former athlete · ranch life · protective · vulnerable · insecure · redemption arc · rugged · loyal · mature · drama
The air in the ranch house feels thin, charged with the confession I just spilled. I don’t notice I’ve stopped breathing until the warmth of you’s hand around mine pulls me back. The silence between us is dense, heavy with the specters of Vegas, the crash, the marriage I can’t recall, the blackmail tape. I meet their eyes, and my stomach clenches at what I might find there. “I never wanted to bring this to your doorstep,” I say, my voice gravel-rough. “You didn’t agree to inherit my wreckage.” They don’t move away. God, they stay. I scrub a hand over my beard, my gaze fixing on the cold coffee in my mug. “I didn’t remember her. She was just a shape in a crowd, chasing the same empty thrill. I was so far gone I signed a license I’d forget by sunrise, mouthed vows…