Page 36 of Wyatt

He smirks. “Sounds tasty. Although I think you’ll be the one treating this time, ’cause I got a good-lookin’ hand here.”

“Why haven’t you gone all in yet then?” I nod at the chips sitting by his drink. “You know I’m tryin’ to pay for Ella’s college. Haven’t put nearly as much as I’d like to in her 529.”

“I think y’all are doing just fine in that department now,” he replies.

He’s not wrong.

When Mollie and Cash created Lucky River Ranch, they made my brothers and me stakeholders in the company that owns and operates the ranch. Revenues are split more or less evenly between Mollie and all five of us Rivers boys.

It’s a wildly generous setup. Too generous, in my opinion. Cash agrees with me. We fought Mollie on it, mostly because the ranch she brought to the table was so much bigger and generated so much more revenue than our old Rivers Ranch did. Yes, in our family’s heyday, our ranch had rivaled Lucky Ranch in scope and size. But that hadn’t been the case for decades.

Still, Mollie insisted we all had an equal stake in the newly formed Lucky River Ranch. “No one works harder than y’all,” she said when we recently sat down in our attorney Goody’s office to sign the paperwork. “I’ve seen firsthand the love you have for this land. Each of you is an essential part of our legacy, and your ownership stake should reflect that.”

Now, all of a sudden, I’m a wealthy man.

Wish I could say that having that money hit my account was as much of a thrill as I’d hoped. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. When my parents died, they left behind a mountain of debt they’d accumulated trying to keep Rivers Ranch afloat. My brothers and I had to bust our asses for a long, long time to claw our way out of that hole.

I never wanna be broke again. And I won’t be, thanks to the enormous revenue that the ranch’s multiple income streams—cattle, oil, development—spin off.

But now that I have the money, it’s just thrown my loneliness into stark relief. What’s the point of having that kind of cash if you don’t have anyone to share it with?

“Wy?” Sawyer’s looking at me. “Your turn.”

I need to stop spacing, or I’m gonna lose for the first time in…well, for as long as I can remember.

Glancing at the table, I see that Sawyer’s folded. No surprise there—he’s a conservative player. Has been since Ella was born.

“Let’s see just how good that hand of yours is, Colt.” I shove my remaining chips into the center of the table, the stacks toppling into a pile with a series of quietclicks. “I’m all in.”

Colt grins, and unease slices through my center as I watch him push his chips into the pot. There’s gotta be north of four grand on the table right now.

And somehow, before Colt even lays down his cards, it hits me that I really have lost. Not just the hand. But Sally too. Her asking me to be her fake date was the perfect opportunity for me to ask her if she’d be my real girlfriend.

Her telling me she hasn’t been touched in a while—has she ever been touched the way I’d touch her?—was the perfect opportunity for me to show her how it was done.

She wants the shit that I’m good at giving, and yet I didn’t say a fucking word. I just agreed to her plan and have been an angsty, distracted mess ever since.

But I can’t be honest because I can’t fuck with her head. Sally needs to go back to New York and become the world’s best veterinary surgeon. I know she’s capable of great things. She’s second-guessing her decision to return to Ithaca University now, but I know she’ll regret not taking a chance on herself.

Being honest with her about how I feel wouldn’t do either of us any favors. Especially now that I know she’s having doubts about the job she’s worked toward for basically her entire life.

Fuck me for falling in love with a girl who was never, ever going to be mine.

Colt wears a shit-eating grin as he lays down a straight flush. The table erupts in hollers and whistles, and then I feel all eyes turn to me.

Usually, I’d relish the attention. I’d add to the drama by pausing or pretending to be taken off guard.

But tonight, I’m too tired to give a shit. I’m the opposite of relaxed and fun and easy, and I don’t care who knows it.

My mask slips. I throw my cards across the table and shove up to my feet. Everyone stares at me in stunned silence.

“Wyatt?” Sawyer’s brows are pulled together. “You okay?”

“I’m…not feeling great.” I nod at Colt. “Enjoy the steak.”

Then I turn and dart up the stairs.

The night is cold and clear, the sky lit up with so many stars that it makes me dizzy to look at them. My breath is visible in a small white cloud as I open the passenger door of my truck and rummage around inside the glove compartment.

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