Page 53 of The Reckless Rookie

I have spent my whole life being the person who makes the second choice. It is all I know how to be.

He comes to the barn that night and I’m waiting for him, and I’ve put the wall all the way back up, higher than it’s ever been, because I know if I leave a single gap he’ll find it.

“Hey.” He’s still lit up from a win, and there’s something new in how he carries himself since the stall, something settled, and I have to do this to exactly that, to the best version of him, the one I made.

“You’re up,” he says, and starts to smile.

“The county expanded the suitability review.” I keep my voice level because it’s the only way the words come out. “My recusal is already in the file, and now they have a sworn complaint and witnesses tying your threat at a public event to me. If I keep you here while they investigate, they can freeze every placement and suspend the contract before the hearing. Transferring you removes the immediate conflict and keeps the other men housed.”

He goes still. “Catalina.”

“I’ve already spoken to the county about a transfer. There’s a program outside Boerne that will take you to finish out your supervision. It’s a good placement, and the drive to the rink is shorter. You’ll be fine there.” Every word costs me a year and I don’t let one of them show on my face. “This is the responsible call. It protects the other placements while the county reviews the conflict. And it gets you somewhere you are not the story.”

“Don’t do this.” Quiet, not angry. His restraint does more damage than anger would. “Whatever this is, let me help. Tell me what is happening. Don’t decide it alone.”

“There’s nothing to help with. It’s a business decision, and it’s made.” I make myself hold his eyes. “You’re a good worker, Finn. You’ll finish strong somewhere else.”

A good worker. I watch it hit him. I watch me reduce the man who talked a thousand pounds of terror off my ranch hand down to a good worker, and I do it on purpose, because a clean cut heals and a ragged one festers, and if I’m going to take his legs out I’m going to do it in one stroke.

He looks at me for a long moment, and whatever he sees, he stops fighting.

“Okay,” he says. Just that. And he turns and walks back toward the bunkhouse in the dark, and he doesn’t slam anything, and he doesn’t beg, and the not-begging is so much worse.

I make it to the rail before my legs go. Bonita’s there, worn out from her own bad night, and she reaches over and puts her head against me, the way she’s started to, the way she does for him, and that does it. The last board comes out of the wall.

I come apart at the rail because Finn doesn’t merely see me. He knows me: the management, the fear, the whole difficult shape. He still wants to absorb the hit with me. Sebastian spent three years showing me how powerful he was. Finn asked to stand in the weather at my side, and I wouldn’t even tell him it was raining. I cut him loose to protect him and used the same control that made my life safe and empty in the first place.

I did this. Not Sebastian. Me.

Bonita stands and takes it. She doesn’t spook, and she doesn’t move away. She holds still under a crying woman in the dark, steady, the way he taught her to be, or the way she taught him, I don’t even know anymore which of them learned it first.

I saved everything tonight.

It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I did it on purpose, and that’s not the same as being right. I know the difference. I’m now the sort of woman who pushes forward, regardless.

Chapter twenty-nine

Finn

The transfer paperwork comes through two days later. She meant it.

There’s a program outside Boerne that will take me to finish the supervision. Cattle, mostly. No horses to speak of. I read the email in the bunkhouse while the other guys pretend not to watch, and the first place I ever wanted to stay turns into another address on county paper.

And the worst part, the part that keeps me from being able to be angry about it, is that she’s right.

So I don’t put my fist through anything.

That’s what would’ve surprised the guy I was a year ago, the one who’s not even that far back. He’d have taken this room apart board by board. He’d have gone up to the main house and made her say it again to my face so he’d have something to stand on that wasn’t grief. Anger’s easy. Anger’s a floor under you when everything else gives out.

I’ve got it. I always have it. I can’t find anywhere in this to point it. She didn’t do anything but the responsible thing. I did the reckless thing, and this is the bill.

Before I pack, I call Marcus.

“Get me the full parking-lot tape.”

He starts with the case disposition and the active civil claim, lawyer language for why the file has been allowed to sit. I cut through it.

“I’m not asking you to make me innocent. The last hit stays mine. I want the whole truth, including the part that hurts me.”