But so had he. Called it good sex like it didn't matter. Like I didn't matter. Like the week we'd spent together was just a transaction.
Maybe we'd both fucked this up. Said things we couldn't take back because it was easier to hurt each other than admit how much it hurt to walk away.
I'd called him a coward. He'd called me a liar.
And maybe we were both right.
The lobby hummed with its usual morning activity. Two guys in leather harnesses were making out by the fountain, a group playing strip poker near the fireplace, someone getting spanked over the concierge desk while checking out. Standard Ranch morning.
I wheeled my bag past it all, realizing with sudden clarity that I'd spent two weeks at one of the most exclusive sex resorts in the country to throw myself into orgies and anonymous sex.
Then I met Dusty, and everything else became noise.
One yoga class, one conversation, and I'd stopped looking for distractions. Stopped wanting anyone else. Two weeks at one of the most exclusive sex resorts in the country, and I'd spent nearly all of it with one person.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd come here to forget, to experiment, to figure out my life through a parade of anonymous bodies. Instead, I'd found someone who made me want to remember everything, who made everything else fade into background noise.
“Checking out?”
I turned to find Vincent approaching, his crisp white linen outfit looking flawless as always. His smile was warm but his eyes held concern.
“Yeah. Flight's this afternoon.”
“How was it? Really?”
“Complicated.” I adjusted my shoulder brace. “But the cabin was perfect. You nailed it with that recommendation.”
“Of course I did.” He gave me a knowing look. “So... you coming back to see us when that shoulder's fixed? Got a bottle of the good stuff I've been saving.”
The question landed with unexpected weight. Would I return? Could I even afford this place without my NFL salary? And could I handle being here knowing Dusty was working with other clients, living his life without me?
“I honestly don't know, Vince. Surgery first, then... we'll see what life looks like after.”
“Well.” Vincent clasped my good shoulder. “Whatever happens, my friend, you always have a place here. And I mean that, not just as the manager. Call me when you land, yeah?”
I shook his hand, feeling the finality of it. “Thanks. For everything. The cabin especially.”
“Sometimes people need space to figure things out.” His smile was knowing. “Safe travels, Cord. I hope you find what you're looking for.”
The rental car was waiting. I threw my bag in the back and sat behind the wheel for a minute, hands gripping the steering wheel, not quite ready to start the engine.
This was it. Drive away, fly back to Denver, get cut open Tuesday. Figure out the rest of my life while trying not to think about blue eyes and strong hands and the way Dusty had looked at me this morning before everything went to shit.
A week. That's all we'd had. Eight days from that first yoga class to this moment, and somehow it had changed everything about how I saw my future.
I started the engine and pulled out of The Ranch's grounds, watching it disappear in my rearview mirror. The Texas hill country stretched ahead, scrub oak and limestone outcroppings, the kind of rugged beauty that would always remind me of him now.
Eventually I hit the paved road leading to the highway, empty this time of day. I drove on autopilot, mind replaying our fight on an endless loop. The way his voice had gone cold when I'd said “just money.” The defensive set of his shoulders when he'd refused my help. The pain in his eyes when he'd said goodbye.
I'd handled it all wrong. Led with money instead of understanding, tried to fix instead of listening. Classic Cord Morales. See a problem, throw resources at it, call it solved.
Except Dusty wasn't a problem. He was a man who'd built his entire life on not needing anyone, on proving he could stand on his own. And I'd told him that didn't matter, that my money could shortcut all that work and sacrifice.
No wonder he'd walked out.
About thirty miles outside of Austin, my phone buzzed in the cupholder. I glanced at the navigation screen and saw Ruben's name.
The car read the text aloud:How was the retreat? Ready to talk strategy for the comeback?
