“Would it kill you to tell me you’re proud of me, Dad?”
His head snaps in my direction, a frown and a pinched brow on his face. “Excuse me?”
“The entire time we were watching Daisy compete, you couldn’t stop telling her how proud you are of her. Would it kill you to give me the same?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, son. I tell you all the time—”
“No,” I cut in. “No, you don’t.” My heart’s beating a mile a minute, as sweat lines the back of my neck, and nausea churns in my gut. I can’t be here. I can’t do this. Not tonight. Standing off the couch, I wipe the moisture from my palms on my thighs. “You know what, I gotta go.”
“You’re leaving?” he balks from his place in his recliner.
“Yeah, I got… shit to do. I’ll talk to you later.”
Barely stopping to say bye to my mom, I barrel out of the house, hop in my truck, and leave. My head’s a mess, my body vibrating with anger.
Anger at my dad for never being proud of me.
Anger at Daisy for always getting the pride I don’t fucking get.
Anger at myself for letting him get to me like this.
My vision blurs, the road before me becoming hard to see. I blink hard, trying to clear it, and only when tears fall hot down my cheeks do I realize I’m crying. My frustration has reached its breaking point, and it’s like I can’t stop now. Years of workingmy ass off to make him proud. Years of never once being good enough, no matter how much I succeed.
I drive aimlessly, the music off, my face drenched with the years of hurt, and I don’t even realize where I’m going until I park my truck in front of the barn at Conrad’s ranch. I don’t think twice as I turn off the engine, climb out, and make my way toward the staircase inside the barn. I jog up the stairs, and Sterling must hear me coming because he meets me in the doorway of his loft, chest bare, plaid pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair a mess atop his head like he's been carding his fingers through it.
He frowns when he sees me, eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong?”
It’s at this moment that I become painfully aware that my face is still wet, the tears are still flowing, and I probably look like a fucking mess. My heart’s pounding in my chest, and I still feel like I could be sick. Trembling hands lift to my head. I just hold them there on top of my hat as I shake my head.
“I don’t know why I’m here. I just…” My bottom lip quivers as I drag in a lungful of air, everything feelingtoo muchright now. “I just, fuck. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to be alone. This is dumb… You’re probably busy. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
Before I can even turn around and attempt to go back down the stairs, his hand reaches out, the warmth of it slipping into mine. “Stay.”
Peering over at him through wet lashes, I expect to see amusement or disgust or something. I don’t see any of that, though. His honey-colored eyes are wide and imploring as they watch me, mouth still down-turned like seeing me like this causes him discomfort.
Fresh tears fall, burning a path down my face as he tugs me closer to him, our bodies inches apart. The hand not holdingmine reaches up, cupping the side of my face, uncaring about the wetness. “Please stay,” he whispers. “Tell me what’s going on and let me help you.”
Sterling leans in, pressing his lips into mine. It’s soft and tender, the kind of kiss I’m not used to but find myself melting for. He doesn’t use his tongue, doesn’t take it a step further. He just…kisses me. Grounds me. A new wave of emotion bubbles up, and I hiccup against his lips. He doesn’t even laugh at me. I rest my forehead against his, breathing him in, letting his presence calm my erratic heart, muttering four words to him I never expected me to say, but I mean them with my whole being in this moment.
“I need you, Sterling.”
He nods. “I know. I’m right here. Come on.”
Leading me into the loft, I sit on the edge of his bed as he crosses the room to grab the box of tissues off his desk. Handing them to me, he sits beside me.
“What happened?”
There’s so much sincerity in that one question. That, paired with the way he’s sitting next to me, should have me feeling suffocated. Like I need to bolt, or hide how I feel. But it’s doing the opposite. Even though, in theory, it’s probably a terrible idea to give my opponent ammo against me, feed him my weaknesses, somehow I know he would never use that against me.
Somehow, I know I can trust him. And somehow I know he isn’tjustmy opponent anymore. Somewhere along the way, without me even fully realizing it, Sterling has become more than that.
27
Sterling Addams
The very last thing I expected to be doing tonight is consoling a distraught Shooter. I half expected to hear from him after what he found out, but when I didn’t, I kind of just assumed it was for the best. So, imagine my surprise when I hear footsteps barreling up the stairs in the barn outside the loft, only to come face to face with him—especially after he ignored my text attempt at talking. His baby blue eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, the tip of his nose red too. He looked lost, and not in a physical sense.
I still don’t know what’s wrong that caused this distressed version of Shooter, and truth be told, I’m more than a little surprised it was here he decided to come. That it was me he sought out for comfort or a shoulder to cry on, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad he did. In this moment, I realize just how much I want to be here for him. Sure, the urge to reach out and have him open up to me has come up already, to which he always shut me down, but it’s not until right this second it hits me how strongly I want it.
