Page 81 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You don’t belong here. You need to leave.”

My mother clutched her chest like I’d actually wounded her. “Sweetie, we just want to talk?—”

“I don’t,” I shot back. “I told you my answer already. I’m not coming back.”

My father sighed, though his posture remained rigid. “We were hoping we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way.”

A shiver crawled across my skin. “What are you talking about?”

My mother stepped closer, her tone smooth as silk. “Gracie, honey, we love you. But your little rebellion has gone on long enough.”

“This isn’t a rebellion,” I snarled, my voice sounded more desperate than I liked. “This is mylife.”

Dad scoffed. “A life playing cowgirl among beasts?” His gaze flicked down the street, distaste plain as day in his expression. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.” My pulse pounded in my ears, nearly drowning out my voice. “You’re the ones who need to accept it. I’m done with your world. I’ve built something here, something I want more than anything. I’m in love.”

A flicker of something—disdain or maybe disbelief—crossed his face.

“Love?” my mother echoed, her lips parting in mock surprise. “Darling, you don’t even know what that means.”

I clenched my fists. “And you do?”

She hesitated, her carefully constructed façade faltering for a blink before she donned her mask once more. “We know what’s best for you.”

A bitter shot from me. “Right. Like when you signed me up for a reality show when I was only six years old. Or when you negotiated my first, on-screen relationship at sixteen.” Their kind of love came with strings. Control disguised as concern. I wasn’t falling for it again.

Mom’s face hardened, her attempts at playing the loving parent slipping. “Now, Gracie, there’s no need to make a scene?—”

“You need to leave,” I snapped, my voice ringing through the empty street. “You’re trespassing.”

Dad took a step forward, towering over me like he always had when he wanted me to feel small. “We’re not going without you.”

“You’ll have a long drive back without a passenger.”

His expression darkened. “You owe us, Gracie. You think you can walk away?”

“Yes. I do.”

The air between us crackled with tension, years of their coercion rolling through me like slow-dripping poison. I fought to keep my breathing even, my resolve firm. They had no power over me here.

“You’re making a mistake,” my mother said, her voice velvety smooth. “Do you know what happens when people stop caring about you? When they forget your name? Because that’s what’s coming, Gracie. A slow fade into nothing. And then where will you be?”

I swallowed against the sting in my chest. “I’ll be happy. That’s more than I ever was with you.”

Dad stepped closer. “Enough.” Before I could react, his hand clamped around my upper arm.

The breath shot from my lungs.

Familiar panic surged, an echo of every time they’d pulled me along, made choices for me I couldn’t fight. But I wasn’ta helpless kid anymore. I wrenched away, twisting against his grip.

His hold tightened.

“Let go of me,” I snarled, shoving at his chest, but he was stronger.

“Gracie, don’t fight,” Mom said, her voice almost soothing. Like she was humoring a tantrum.

I yanked harder, but Dad was already moving, dragging me toward the car.

---