Page 75 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
The room goes quiet, the kind of quiet that weighs heavy. My chest tightens, heat rising up my neck, shame burning through me until I can’t hold his gaze.
“I don’t know how to be what she needs,” I say, softer now. “Hell, I don’t even know how to be a man worth staying for. I look at her and all I see is what I’ve stolen.” I run a hand through my hair, shaking. “I don’t know how to fix this, Ry. I don’t know how not to fail her.”
Ryder doesn’t move for a long moment. Just sits there, steady, like a man carved from the same stone this mountain’s made of. Then he sets his glass down with a soft thud and leans forward, elbows on the counter.
“You done feeling sorry for yourself?” His voice is calm, but it cuts sharper than a knife.
I flinch, because I don’t have an answer.
Ryder shakes his head, almost amused. “You think you’re the first man to screw up? The first Morgan to make a mess outta something good? Get in line, little brother. But running?” He leans in closer, eyes narrowing. “Running just proves you don’t give a damn enough to fight for what matters.”
The words slam into me harder than a fist.
Ryder jabs a finger at me across the counter. “You think hiding up here makes you a better man? Makes you noble? All it does is prove you’re a coward. And that shit—“ he taps the wood for emphasis—”doesn’t work anymore. Not when you’ve got a kid on the way. Not when someone’s depending on you to be more than a reckless cowboy with a guilty conscience.”
His words hang there, heavy, echoing in the hollow space inside me.
“You wanna stop being a coward and be the man she needs?” Ryder’s voice drops lower, more dangerous. “Then prove it. Show up. Be there. Fight for her, fight for that baby. Or walk away for good, but don’t sit here pretending you’re the victim. That choice? That’s on you.”
I sit there, the silence stretching, Ryder’s words echoing in my skull. Coward. Broken. Running. Each one sticks like a burr under my skin, impossible to shake off.
For a second, all I want to do is argue, to shove it back in his face. But the truth is, he’s right. Every damn word of it.
Running hasn’t made anything easier. It hasn’t fixed a thing. All it’s done is hollow me out, leave me watching from the sidelines while Quinn keeps moving forward without me. And the worst part? She doesn’t need me. Not like this. Not weak, not hiding.
I stare at my hands—rough and scarred, the same hands that’ve built fences, broken horses, held her soft against me. Hands that now shake because I’m too scared to use them for what matters.
If I keep this up, I’ll lose her. I’ll lose everything. And that kid—my kid—will grow up knowing their father turned tail and ran when things got hard.
The thought curdles my stomach. That’s not the man I want to be. That’s not the story I want told about me. When I lift my head, Ryder’s watching me, unreadable but steady.
“You’re right,” I say, the words raw but real. “Running’s killing me more than staying ever could. I can’t—I won’t—let her face this without me.”
For the first time all week, something shifts in my chest. Not relief, not forgiveness. Just resolve. A flicker of the man I need to be, the one I swore I’d never stop trying to become. Quinn deserves that man. My kid deserves that man. And thanks to Ryder, I believe that I can be him.
29
QUINN
Sunlight filters through the curtains, soft and golden, brushing across my face, but it doesn’t feel like a gentle morning. My chest is tight, my stomach twisting in knots. I lie motionless, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet press in around me. Today is supposed to be the big fundraiser, the culmination of months of planning, but I can’t bring myself to care about that. Not today.
All I can think about is him. My Beck.
The events of the past week come rushing back like a tide I can’t hold back. My words, sharp and cruel, slicing through the air and landing straight in his heart. How I shouted, blamed, and pushed him out the door. And now... he’s gone. Missing. I don’t know where he is, and the panic inside me twists tighter than my fear of this pregnancy.
I press my hands to my face, trying to hold back the tears. I didn’t just hurt him—I humiliated him, pushed away the one person I want most in the world right now. And for what? My fear? My panic?
Slowly, my fingers fall from my face, and I take a shaky breath. I sit up, pulling the covers around me like a shield, and replay the fight in my mind. His face, strained with hurt and disbelief, flashes before my eyes. The way his jaw tightened, hands fisted at his sides, the hurt I can still feel echoing from his voice—it all breaks me. I can’t believe I was capable of saying the things I did.
And then it hits me like a punch to the gut: I need him. I’ve needed him all along, even when I was angry, even when I was scared. That stubborn, reckless part of me that wants to run from fear can’t mask it anymore. I want him. I want to face this pregnancy, this future, everything, with him by my side.
But fear still lingers, gnawing at the edges. What if he doesn’t forgive me? What if he hates me for all the words I threw at him? What if I’ve lost him for good?
Even with that fear, one thought rises above it all: I can’t stay away from him. I can’t let pride or fear stand between us. I love him too much. And that love is louder than the panic, louder than the consequences. It’s screaming at me to find him, to fix what I’ve broken, to bring us back together.
I grab my phone from the bedside table, my fingers trembling as I scroll through my contacts. Landon’s name flashes on the screen. My stomach tightens—maybe he knows where Beck is.He is his best friend, after all. I know I can just leave my bedroom to find him, but I’m too weak to leave.
“Landon,” I ask, my voice almost breaking.
