Page 14 of Coming Home to My Cowboy
My dad's expression softens, understanding dawning. He pulls me into his side, rubbing my shoulder like he used to when I scraped my knees as a kid. “You mean Jace, don’t you?”
I freeze. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “What?”
“You think he stayed because I asked him,” Dad says gently. “But if he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have stayed at all. And the fact he’s not here right now? That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same. It means he doesn’t know how to navigate this.”
I shake my head, but it’s weak. Unsure.
Dad keeps his voice low, steady. “Whatever happened between you two while I was gone… that’s not my business. But Jace didn’t pull back because of you. He’s pulling back because of me. He respects me. He respects you. Probably too much.”
A few more tears slip out, and I sniff, leaning into him because pretending I’m fine is suddenly too exhausting. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but—”
“I’m not,” he murmurs firmly. “There is not a man in this world who could ever be better for you than Jace. I’ve known that longer than you have.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, fatherly and fierce. “Give him a little more time. If he feels for you what I think he does… he’s not gone. He’s figuring out how to do right by you.”
“It’s been five days, Dad,” I whisper. “I walked over there. I’ve tried calling. I’ve tried texting. I think the message is clear.”
“He’s just old fashioned and honestly, he values friendship, Layla. You know that he’s a loyal man. You know that he and I go way back. Most people would have a problem with the age difference.”
“The age difference doesn’t matter!” I say loudly. “I know it’s there. I don’t care! I just … am I being naïve?”
“No.” Dad brushes my hair from my face. “You’re not naïve. You’re hopeful. You’re honest with yourself. You believe in love. That’s wonderful. I know that’s why he likes you. He’d have to be stupid not to.”
“Dad,” I snort.
“I’m serious. Us old men take a while to process things. He’s probably testing himself, to figure out exactly what to do with himself and his feelings. If he so much as kissed you - and that’s all I need to know about – then his feelings are already involved. Give him time and keep hoping. Don’t give up.”
I watch my dad go, but don’t make any promises.
Chapter 10 - Jace
It has been too long since I have seen her. My body feels it, my heart feels it, and even my damn thoughts refuse to fall in line without her. Nothing is stopping me now. Not her father. Not fear about the future. The only barrier left is me, pretending I can turn this feeling off.
A half-mile walk. A little snow. And the truth I can finally say to myself: Layla is more than I ever expected her to be — and I want her.
That thought alone decides everything.
I push through the falling snow, light flakes catching in my hair, no storm in sight, just winter breathing around me. She was soaked to the skin the night we gave in to each other; I should be freezing now, but I am burning alive instead. Poetic and ridiculous, but true.
I text her because I want her alone, not with her father watching us. When she doesn’t tell me to go to hell, when that read receipt pops up, hope hits me sharp and hard.
Then she opens the door.
She’s in pajamas — soft, oversized pants and my shirt hanging loose on her body like it belongs there. She looks sleepy andbeautiful and so heartbreakingly real I forget every excuse I ever made.
She smells like fresh soap, warm skin, and the faint trace of my shirt that clings to her — a scent that already feels like home.
Layla looks at me, then away, her voice barely steady. “If you want to end things, I get it. We live in different worlds, maybe the age gap is too much for you… or my dad is. Whatever the reason, just…” Her breath trembles. “Rip the band-aid off, Jace.”
That hits harder than anything I expected. I step toward her, slow, like she might bolt. “Sweetheart, no. It isn’t doubt. It’s guilt. I’ve been tearing myself apart thinking I crossed a line, convincing myself I needed to talk to your father first, wondering if I was a terrible person for wanting you the way I do.”
“For what? For being human?” she whispers. “For making a choice with someone who wanted you just as much?”
She sounds brave, but her eyes look so breakable it guts me.
I breathe in, steadying myself. “Let me start over.” I slide my arm around her waist and tug her close, needing to feel her, needing her warmth to pull me out of my own head. Something in me unravels the second she’s against me. I bury my face in her hair, and she smells like vanilla and winter air, like something pure and warm, something worth fighting for.
“I want you,” I murmur against her skin, voice rough. “And I’ll deal with every bit of guilt, every awkward conversation, every fear. I’ll walk through it all if it means being with you. You’re more important than the fear.”
