Page 93 of Slow Burn

I can see her from afar, sitting on the hilltop overlooking the Morgan’s old property. Even from here, under the silver light of the moon, I can see she has no jacket, no shoes on. I had no idea how—or where—I’d find her when Austin called, voice panicked over the phone, but I sure as hell was not expecting this.

Lyla Morgan is full of fucking surprises. But no matter where we stand with each other, there’s one thing I know to be true: I would drive to the ends of the goddamned earth if I thought she was in danger.

Her curled over form is something I recognize. It sends me careening back in time to the day she fell off her bike and scraped her knee. I still feel the same way about her now as I did back then.

As I get closer, Lyla looks small, hunched over like this, almost fragile, even though I know better. Lyla Morgan is anything but fragile, and yet I still have a fierce need to protect her. She spends so much of her own energy protecting herself, I just want to share her burden.

She stands, and that’s when I spot it, the large form of a coyote prowling toward her, a mere ten feet or so away. Lyla raises her hand and… throws something? I shake my head as I watch her trying to fend the animal off. When I realize her strange tactics aren’t working, I lay on the horn.

The sound and the sudden flash from the truck’s headlights sends it scampering back into the field to find some other unsuspecting prey.

I pull the truck over and shut it off, throwing my door open and getting out.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” I say, shutting the truck door with one hand as I stride over to where she’s standing on the narrow shoulder. My tone isn’t punishing or chiding. Just matter of fact.

It’s amazing to me that Lyla has managed to keep herself alive all these years. She’s more like her brother than she cares to admit, getting up to all kinds of shenanigans. I’ve been bailing out Morgans–literally and figuratively–for so many years that I don’t even think twice about it anymore.

Pretty sure either of them could come to me with a dead body and I’d help bury it.

She gestures around, her strappy heels dangling from her hand. “I was fine. I’d have had him rolled over for belly rubs in no time.”

Now, I can see her face clearly. The red rims around her eyes, the black smudges of mascara on her cheeks.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re doing out here? Or why you’re crying?”

The sight of her like this makes my heart feel like it’s been ripped out of my chest. I wish it had been. I’d fucking give it to her if it would make her stop.

I’d give Lyla Morgan my entire world. Hell, I’d sign over the fucking deed to the ranch if it would repair the chasm between us. Let her turn the whole damn thing into an animal rescue. She could save as many three-legged goats as she wanted.

“No,” she says with a sniffle. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and smears the black mascara around her cheeks even more. “You want to tell me why you’re driving out here in the middle of the night?”

“Looking for Trouble,” I answer, and it earns me the barest hint of a smile. It’s a smile I don’t feel like I deserve, but it exposes my nerve endings all the same.

Her face falls again, the moment between us falling through my fingers like I’m trying to hold onto sand.

“Sutton must have called you.” She says it as a statement, not as a question.

“No, Austin did when Sutton started blowing up his phone,” I answer. “You really scared everyone by wandering out of the bar like that.”

Lyla sighs, something heavy settling over her. “My phone is dead, otherwise I’d text them to let them know I’m okay.”

I scrub a hand across my jaw. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You didn’t have to come and get me. I was fine to walk the rest of the way. I wasn’t trying to be reckless,” she says. “I just needed some air, I thought a walk might help me clear my head, process everything.”

I hear the words she hasn’t said, the hidden meaning. She’s finding ways to process her emotions before they overwhelm her. She keeps trying to push her feelings down, to internalize them. Lyla isn’t built that way, and I don’t know how to get her to see that her ability to feel, her ability to express her emotions is the very reason I love her.

My jaw shifts to one side as I glance out over the moonlit field to my right, trying to find my words. It takes longer than I want, because there’s a divide between us now. It fucking hurts, all of it. Lyla, holding herself together, and me keeping everything inside.

This isn’t how we are together. We’re our whole selves, authentic, genuine. No holding back.

“Of course I had to come. I don’t care what happened between us, I don’t care if you hate my guts for what I did. I would run every red light that stood between us if you needed help, Trouble.”

“You really hurt me, Beck,” she says. Her voice cracks and my heart does the same. “I have never felt like I’ve fit in anywhere. No matter where I go, I feel like a plant that’s too big for my pot, or like a bull in a china shop. I don’t know. I was starting to feel like I might be fitting in at Wild Sage. With you.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and stare down at my boots. “I know, Lyla.” My voice cracks with the force of the emotions surfacing in a way that I don’t normally allow. But I want her to see how much I mean the apology. “I’m so sorry.”

“I understand why you did it, you know.” She lets out a sigh, her eyes cast downward. “You were right to explore all viable options. You have to do what’s best for the ranch, and I know I’m letting my own emotions, my own feelings, cloud my judgement. As always. Don’t let me prevent you from doing what you need to do.”