“I can’t.” I stared at the unknown number on the screen.
“Then let me.”
“No,” I shouted loud enough to make me groan.
The buzzing stopped. Then started again. My palms went sweaty. Irrational, but real. He wasn’t scary, not objectively. He was stern and steady and completely out of place in my tequila-soaked disaster of a life. But still, the thought of answering made something inside me seize.
I forced myself to pick up. “Hello,” I croaked.
“Morning, Miss Callahan.” His voice was deep and sleep-rough, a low, steady sound that tugged at something low in my stomach I didn’t want to examine. “I’m outside.”
I swallowed. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Take your time,” he said. “We’re not in a rush.”
We.
The word landed strangely in my chest, heavy and present and loaded with something unnamed. I hung up and turned slowly.
“Oh my God,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. “You have to shower. You look like a raccoon that got hit by a bus.”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” I asked after her insult.
She waved me off and frowned. “Brush your teeth twice.”
“I know.”
“And whatever you do, don’t cry on him again.”
I paused halfway into the bathroom. “I didn’t cry on him.”
“You did everything but fall into his arms,” she said.
I threw a dirty look her way, grabbed the hand towel beside the sink, and threw it at her. She dodged the flailing linen and pointed into the bathroom. “Go. I’ll clean the explosion zone.”
I showered. Scalding water hit my skin, and the room steamed up instantly.
The heat didn’t wash the grief away, but it softened the edges.
My muscles loosened. My hands stopped shaking, and my heartbeat calmed a little.
I stood too long with my forehead against the tile, breathing slowly and shakily.
When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at the foggy mirror until my reflection appeared. I barely recognized the woman looking back, because everything in her life shifted in less than twelve hours.
I dressed in something simple, jeans that weren’t stained, a clean white tank top, and a light cardigan. I braided my hair with trembling fingers, too tight, then loosening it until it didn’t make my head hurt worse.
Quickly, I packed a bag. Not much, just what I knew I’d need.
A toothbrush, deodorant, a pair of boots that hadn’t touched ranch dirt in years, clean socks, a worn flannel shoved in the back of my closet, a hair tie, a notebook I didn’t remember buying, my phone charger, a sweatshirt that smelled like home even if I didn’t want it to.
I zipped the bag and slung it over my shoulder. The weight of it pulled at me in a way that felt symbolic and stupidly literal.
I stepped into the hallway. Dani stood there holding a garbage bag in one hand and a mop in the other. Her eyes softened instantly. “You good?”
No. But I nodded anyway.
“You’ll call?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She hugged me quickly, tighter than expected. “For the record,” she said into my shoulder, “I know today is awful. But if it helps at all, Wyatt showing up last night was hot. So hot.”
I groaned. “Dani.”
“What? I cope with grief using humour.”
“I have to go.”
She squeezed me once more and stepped back. “You got this, Tess.”
I doubted it, but I walked toward the elevator anyway. My boots echoed in the hallway. My breath trembled. My hands shook.
I pushed the lobby doors open.
And there he was.
Wyatt Hargrove stood just outside the building, tall and solid.
His blue plaid shirt was rolled at the sleeves, hands resting at his hips like he’d been waiting a long time but wasn’t impatient about it.
His boots didn’t belong anywhere near a city sidewalk; dust clung to the seams, and the sun glinted off the worn leather.
He lifted his head when he saw me. His eyes took me in slowly and steadily, not judgmental or prying, just present.
“Morning,” he said. My mouth opened. Nothing came out. He nodded once, a small gesture of understanding. “Let’s get you home.”