Page 163 of Burn the Wild

Which I hope I am.

That’s the inevitable thing about perfection. There’s always room to fuck it up.

God, I hope it doesn’t all fall apart because…this man…

This summer…

It’s been nothing short of magical.

“I come bearing dinner,” I say, slipping into the apartment.

“Pizza?” Still in his dusty ranch clothes, Ford’s barefoot, standing at the open back door. He shakes a bowl of cat food.

“The answer is always pizza.” I shrug off my bag, set the boxes on the counter. I’ve worked all day in town at Dakota’s bakery. “And pastries. Your sister-in-law sees us as nothing more than pawns.” I check the clock on the wall and smile, nerves welling up inside me. “But first a surprise.”

Silence.

I turn. Ford stares outside, his handsome face creased in worry.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Mouse,” he says, shifting his gaze to me. “She didn’t come back last night.”

“Oh no,” I say, crossing to him. I look out the door at the wide expanse of ranch. The August sun is setting, getting lower and lower earlier and earlier. “Has she ever done this before?”

“No.” Ford clears his throat, clears his withdrawn gaze and looks at me. “Probably out chasing mice. She’ll be back.” He chuckles, but it’s strained. Amber eyes softening, he runs a hand over my shoulder. “Now, what’s this about a surprise?”

Heart beating hard, I take his hand and lead him to the table. “Sit.”

With his brow arched in amusement, he settles into a chair.

Last week, I hatched a plan and called Bo Bosko. Then, I used my star power to get an easy in. I mean, what’s the point of being world famous if I can’t cash in now and then?

I have to do this for Ford. Because he’s done so much for me.

I wet my lips. “Okay, listen,” I say, after I fire up the laptop and open Zoom. “I’m going to do something for you, and you might hate me, but…” I exhale. “Are you ready?”

With an easy nod, he sits back in his chair.

I click the number in the link and the call goes through.

A teenage boy fills the screen—thirteen, with shaggy brown hair peeking out from under a baseball cap. He’s wearing a Phoenix Renegades jersey and an ecstatic grin.

Ford sucks in a shocked breath. Every muscle in his body has gone rigid.

He knows who it is.

His eyes flick to me, then back to the screen. He says nothing. I can’t tell if he’s angry or upset. If he was, I’d understand, But I had to take this chance.

I know what it feels like to not grant yourself forgiveness—to feel like you deserve to be stuck in the sad. He deserves this.

“Holy shit! I don’t believe it,” the boy says, and when he smiles, every muscle in Ford’s body relaxes.

“Hey…uh, kid.”

“Mark,” I whisper.

“Mark,” he says.

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