Page 22 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
I shove off the stall door before I can think better of it, my boots striking hard against the packed dirt as I stalk across the barn. If Jace thinks this is the way to fix me, he’s dead wrong.
Time to tell him to his face.
The man himself is in his basement office, seated behind a row of monitors, stacks of papers all over his messy desk. He looks like he was waiting for me, arms crossed, that smug air of control radiating off him like heat off blacktop. “You’re working with her. End of discussion.”
My jaw tightens. “You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m letting the mayor’s princess trail me around like some kind of charity case.”
“It’s not about you letting her. It’s about you needing her.”
I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Needing Quinn Atwood? The girl who’s never worked a day outside her daddy’s shadow? What the hell could she possibly teach me?”
“Patience. Responsibility. How to face a crowd without blowing up?” His tone never rises, which only makes it worse, like I’m some problem he’s already decided how to fix. “You want redemption, Beck? This is your shot. The whole town’s watching. And frankly, you don’t get to say no.”
“Funny,” I mutter, heat rising in my chest, “I didn’t realize redemption came in the form of babysitting a spoiled committee girl.”
“Careful,” Jace warns, voice low now, steel hidden beneath the calm. “This is more than just about you. It hurts us as your family to see you suffering like this. If you won’t do it for yourself, you’ll damn well do it for us.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. He has no idea what he’s asking. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.
“I’m not doing it. I’m not babysitting Quinn Atwood so you can feel better about yourself.”
“You think this is about me?” he says, his tone calm in a way that makes me want to punch something. “This is about you, Beck. About giving you the chance to show this town you’re more than the mistakes you made.”
“I don’t need her to do that,” I shoot back. “I don’t need anyone.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “You’ve been saying that for years. How’s it working out for you?”
The jab lands harder than I’d like to admit, burning under my skin. “You don’t get it. She’s—she’s a problem. Every second she’s around, I feel like I’m just waiting for something to blow up in my face.”
Jace shrugs. “Then maybe you should stop waiting and start fixing.”
I stand here a beat longer, chest heaving, words on the tip of my tongue that I know will only push him harder. But I bite themback, because I already know—arguing with Jace is like arguing with a brick wall.
So I turn on my heel and head for the only person left who might actually hear me out.
Dad.
I don’t even bother knocking when I push into my father’s office. If Jace won’t listen, maybe the old man will. At least he used to, back when I still mattered around here.
“Dad, this thing with Quinn Atwood—it’s not happening.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t take them back. My hands are already curled into fists at my sides. “I don’t need her, I’m not her pity project, and I sure as hell don’t need her poking around in my life.”
He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps reading over a sheet of paper like I’m some impatient kid stomping his boots in the doorway. When he finally does meet my eyes, it’s with that heavy weight that’s always made me feel twelve years old again.
“Beck,” he says, calm, steady, like he’s defusing a bomb, “this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And it’s about time you stopped running from it.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh scraping out of my throat. Of course. Of course Jace has already poisoned the well. “So that’s it? I don’t get a say in this? All I have to do is roll over and let her use me like some screw-up you all want to polish up so he can finally shine?”
His jaw tightens. “You are a Morgan, goddammit. It’s time you start acting like it. Quinn will be good for you. And you’re going to give her a chance.”
The finality in his tone is like a slammed door. My chest burns, fury clawing up my throat because no matter what I do, no matter how much I’ve tried to outrun it, nobody in this family ever really hears me.
So I storm out before I say something I can’t take back, before the frustration curdles into something worse.
I shove the door open so hard the frame rattles, the echo of it slamming shut behind me following me down the hallway like a damn taunt. Everyone always has a plan for me, a lesson, a lecture. Jace with his smug confidence, my father with his steady voice that allows no argument. They think they know me. They think they know what I need.
I push out into the sunlight, the ranch sprawling wide and endless, but even out here, I can’t breathe. My boots crunch against the gravel, each step faster, harder, like I can outpace the weight pressing down on me.
Quinn Atwood. Just saying her name in my head makes my jaw clench. She doesn’t belong here, with her polished nails, her shiny ambition, her perfect little world that’s never been gutted the way mine has. And now she’s supposed to be my salvation? My punishment? My leash?
