Page 8 of Pure Bred

“I don’t know, Logan. I’ve spent the last twelve years of my life giving everything to my music career. I thought it was necessary, but now it’s catching up with me and I’m realizing how lost I am. I don’t know who I even am outside of my music.”

“Well, you’re an apple bobbing champ, for starters.”

She laughs a little. “Yeah. Guess that’s a good place to start.”

“I’m sorry you’re feeling so lost.”

“Thank you.” She takes a breath. “I’m hoping this next month helps.”

“I hope so, too. I’ve got a feeling it will. And you know what? If people can’t view you as more than a pop star, that’s their problem. Not yours.” I shake my head. “It’s like the purebreds we take in. A lot of people are only able to see them as racehorses, and can’t appreciate them beyond that. But they’re so much more than just their performance ability.”

Sierra stares at me. “Are you calling me an old horse?”

“Uh—” I clear my throat. “That’s not—I didn’t mean?—”

She laughs, shoving my shoulder. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

We both dissolve into laughter. When it subsides, I find Sierra looking at me, her eyes soft and full of familiar warmth. My chest aches hard for her. My whole damnbodyaches for her. Fuck, she’s so beautiful.

For a moment, I think about leaning in and closing the distance between us. I think about pulling her gorgeous curves into me. The air feels charged, electric.

But I hold back. It’s been years. I don’t know where we stand anymore.

Instead, I clear my throat. “Should we head back?”

Sierra blinks, as if coming out of a daze.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

4

SIERRA

I’m sitting cross-legged on my childhood bed, submerged in a sea of memories. The photo album in my lap feels heavier than it should, each page filled with snapshots of the life I left behind. My fingers trace the edges of a picture—Logan and myself at seventeen, his arm draped casually over my shoulders, both of us grinning like we had the whole world figured out.

God, we were so young. So naive.

I flip to another page, and I draw in a breath. It’s us at the Harvest Festival. Logan is holding a caramel apple, and I’m reaching for a bite. The happiness radiating from that moment is almost palpable.

“We were so good together,” I murmur to the empty room.

I can’t help but compare the golden memories to last night. God, the way Logan looked at me, his eyes flickering with something familiar yet new? For a heart-stopping moment, I was convinced he was going to kiss me. Iwantedhim to kiss me.

But he didn’t.

I brush my fingers over my lips, remembering the almost-kiss. Everything about that moment had felt right. The air between us was charged with mutual desire. Why didn’t he kiss me?

No, I know why. I’m not the same girl he was in love with at seventeen.

A knock on my bedroom door jolts me back into reality. I look up to see my dad standing in the doorway, his kind eyes filled with concern.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

I snap the photo album shut and force a smile. “I’m good, Dad. Come on in.”

He settles at the foot of my bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. “You sure? You’ve been awful quiet since you got back last night.”

Like that, my facade crumbles. I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “I’m…I don’t know, Dad. I feel so lost. Like I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

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