Page 70 of Secret Heart
He finally blows out a heavy breath and his shoulders relax.
“Okay. Good. Good.” He stretches his neck. “Sorry, I know I’m coming across like an asshole.”
I quickly shake my head. “No, you’re not. Thank you for figuring out who it was. It means a lot.”
“Of course,” he says. Then he looks at his phone. “Let’s go grab some dinner before getting you headed back home.”
The restaurant Lance picked is quintessential Montana rustic charm. The lights are turned low enough that all the wood paneling feels even darker than the dark oak stain. The tables are a thick butcher block, stained a shade lighter than the walls and flooring. Along most of the walls are framed photos of country music stars and rodeo athletes. I recognize most of them, including Nathan Brooklight—the man who holds the record of most NBRA championship wins. The waitress smiles as she passes by us, dropping the small appetizer on our table with a practiced ease.
“I finalized everything for the junior rodeo in Nashville,” Lance says before taking a bite of the deep-fried piece of onion. “Just working on the flights. Once I have them booked, I’ll get everything synced up with you.”
“Thank you.”
He nods and grabs another piece. “I’m warning you now, I’m booking you all in first class. Nashville is way longer of a flight than the ones to get you here. And I figured you’d appreciate having more room with Penny.”
I can’t help but smile even as I shake my head.
A large group enters the restaurant, bringing a wave of noise that almost has my head aching. Despite my better judgement, I glance over at the group. Most are dressed in the same outfit I’m wearing—worn Levis and cowboy hats that don’t seem to be touched by the sun at all. Two of the women are wearing denim skirts rather than jeans, but they’re still clad in dark brown boots. One of the guys shows his phone to another. Even with the rest of the conversations separating us, I can hear what he says.
“Can’t believe you got to see him ride! That was even better than his championship ride in April, I swear.”
Lance’s gaze is a bit too keen as I duck my head and focus on the appetizer.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter, standing from the table.
I don’t grab my hat, knowing it’s one of the most iconic things about me at this point. Of course, any custom piece by that particular designer is bound to turn heads.
The bathroom, thankfully, is quiet and still. I prop my hands on the counter and close my eyes, breathing carefully. Those nerves that have been building most of the day slowly ebb, draining out of me at long last. Less than a day apart, and I’m already aching for Emily’s touch and scent to soothe away the rough edges of being so noticeable in public. It wasn’t this bad before… but I hadn’t been worried about protecting Emily and Beau’s privacy. Or Penny’s. It’s only a matter of days probably before she starts getting plastered everywhere. The true lifestyle reporters that follow the rodeos are required by agreement to get written permission before posting photos of the children ofathletes. But places like Knot Weekly? They aren’t constrained by that.
Another deep breath.
I can handle a dinner out and about. I can handle the attention. Emily and Beau swore up and down they could handle the attention, too. And even if I feel like I might not be able to… I have two more years on my contract. It doesn’t really matter how I feel.
I press off the counter and stretch my neck. My phone vibrates, and I swipe open my lock screen, anticipation rising that it’s Emily or Beau. I smile at the picture of Penny eating a strawberry in her high chair, Beau cleaning something in the kitchen behind her. The text from Emily is short and sweet.
Missing you. Love you.
The sound of steps behind me pull my focus away from the message.
Tyler stands just inside the door, though I hadn’t heard it open. His eyes are dark and stormy, and his scent is a whirlwind around him, the watermelon tinged with anger and determination. I can’t help but swallow even as I turn around, looking at him directly instead of in the mirror.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He sneers. “What’swrong?” His voice rumbles through the small space, bouncing off the tiles on the wall and the floor. My body locks down on instinct to the combination of his scent and his angry tone, fear rising in a tidal wave. “What’s wrong is you got my ass fired. What’s wrong is you decided to stick your cock in an Alpha that doesn’t deserve you, and now I’ve lost everything I’ve worked for the last four years.”
Confusion bleeds through my limbs before a rush of understanding follows swiftly afterward.
“You’re the reason I didn’t get the messages from Emily?”
A muscle feathers in his jaw.
Now my own anger spikes as I relive that day in the barn earlier this month, all the shame and horror at realizing I’ve missed an entire year of my daughter’s life. For a moment, it overrides the fear that’s hazing my mind from the volatile cocktail of his scent that’s filling the bathroom.
“Why didn’t you say something when they came through?” My voice is more fragile and hoarse than I want it to be, but there’s no taking back the question. “She was on the list of people I had everyone swear up and down would get forwarded to me.”
His scent crashes around me as he takes two steps into the small space, caging me against the counter. Without looking down, I swipe open the emergency contact app Lance put on my phone. My heart pounds in my ears, so loud I miss the low growl that’s vibrating through his chest until he presses his entire body against mine.
“BecauseI’mthe one you’re supposed to be with,” he snarls. His eyes are wild, full of an unhealthy obsession I’ve only ever seen in documentaries about stalkers. His scent fluctuates again, edging with madness. “I’ve spent four years getting close to you, making sure you wouldn’t want anyone else. And then you had to go and fuck that whore mere weeks before I was going to be able to have you in truth?”
