Page 72 of Beat of Love
He turned away, jaw clenched so hard it ached, fists balled like he could physically hold the guilt inside.
She stepped around him, into his space, forcing him to look at her. “You’re scared,” she said simply. “That’s what this is. You think pushing me away will protect me. But it won’t. There’s something here.” She flicked her hands between them. “Something neither of us asked for, yet here we are.”
He swallowed hard. “You should be running in the other direction.”
Her hand came up, fingers brushing lightly against his chest — right over the heart he wasn’t sure still worked the way it should.
“I’m not,” she said. “Because I see you. I seeallof you, Rafferty Lawson. The past, the pain, the mess. I’m not pretending it doesn’t exist. But you’re not ready. Maybe in time, once you’re acclimated to being back on the ranch, to beingsafe, we can explore … this again.”
He couldn’t breathe.
Didn’t trust himself to speak.
“But always remember, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her words were spoken like a vow.
Soft but unshakable.
And maybe that was what undid him the most — not the kiss, not the way she looked at him like he was still worth something, but the unwavering steadiness in her voice.
He met her gaze one final time, as if clinging to the goodness he didn’t believe he deserved, then turned and walked out.
No goodbye.
No excuse.
The door clicked softly behind him, a sound that echoed louder in his chest than he expected.
Outside, the night air hit like a slap. Cold and damp.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking. No direction, no plan. Every step scraped raw against his nerves. Guilt tangled with longing. With regret.
He replayed the way she’d looked at him — not with pity, not with fear.
But with acceptance.
Thatwas the part that scared him most.
Because that’s where hope lived.
18
Bad boy magnet
“We kissed. Again.”
A beat of silence, then Jackie gave a husky laugh. “Damn, girl. You wanna start with a warning next time?”
“I’m in so much trouble,” Brandy-Lyn admitted, settling against a pile of pillows. With her cellphone wedged between her shoulder and ear, she drew her knees up and propped the tablet holder against them. On the iPad screen, a grainy image in muted shades of blue and grey showed the paddock stretching out under a faint shimmer of moonlight, its fence lines casting short, soft shadows across the dirt. Her eyes tracked the tall solitary figure moving across it. His gait was slow, measured, shoulders slightly hunched as if the night pressed down on him. The pale outline of his sweatshirt caught enough light to silhouette him as he reached out and rested his hand on the fence post.
And bowed his head.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
He looked defeated.
She ached to get up, to run to him, to gather him in her arms like she had earlier in the treehouse. To hold him, protect him, whisper that it would be okay.
