Page 27 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Are you paying attention to me, Augustus?” McCrae growls the words, and I huff, crossing my arms. He damn well knows the answer to that question.No, McCrae,I don’t give a fuck what you’re saying because I haven’t been able to think about anything other than finding my girl.

It’s consumed every single cell in my body in a way that hurts. I physically feel on fire with my need to find her, every nerve-ending sparking and alive, just beneath my skin. If I don’t find her soon, I will surely burn from the inside out.

“Listen to me Gus, or you’re going to end up hurting yourself in a way you can’t come back from. The horse you drew tonight is ranked in the National standings; he’s vicious—really fucking vicious. And you can’t afford to lose this rodeo. Just because you won the entire stock show a couple months ago, doesn’t mean you will this time. Your horse this time isn’t like the last one.”

I know what he’s saying is logical. But what he doesn’t understand is I don’t care. I want to be done riding. I’m twenty-five years old, for fuck’s sake, but I can’t seem to shake him. I can’t seem to get out from under the weight of needing to please him—to make him proud.

Besides, if I quit riding, what will I do with myself, then? Who will I be if not a bronc rider?

Hers.The thought hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I shiver with the impact of it. Whatever I am, it will be hers at the end of the day. Just as she will be mine. But fuck! I have to fuckingfind her.

“Are you seriously still thinking about that girl?” His tone is not angry, but instead, holds a note of disbelief. Like he cannot even fathom how I could even remember her by now.

Which, if it was anyone else, I might be able to understand. But with her, it’s different, and even if I want him to, he will never understand my obsession with her.

How I’m already in love with her.

I sigh, the action deflating my chest, and I sit up. “Yes, McCrae. I cannotstopthinking about her.”

His face wrinkles in disgust. “Just fuck someone else and get over it. You have an entire career that is going to go down the drain if you don’t quit this childlike obsession with a girl you don’t even know. It’s pathetic.”

It might honestly be pathetic—I’m mindful enough to know I would probably think the same thing from the outside. But it’s also the most real thing I’ve ever felt.

She’s my way out, my future, my chance at a life and a home. And I won’t give that up no matter how long it takes.

I shake my head, turning back to face the window. No way will he understand. He doesn’t want to.

Right as I am about to turn away, I catch a glimpse of golden hair, and I bolt up, my hand gripping the handle of the truck, my body coiled to jump out and roll at twenty-miles an hour. “Stop the truck.” The wheels continue to turn, and I yank on the door now, pushing it open. “Stop the fucking truck!”

McCrae finally heeds my words, the tires squealing with the effort to halt the thousand pound machine. “What the fuck, Gus?” But I ignore him, unable to tear my eyes away from the shimmering waves of hair and plush curves floating across the crosswalk on the other side of the street.

It’s her.

How is it her? How is she here? How did Ifind her like this?

And then I remember her comment about seeing me at the stock show last year. Of course, she must know someone here in Denver. But Denver is a giant place, and for me to find her, at a crosswalk of all places, feels more like divine intervention than anything else.

Thank you, God.

I watch her, unable to move or blink or even breath. This moment feels far too fragile to alter in any way. It feels too unreal, and I’m terrified I’m making it up—willing her to appear the way I had back in Moztecha when she had come upon me that night.

Fate.Fate is pushing her toward me again.

But now that I can see her fully, in the warm rays of sunshine, and full light of day, I see how innocent she really is. The world might have made her into this sexual icon, but beneath it all, is a girl who needs to find herself. Who needs to find her place within her world before she has any hope of making a relationship work.

So, even though it kills me, I vow in this moment to let her have her space. She can have relationships—even though the thought of others’ hands on her makes my blood turn to ice—she can move and adventure, and hurt and break, and explore and rebuild until she knows who she is. And I will be there, every step of the way, in the shadows.

And when the moment is right, I will make her mine.

She walks closer to the truck, the vehicles behind us growing impatient, but I’m too sucked into the trance that isherto notice. She shifts, throwing her hair over her shoulder, and I notice the small name tag—the kind you have to wear at a dinner or something—sitting just above her breast.

“Stetson,” I whisper her name, branding it into my brain,and heart, forever. McCrae cusses, the truck lurching forward, but I have what I need now to begin the rest of my life.

You know that moment when your life changes forever and you can see“what might have been”float past like a movie clip? That’s what it feels like right now as I walk into the small tattoo parlor, the faces all turning to take me in.

I’m no doubt a confusing sight.

Not because cowboys can’t get tattoos—hell, it’s a wonder I’ve made it this long without craving the heat of a needle against my skin—but because of what I’m wearing. I’m supposed to be getting on the back of one of the rankest broncs in the National standings right now. I’m supposed to be spurring and hollering andwinning. But instead, I’m standing here, in a shady tattoo parlor, still decked out in my vest, cowboy hat and chaps. I still have my riding glove on, already taped around my wrist; I hadn’t even bothered to change.

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