She rolls her eyes. “You know. Something honest. Something that is one hundred percentyou, unfiltered.”
A tight pressure wraps around my ribs.
“Alright.” I breathe in deep and don’t look at her when I say it. “Sometimes I think about getting in my truck, driving off the ranch, and never looking back.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You don’t like it here?”
“I do.” I drag a hand over my jaw, staring out at the mountains, the last edge of sunset cutting the top of the ridge. “This is home. It’s everything I’ve ever known. But sometimes I wonder who I’d be if I was somewhere else.”
“That makes sense,” she says, her voice soft. “After my mom …I used to daydream about running away, too.”
I nod, and for the first time all summer, it feels like I’m actually seeing her. The real version.
“You’re not who I thought you’d be,” I say before I can stop myself.
She frowns, a little crease forming between her brows. “Who did you think I’d be?”
I smirk. “Give me your phone.”
She side-eyes me but hands it over. A few taps later, the opening beats of “California Gurls” come out of my speakers.
Her jaw drops. “No way. I can’t believe you even know this song.”
She giggles—really giggles—and covers her mouth with her hand like she can’t help it.
“Believe it or not, we do have internet access here,” I say with a smirk. “And this shit’s Emmett’s guilty pleasure. I can’t escape it. After a few drinks, I might even sing it for you.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
Her laughter bubbles out again, bright and full and fucking addictive. I’d bottle that sound if I could. Keep it forever.
“Your turn,” I say. “Tell me something real.”
Her smile fades slowly as she wipes the corner of her eye, where a happy tear clings to her lashes. She clears her throat,her fingers knotting together in her lap, twisting the fabric of her shirt.
“Do you want to know the real reason I’m here?” she asks, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Only if you want to tell me.”
Her throat bobs and I find myself staring, tracing the flutter under her skin, unable to look away. Then she drags her teeth over her bottom lip, turning it a flushed, tempting pink, and goddammit—I want to touch her. I want to taste her. I want things I have no right wanting.
“There was…anincident.With one of my father’s clients.”
I don’t miss the bite in her tone when she says “incident.” Like it’s rehearsed. A line that was fed to her.
“Gideon Cross. Someone my father considers a close friend—even after everything.” She smiles sadly. “My friends and I went to a party in the Hills. We’d gotten separated, all pulled in different directions, and I couldn’t find them. I was looking for the bathroom when he cornered me. It was one of those gut-feeling moments…where you know you’re not safe, but your body reacts too slow.”
The muscles in my jaw clench.
“He forced me to try this expensive whiskey. It’s hard to say no to someone who’s never heard it before.” Her laugh is humorless—hollow. “I was stupid. I only had a tiny sip, but it was enough. He’d slipped something in and everything got fuzzy and then he had me against the wall and I—”
Her voice cracks and she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head, trying to hold herself together.
Ithurts—like her pain has spread between us, crawling up behind my ribs and shredding me from the inside out.
I can’t just sit here. I reach for her, covering her hand with mine. She flinches at the contact, then sinks into my touch. Mychest goes tight. I want to pull her closer. I want to take every bit of that pain apart with my bare hands.
