Page 60 of Stay Wild Darlin’

When we finished shopping, we headed out to the lot and packed up the truck like pros. Well, I packed it like a pro. Dalton mostly handed me things while making smart comments from the sidelines.

“You’re nesting,” he said, eyeing the perfectly arranged trunk.

“Don’t say nesting,” I laughed, tossing the last bag of diapers in. “You make it sound like I’m pregnant.”

He smirked, leaning on the tailgate. “Oops. I mean . . . you look weirdly good doing all this mom stuff.”

I shot him a look. “Wow. That’s not weird at all.”

He grinned. “I mean it as a compliment. You make it look effortless.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, shutting the tailgate. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but you’re still smiling.”

Once everything was loaded and Cora’s formula was safely stashed, he looked over at me. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Ten minutes later, we pulled into a staple Texas drive-thru, with its orange W gleaming in the sky, and started arguing over fries versus onion rings. Twenty minutes after that, we were parked in the lot with the windows cracked, and the sun was dipping low.

I sat cross-legged in the passenger seat, unwrapping my burger while Dalton took a massive bite of his.

“This,” I said around a mouthful of fries, “might be the best decision we’ve made all day.”

Dalton wiped his hands on a napkin and leaned back in his seat, the burger still in his hand, wrapper crinkled around the bottom.

“Thanks for coming with me today. Not only for the help . . . but for makin’ it easy. Fun even.”

I turned toward him, still picking at my fries, but his gaze was steady, not playing around.

“You make shit that should be stressful feel . . . like life. And not the heavy kind, either. The kind that feels good. The kind I forgot I could enjoy.”

My throat tightened, and I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded, letting him go on.

He shifted a little in his seat, staring ahead like he was trying to untangle something in his head.

“There’s a lot of pressure right now,” he said. “Being number two in the world . . . people think that means I’m close to the top, like it’s all glory, but it’s not. It’s weight. Expectations. Everyone wants you to win, but no one cares what it’s costing you.”

I stayed quiet, just listening.

“I want that prize money,” he admitted, glancing over at me. “I want the title, sure, but the money? That’s for her. For Cora. For her future. Something solid. Something better than what I had.” He paused, running his hand over his jaw. “I don’t ride for the thrill anymore. I ride because I have to win. I have to make it count. Sometimes, that gets real damn heavy.”

I reached over, brushing his forearm without thinking. He looked down at my hand for a second, then back at me.

“You’re doing everything you can for her,” I said softly. “It is enough.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable swimming in those green eyes.

“Maybe,” he murmured.

We ate more slowly after that, and I watched the way his jaw moved when he chewed, the way his lashes dipped when he looked down, and how he kept reaching over to steal a fry from my box.

He didn’t say much. We let the evening settle around us like it had nowhere else to be. When he finally crumpled up his wrapper, he looked over at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks for keepin’ me company.”

He gathered our trash without asking, opened the door, and hopped out to toss everything in the nearby bin. When he climbed back in, he rested his arm on the steering wheel, glancing over at me with that same boyish grin he always tried to hide.