Page 14 of Fixing to Be Mine

“I’m real glad you’re here,” I tell her. “Haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we met.”

She chews on her lip and glances away from me, which only makes me smile. I’m under her skin, and, fuck, she’s buried under mine too.

“Do you always act like this?”

“I’m not afraid to say what I mean. So, if that’s what you’re referring to, yeah. This is it. I’m no bullshit.”

“I like that,” she offers.

“Good.” It feels like time freezes between us. “Well, if ya need anything, I’ll be in the living room, tryin’ to sleep off the quarter bottle of whiskey I drank this evening.”

“Sweet dreams,” she says.

“Ah, currently livin’ the dream, babe. Don’t wake me,” I offer with a smirk, backing out of the doorway. I give her a final glance, but I don’t let it linger as I pull the door behind me. I leave it cracked, not because she asked, but because I know what it’s like to need a door left open and how it feels when it’s closed.

The smile that fills my face as I move to the living room feels permanent, and I’m so damn glad I finished putting the walls up the past two days.

I look at the couch, and it honestly isn’t bad. Hell, I’ve slept on it dozens of times after long days in the barn or late nights, watching old Westerns. I sit on it with a grunt, lean forward, elbows on my knees, and glance toward the hallway. Tonight, the cushions feel stiffer, like they are jealous and know they weren’t my first choice. At this angle, I have the perfect view of the door to my room.

I run a hand over my jaw, realizing I need to clean up this scruff, and I wonder if she’s still drinking my whiskey. The bottle isn’t full, but it’s not empty either. It’s like everything else in this house—halfway to something better when I get around to finishing it.

Sunny caught me off guard tonight. Not by randomly showing up because that happens all the time around here—family dropping by unannounced, townsfolk who can’t mind their business if you paid ’em. But her arrival was different, it was full of intent, like she couldn’t stay away from me either, like there was some invisible lasso pulling us together.

I don’t know her, not really. Not yet. But my name on her lips hit like something personal, like she was searching for me with purpose. I’ve been thinking about her since the moment our eyes met.

I ease deeper into the worn cushions, and they creak beneath me as I lie back, pulling the quilt off the back. The whiskey starts to hit hard, and the buzz takes over. I look past the fireplace I haven’t finished, toward the hallway, where a thin slice of light continues to spill from the bedroom I gave away tonight. I close my eyes, hoping sleep takes me under because thoughts of her swirl in my head.

I didn’t let her stay just because I was a good man. Something about her told me she needed this place more than I did.

The house is quiet now, like the calm before the storm. This woman doesn’t owe me her story, but I want to be part of it. In a way, I already am.

She thinks I gave her shelter. Turns out, I opened the door and walked straight into the storm, and the scariest part is, some reckless piece of me doesn’t want to run. Nah, I want to ride this out with her and see what happens.

CHAPTER FIVE

SUNNY

Isit on the edge of his bed, one hand resting on the mattress, pressed into the quilt, and the other holding the bottle of whiskey. I drank too much, too fast, and my head is spinning, or maybe that’s the aftereffects of being around Colt.

The room smells like wood, fresh paint, and him. It’s warm in here, but that might be me. The ceiling fan hums, pushing the air around, but my body is still on fire. The heat feels like it’s coming from the inside out.

My hair is pulled into the same knot I twisted it into when I drove to Alpine this morning, searching for somewhere to stay. It feels too tight, so I remove it and shake my hair out, releasing the tension from my scalp. I should lie down or take a shower. I should do something, but I sit here, breathing in a space that doesn’t belong to me.

I think I’m shocked, which isn’t something that happens often. When I woke up this morning, the last location I thought I’d land was at Colt Valentine’s unfinished house. A laugh escapes me, and I shake my head, thinking I might be losing it.

As if in response to my thoughts, the house groans, like it has a mind of its own. It’s so quiet that my ears ring, and I’mnot used to stillness like this. In the city, peace always feels borrowed, but here, it feels like it might last an eternity.

Nine days have passed since I left Manhattan with no more fucks to give. I took my time driving across the United States, stopping at every roadside attraction that interested me, hoping to clear my mind. I went shopping and bought new clothes and peeled off the engagement ring in a random parking lot.

No one is searching for me; I checked, using my new phone. Due to my background and extensive media training, I know my family is currently in crisis mode, sweating and probably wondering why I left. I didn’t have cold feet and had been sure of my decision. I wanted to marry Donovan. Every person in my life knew that.

Donovan and Skye know what they did, but I’m willing to bet my inheritance that they’re pretending to be worried while fucking around. I’m not sure what I’ll say when I face them again. No amount of lying or gaslighting me will ever make me forget what I witnessed with my own fucking eyes. That image has haunted me, given me night sweats, and woken me from a dead sleep more times than I’d like to admit.

I gave my sister everything. I dedicated most of my life to making sure she was safe and had someone watching out for her. And this is what she did to me?

I push the thoughts away, swigging back several more gulps of whiskey, wanting it to erase my memory. At least for tonight.

I think about the woman who runs the motel in town—Kathy,with a K, who had silver hair and wore tie-dye shirts every day. She gave me the boots and told me they were made for walking, then acted like she knew what had happened.

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