Page 143 of Stay Wild Darlin’

After three hours of driving and a loop of overthinking later . . . I felt guilty.

He’d won his first gold buckle, and instead of celebrating with his friends and the people who helped him get there, he came home early.

Because his daughter, who was barely a year old, called me Mama.

She didn’t know what she was saying. Not really. We read books with two parents, watched shows with families. I was her primary caregiver. It made sense. I’d taken that moment, his moment, and let my own emotions swallow it whole.

He didn’t deserve that, so while I was driving, I decided I was going to make it up to him.

Before I came home, I’d stopped at the store. Picked up everything we needed to make our favorite meal—burgers, the thick-cut fries he liked, his weird obsession with spicy pickles, and a six-pack of the local beer he only bought when he was in a good mood.

After the shower, I stepped into the closet and towel-dried my hair, twisting it into a quick, messy bun. My skin was still warm from the water, and I didn’t bother putting anything on except one of Dalton’s oversized T-shirts—the soft navy one that hung right below my ass. It smelled like him, like leather and clean soap.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen.

He was standing at the counter, still in his dusty jeans and the same shirt from earlier, his back to me as he looked over the bags of groceries I’d laid out.

I watched him for a second, taking in the curve of his shoulders, the way his hand rested absently on a pack of buns.

Then I walked over, wrapping an arm around his middle and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He turned toward me, surprised, and I rose onto my toes and kissed him properly.

“Go get cleaned up,” I murmured, “and I’ll finish fixing your dinner.”

His brow lifted. “Burgers?”

“Our favorite.” I stared at him for a moment and exhaled. “I was so worried you were upset with me.”

“You shouldn’t worry about that. I’m not mad. At all.” He ran his fingers gently down my arm. “I wanted to come home. I didn’t want to be out with everyone else. I wanted you. I wanted to celebrate with the person who’s been with me through every bit of this.”

I blinked up at him, and my breath slipped out in a relieved exhale.

“I didn’t miss out on anything tonight. This? Us? This is the only thing that felt right.”

The corner of my mouth lifted into a soft smile. “Go clean up, so I can finish making dinner, champ.”

He grinned but didn’t move. “What about dessert? I’ve been thinking about it since the ride.”

“Oh yeah?” I said, grabbing the spatula off the counter. “Well, keep thinking—’cause dessert doesn’t serve itself to dirty cowboys.”

I smacked him lightly with the spatula, right across the stomach.

He laughed, backing up with that cocky grin I knew way too well. “I love it when you talk to me like that.”

“Shower, Cowboy.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing down the hall.

The second he was gone, the smile slid from my face.

Not because anything was wrong, but because everything was right.

I turned back to the counter and stared at the ground beef I hadn’t even touched yet, hands resting on the edge of the sink as my mind spun in circles.

He was so easy to love. So uncomplicated, even in all his grit. Kind in the quietest ways. Loyal without ever needing to prove it. And funny—God, he made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.

We were mirrors of each other in so many ways. Both of us discarded, overlooked. Carving out our own little corner of a life, piece by stubborn piece.

Why the hell couldn’t I say it?