Page 152 of We Drank the Dawn

Finally, I arrived at the final message. And based on the time stamp, he was likely served before he sent it. I didn’t want to listen, but helpless against my burning curiosity, I pressed play.

“Sarah…I’m so…so sorry.”

His voice made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

“I don’t know…what to do…Please…please forgive me…I love you so much…I have never stopped. I know I hurt you and I…hate myself for that.” He took a deep rattling breath. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life…trying to fix it. You’re the only one for me. And I love you…I love you so much…”

Abruptly, the message ended.

And the silence in the room covered me like a suffocating blanket. Suddenly, my decisions seemed so rash, so instinctual and rage-fueled. After talking with Martha, I wondered how I ever saw them as sensible. I should’ve called him. But I let my anger fester too long and went too many weeks without reaching out in reconciliation.

It was true—he did a lot of awful things. I couldn’t even think about the bars or the phone numbers or the kiss without hurt doubling me over, but we could’ve at least talked about it again. Even if it was another fight.

But I let anger and self-preservation take the reins.

Ever since I saw that video of Peter riding a horse, I’d avoided Instagram like the plague. But now, curiosity pricked me. Would a post or story give a clue to how he was doing after being served? I quickly redownloaded the app and found Meadowbrook’s page. There weren’t any recent posts, but a pink circle glowed around their profile picture.

I tapped the story.

My heart flipped in my chest at a picture of Peter up on a horse. The text read “Come see my brother’s very first rodeo tomorrow @hilltownstockyards_austin.”

Wait. Peter was riding in a rodeo? Tomorrow?

An incredulous laugh built in my throat. Was he insane? I wanted to believe that him risking his neck was a bad idea, but looking at that smile on his face, I couldn’t.

I want to go.

The thought filtered into my head, almost startling me with its intensity. But, as soon as it materialized, my mind was made up.

FIFTY-ONE

Cooper

Cody was in the tack room doing night chores when I caught him alone. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure there was no one else in the barn’s corridor, I stepped in behind him, reminding myself that no one should be condemned without a fair trial.

“Hey,” he said, covering the fact that I’d startled him.

“I need to ask you something.”

Cody frowned, his blond eyebrows drawing together. “What’s up?”

“Did Peter really kiss someone at the bar?”

Cody chuckled, allowing the sound to delay his answer. “Why? You jealous or something?”

“No, but I think you are.”

He scoffed in disgust. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We all saw the way you were watching Sarah. You hated Peter from the moment he stepped foot on this ranch because of her. My gut says you lied.” I shook my head, forcing my hands to stay loose at my sides. “Peter remembers almost everything about what happened except that. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe your darlin’ Peter has selective memory and is tryin’ to cover his ass.”

“No, that’s not it. I’ve already talked to Harlan and Rudy. No one saw the kiss but you.”

Cody laughed again, and I briefly wondered if I ever looked like him—like I had no one to love and nothing to lose. The idea of it made me hate myself. He rose a brow, undeterred. “I guess you’ll never know the truth.”

Something in me snapped.