Page 105 of Beat of Love
Gripping the edge of her lounge chair like it might ground her, she burst out, “What is it about Rafferty Lawson that makes me go against every ounce of logic and self-preservation? He has the power to destroy me, Jackie. He’s a dark, broken man. More, he’s an addict. And I know what it’s like living with an addict. It’s soul-destroying. It's … it's always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Jackie stayed quiet, letting her talk.
Brandy’s voice dropped, raw and low. “But when I’m with him … when I see the work he’s doing to heal … Lord, I ache for him.I want to hold him and never let go. I want his love. I want to grow old with him. I want Sunday mornings and road trips and arguing over what to name the dog.” Her voice cracked. “But what if he never gets there? What if the damage is too deep and I waste all this time waiting for someone who can never fully come back?”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks, angry with herself. “Goddammit, Jackie. I am a fucking wreck.”
Jackie, sunglasses off now, eyes soft with understanding, placed her hands on Brandy’s knees. “You’re not a wreck,” she said gently. “You’re a woman in love. The kind of love that terrifies you because it asks everything of you. But you’re not crazy for wanting more than pain and silence and waiting. You just have to figure out if he’s worth it. Is he?”
Brandy stared past her friend’s head, out at the horizon, where the turquoise sea met the sky in a blur of heat and salt and endless possibility. She didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “Some days, yes. Lord, yes. I see the man he’s trying to become. I see the fight in him, the guilt, the effort. And I think — how could I walk away from that? How could I turn my back on someone who’s trying that hard to crawl out of the dark?”
She took a shaky breath. “But other days … I’m terrified that I’m just a chapter in his recovery. A stop along the way. That once he’s whole, he won’t need me anymore. Or worse, he’ll still be broken, and I’ll be the one bleeding from trying to hold him together.” Her eyes flicked to Jackie’s, pleading and raw. “I want to believe in him. In us. But I’ve got my kids to think about. My heart. My life. I can’t gamble everything on a man who won’t even look me in the eye when we cross paths.”
Jackie gave her hand a squeeze, then let out a quiet sigh. “Then maybe this is your sign to let go. Just for a little while we’re here,” Jackie said softly. “You’ve carried so much, love.You’ve dealt with a cheating spouse, worried about your kids, started a new business, kept yourself upright when most people would’ve crumbled. You’veearnedthese few days of downtime.”
Brandy looked at her through a haze of tears. “You’re right.”
“Love, I am always right.” Jackie smiled and stood. “Come on,” she urged, tugging on Brandy’s hand. “Let’s take a swim, then find some ridiculously overpriced seafood. Tonight, we dance. No expectations, no guilt, no overthinking. Just the warm night air and the fact that we’re not responsible foranyonebut ourselves for once.”
Brandy hesitated, then nodded, standing too. “Okay. Just for tonight, I won’t be the woman waiting for a man who’s not ready.”
Jackie looped an arm around her shoulder. “Damn right you won’t. You’ll be the woman sipping rum under palm trees, being adored by her best friend, and maybe, justmaybe, letting herself have some fun.”
Brandy glanced back at the water one more time, then smiled. “Fun sounds good.”
31
Open road
December crept into January with winter flexing its muscles. He’d forgotten how bitter Texas could turn — hard, dry winds slicing across the ranch, dumping snow and ice in their wake. The cold didn’t just settle in your bones; it scraped like barbed wire. The sun might rise, but it brought no warmth, just a cold, pale glare, a distant echo of summer long gone.
Winter didn’t mean slowing down; it meant shifting gears. Anyone who thought they could slack off in the off-season had clearly never worked for Aidan Lawson. Rafferty spent his days clearing mesquite, erecting calving pens, and hauling feed, checking and double-checking that the herd had enough to carry them through the coldest months. A few of the hands had taken off for the holidays, claiming family obligations or just chasing warmer air, which only made the load heavier for those who stayed.
But Rafferty didn’t complain. He just pulled on his coat and got back to work. Busy kept him away from Brandy-Lyn.
He still attended sessions with Trent Sykes. The good doctor had him journaling. Fuckingjournaling. Like bleeding onto a page was supposed to fix the wreckage in his head. So, on the nights he wasn’t vegging out in front of the television with his parents and grandmother, pretending all was good in the land of Rafferty Lawson, he was holed up in his bedroom, pen in hand, pouring his heart out on paper. Some nights, the words camelike a flood. Other times, he just stared at the blank page until his jaw clenched and his chest tightened.
But he wrote anyway. Because Trent said healing started with honesty, and he was trying.
God help him, he was trying.
But today…
Today marked a year since Kamila discovered his duplicity.
A year since she picked up the barbed whip and tore into his skin.
A year since she pushed that first needle into his vein.
And he was crawling out of his skin.
The walls of the house, the hum of routine, even the sound of the wind through the barn rafters — it all grated. He needed the open road under him, the roar of the engine in his ears, something wild to outrun the mess in his head. He fed Elsa and her cronies, gave the horses their obligatory scratch between the ears, then grabbed his helmet and straddled his bike like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
No destination, no plan — just a lot of distance.
He rode all the way to Ransom Canyon, the wind sharp against his skin and the familiar thrum of the engine between his legs. The open road helped quiet the noise in his head, mile by mile stripping away the restlessness that had clawed at him all morning. At the edge of the canyon, he parked beneath a gnarled cottonwood and took in the sweeping view — red earth, rugged ridgelines, and a sky so wide it felt like it might swallow him whole. He ate a late lunch alone at the little barbecue joint just off the highway — brisket sandwich, sweet tea.
