Page 34 of Ashes of the Past
But I also want to go right back in there and grab another hot kiss. I want him to finish what he started.
I feel a pang of fear hit me as the screen door to the bunkhouse swings in the wind. I close my eyes and am transported back in time.
Clay was traveling with an amateur bull-riding show, and I had gone to visit him for the weekend. I stepped out of his camper, the screen door slamming behind me as I stepped out. I looked around, and one of the other riders waved at me.
“Were you just checking that guy out?” Clay growled in my ear.
“No, he let me cut in line at the concession stand earlier,” I mumbled, flinching as his fingers dug into my arm.
“You shouldn’t be talking to other guys when I’m not around.”
“I wasn’t.”
I tried to rip my arm away, but instead, he gripped it so hard I thought the bones were going to break.
“You’re hurting me,” I say in a quiet breath as if he didn’t know what he was doing.
“You little slut. I won’t have you coming here talking to other guys and trying to fuck whoever you want.”
Tears stung my eyes as I shook my head. That possessiveness that I once thought was cute and sweet was rearing its ugly head again.
“I can’t do this, Clay. I…I need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed in my ear.
“Clay!” Josiah, one of the other bull riders, called. “We’ve got a meeting.”
“I’ll be right there,” Clay called out. His green eyes flashed back to me. “Get back in the camper; we’ll finish this later.”
I nodded, scurried right back into the camper, and when I was certain he was gone, I hurriedly threw my things into my duffel bag, raced to my car, and tore out of that place without hesitation.
I was home free.
Except that I wasn’t.
I shake my head and come back to the present. My hand goes to my right arm as if I can still feel his fingers digging into it.
I can feel the anxiety clawing at my chest.
Clay is the only man I’ve ever been in a relationship with.And things…things started out just like this with him and…he…
Tears prick at my eyes as the memory of the abuse that I withstood from my ex-boyfriend plays on a loop in my head.
I have to get Jack out of my head. I have to stay away from him.
The problem is that I didn’t want Jack to stop kissing me. I was fully prepared for him to fill me right there, with no remorse, no logic, no…intuition telling me to run for the hills. That’s what’s messing with my head the most. I didn’t want him to stop.
I shake my head, trying to clear it as the house comes into view. The old wooden structure stands sturdy and familiar, and the porch light is still on from the night before. It’s comforting and grounding. This is my routine. I come here every morning to cook breakfast for Dad, Liv, and the crew. It’s my way of keeping things normal, of taking care of the people who matter most.
Jack isn’t one of those people. He’s a cocky, insufferable cowboy who thinks he can tell me what to do just because he’s got a strong jawline and a smirk that could melt butter. I don’twant any part of that. I don’t care how good he looks in that damn hat or how his voice gets all low and gravelly when he’s trying to get under my skin. He’s off-limits. Period.
I push open the door and step inside, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming me home. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that only exists in the early hours of the morning. I shrug off my flannel and hang it on the hook by the door before heading to the kitchen.
The smell of coffee hits me as soon as I walk in, and I pause, surprised. The pot is half-full, steam still rising from the spout. Jack must’ve made it before heading out to the barn. I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour myself a cup, trying not to think about how thoughtful it was of him to make it.
He didn’t do it for you, Brynn. Get that out of your head. He was making it for Dad.
“Don’t read into it,” I mutter to myself, taking a sip. The bitter warmth settles in my chest, and I set the mug down, rolling up my sleeves. Time to get to work.
