Page 94 of Riding the Storm
I chuckle despite myself, rubbing the back of my neck. “You make it sound so appealing.”
She grins. “Oh, it’s terrible. But it’s worth it.”
I stare at the floor for a long moment, the sound of rain hitting the tin roof filling the silence.
“What if she can’t deal with it?” I ask finally.
“She may not,” Matty says honestly. “But you’ll never know until you ask her.”
She stands then, brushing her jeans off, her tone shifting back to business. “If you do end up staying and we build your school here, you might want to throw a little of the budget at this place.” She gestures toward the cabin’s bare walls and tiny kitchen. “That’s if you don’t want Charli sneaking out to the comfort of her king-size bed and soaking bathtub every morning for the rest of your lives.”
That earns a real laugh out of me.
I shake my head, pushing to my feet. “You Storm women sure know how to put a man in his place.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” she says, walking toward the door.
Before she steps out, I call her name. “Matty.”
She pauses, hand on the knob.
“Thank you,” I say.
She offers me a small, knowing smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Go talk to her. Let her know that you don’t quit—not on bull riding, not on your dreams, and not on her.”
Then she’s gone, leaving the cabin filled with nothing but rain and the echo of her words.
I stand here for a long time, staring at the door after it shuts. My chest feels tight, like someone’s laced a rope around it and pulled. I walk back to the couch, drag a hand through my hair, and stare at the half-zipped suitcase.
She’s right.
Hell, I hate that she’s right.
I drop onto the couch again, elbows on my knees. I came here to pacify my management, to recover and get my head straight. I didn’t come here to fall for someone and upheave my whole damn life.
But since day one, Charli Storm has done just that. Every look, every word, every stubborn tilt of her chin—she gets under my skin in a way no one else ever has. One minute, she’s soft and laughing, letting her guard down just enough for me to see the woman beneath the fire. The next, she’s throwing walls up so fast that I can barely breathe.
Every day with her has been like riding a tornado. You don’t want to tame it; you just want to hold on and ride up into the funnel, enjoying the thrill of the storm until it dumps you on the other side.
I don’t wanna go. But, damn, she makes it hard to stay.
I glance at the suitcase again and stare at the contents. My whole life packed into one bag. I’ve done this more times than I can count—hotel rooms, rodeo grounds, apartments in towns I barely remember. Leaving’s always been easy.
Until now.
I can still picture her face earlier—her eyes flashing, rain still clinging to her lashes from when we came running in from the storm. Her voice shaking, not from anger, but something else. Something I didn’t want to name because if I did, it might break me open.
“Because you’ll be gone soon.”
Instead of stomping off, I should have reassured her. That’s what she needed, what she was asking for.
But I didn’t say it. I got defensive instead.
I sigh and push to my feet, pacing. The rain outside has turned softer now, tapping steady against the window. I stare out at the gray sky over the pastures, the line of trees swaying in the wind.
Matty’s words echo.Sit her down and tell her your plans.
Simple enough. Except it’s not. Talking about what I want means admitting what I feel.
