Page 17 of Ride Me Reckless
His smile faded just enough for me to see something flicker—concern, maybe. Or something deeper.
But he didn't speak. He just kissed my forehead and splayed his finger over my belly possessively.
The ride back to my mom's house was quiet.
Not the kind of silence that begged to be broken, but the kind that settled in deep, like rain-soaked earth. The cab smelled like wet leather, hay, and something warmer. Him. Us. The echo of a moment I couldn't take back and wasn't sure I wanted to.
I stared out the window, watching the mist rising off the pavement as Colt's truck rolled slowly down the familiar road. My jeans were still damp in places, my hair curling from the storm. The seatbelt pressed against my chest, and I was hyper-aware of how close his hand was to mine on the console.
This was supposed to be closure.
One last night, one last kiss, one last time to tangle the sheets and untangle the ache.
So why did it feel like a beginning?
His fingers tapped the steering wheel—slow, steady, like a heartbeat. I didn't look at him. Couldn't. If I did, I might say something stupid likestayordon't let me leave again.
We turned onto Oak Hollow, and my breath caught when the trailer came into view—flame-painted and still bold as ever, parked like a question I didn't have an answer for.
Colt eased the truck to a stop out front. He didn't kill the engine.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he shifted into Park and reached for the handle. "I'll walk you up."
I almost told him not to bother.
But I didn't.
The air was cooler now, rain-washed and thick with June. Our boots fell, muffled against the grass as we made our way to Mom's front porch. The sagging step groaned beneath our weight, just like always, just like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
I turned to face him, arms crossed tight, trying not to shiver. Colt stood a little too close, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders wet and glinting under the porch light.
He didn't try to touch me. Didn't lean in.
Just looked at me like I was something he didn't want to scare off.
"Goodnight, Tess," he said, his voice low. Solid. Like his hand on my back used to feel.
Something in my chest cracked open.
I swallowed. "Goodnight, Cowboy."
And for a heartbeat, my nickname on his lips and his on mine felt heavier than anything we'd done in the tack room.
Like maybe the past wasn't done with us yet.
He hesitated on the bottom step, then looked back at me in that slow, steady way he always did when he was trying not to push too hard.
"The Lovelace rodeo's in a few weeks," he said. "Figured you might wanna know. Pretty sure your mom wouldn't mind seein' you again before then."
I nodded, throat tight. "We'll see."
The screen door creaked as I slipped inside, careful not to let it slam. The house was quiet but not empty. Mom's bedroom light was off, and the door cracked just enough to hear her old fan clicking rhythmically through the silence.
The place smelled like cedar, and something simmered low on the stove earlier—maybe beans or leftover chili. The floors moaned under my boots like they remembered me. Like they wanted to whisper,Still running, huh?
