Page 89 of Slow Burn

Regardless, I force a half-hearted smile back at her, and then she turns around to the guy she’s standing with. Is that… Dylan?

His hand brushes her arm as he leans down and whispers something in her ear. Tessa’s smile spreads, big and wide. Relief floods my chest at the thought that maybe through all this, Tessa has been able to find her own happiness, even if I didn’t find mine.

I throw back the last of the whiskey in my glass and set it down on the table.

This was supposed to be my night out to forget about it all, to have one night of fun before reality comes crashing back tomorrow and I pack my bags to leave for the last time.

“Well, this was a blast,” I say, trying to keep my composure before it breaks. Because once it does, the flood gates will open, and I’ll be the sad girl, drunk and crying in the bar.

I’d rather be drunk and crying alone in my home, thank you very much.

“You can’t drive,” Sutton calls after me, and I whirl on my heel.

“I’ll walk!” I shout through the loud bar so she can hear me.

Worry washes over her face.

Sure, the walk back to Wild Sage isn’t exactly short, maybe forty-five minutes if I wasn’t wearing heels. But I could use the fresh air and the extra time to sober up before I get back.

Sober me wouldn’t go knocking on Beck’s door at midnight, but drunk me?

I can’t say what drunk me might do.

Chapter 34

Beck

I’m trying to get some work done, but all I can focus on is the way my skin prickles under Kenny Rogers’ crooked stare. He’s been staying in my office ever since the flood, and it’s all the more motivation to get the repairs done.

Tonight, there’s two sets of eyes watching me as I go over the budget for the renovations. Lyla asked my dad to watch Critter while she went out with the girls tonight, and now my dad is asleep, which makes me the fill-in babysitter.

Critter and Kenny Rogers almost instantly took to one another, and formed an unlikely friendship that would be cute if they didn’t both freak me out. Now, they’re laying next to each other on Kenny Rogers’ bed in front of the fireplace while I work.

I scroll through the e-mails from the contractors I reached out to for quotes. The numbers on the estimates to hire someone to do it for me would eat up the prize money and then some, which I still can’t quite afford.

Most of the repairs, though, I’m confident I’ll be able to do myself, it’ll just be a matter of finding the time. And with fewer ranch hands and Austin and I being on the outs, it’ll be up to me.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, dragging down my eyelids. The e-mails all blur together. I lean back in the old leather office chair and scrub a hand down my face.

The lack of sleep I’ve had in the last few days has little to do with the stress of repairing the barn. I’ll get it done eventually.

What I don’t know how to fix is the rift I caused between me and Lyla, and the fight I had with Austin. It’s like everything around me is falling apart at the seams. Everything I’ve fought to hold together came crashing down around me. It’s like the tighter I held on, the more I pushed everything I wanted away.

Now, I’m left with nothing except a still struggling ranch, a three legged goat and some toothless chihuahua staring at me with their buggy eyes. I glance up at them, and watching them lay there together does something funny to me. They’re Lyla’s little band of misfits, and my heart melts a little when I think of how much she loves them.

It makes me fucking miss her, and it makes me hate myself for not fighting for her when I had the chance.

I get up and wander over to the pair of them, bending down to scratch them both between the ears the way I’ve seen Lyla do.

“You want to tell me why I have a pantry full of Biscoff cookies that’ll take me a year to consume?” My dad’s voice asks from behind me.

I stand, turning to face him.

“I guess you’d have to ask Lyla,” I answer, knowing she’s the only one who always made sure my dad had his cookie fix. My heart aches behind my ribs, thinking about how she’s still making sure he’s taken care of.

Lyla is many things, fierce, passionate. She would say she’s a lot to handle, but I disagree. Because when you’re on the receiving end of that passion, it’s like nothing else. She’s fierce in everything, including the way she loves.

My dad crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the door jamb. “I have a feeling that after tonight I won’t have the opportunity.”