I’m thinking about Colt. About what it means that he’s going to be at the ranch all summer—every single day—working side by side with me. About how I’m going to survive three months with that asshole.
When I pull up to Molly’s house, she turns to me with that hopeful look in her eyes. The one I’ve been seeing more and more lately.
“Do you want to come in? My parents are asleep.”
The invitation is crystal clear. She’s been hinting at it for weeks—that she’s ready. That she wants to take things to the next level. That she’s waiting for me to make a move.
I should want this. Any normal twenty-three-year-old guy would jump at this opportunity.
But the thought of going inside, of touching her like that, of having to pretend I’m into it when all I feel is indifference … I can’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever, with her.
“I can’t tonight,” I hear myself say, and the relief that floods through me is damning. “Early morning tomorrow. Dad wants to check the fence line in the east pasture at dawn.”
It’s not even a lie. Dad did mention it, but that’s not why I’m saying no.
Disappointment flashes across her face before she hides it behind a smile. She’s getting good at hiding it—at pretending she doesn’t notice how I pull away. How I make excuses. How I can’t seem to give her what she needs.
“Okay. Rain check?”
“Yeah. Rain check.”
She kisses me again, lingering, trying to pull some kind of response from me. Her hand comes up to cup my face, and I force myself to lean into it, to not flinch away. To be what she needs for just a few more seconds.
When she finally pulls back, there’s something sad in her eyes. Something that makes my chest ache with guilt and shame and a helplessness I don’t know how to fix.
“Rhett,” she says quietly—carefully, like she’s stepping around landmines. “Are we okay?”
The question I’ve been dreading.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I don’t know. You just seem…distant lately. Like you’re somewhere else. Like you’re not really here with me.”
She’s not wrong.
“I’m here,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’m just tired. Work’s been busy, and with summer starting, Dad’s got a million projects lined up.”
She nods, wanting to believe me—needingto believe me. “Okay. Text me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
I watch her walk to her door, then watch her turn and wave before disappearing inside. I sit in my truck in her driveway, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, expecting a text from Molly—something sweet about tonight. Abouthow much she enjoyed seeing me. About looking forward to tomorrow.
It’s not.
Unknown Number:
That was painful to watch. Does your dick even work or are you just that much of a pussy?
My blood runs cold, then hot. I stare at the screen, my pulse hammering in my ears.
What the fuck?
Who is this? Who was watching us?
Before I can process it, another text comes through.
