Page 105 of Saltwater Cowboy

For a second, I could barely breathe.

I could hear it in his voice—the certainty. The unshakable belief that he still had some kind of claim over me, that he could just say the right things and I’d fold.

I used to.

I used to let him win. Let him convince me. Let him pull me back into the orbit of his world until I forgot what it felt like to be anything other than his.

But not this time.

I inhaled sharply and pressed my lips together, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Go to hell, Thad.”

Then I hung up.

My hands were shaking. My heart slammed against my ribs, too fast, too loud. I dropped the phone onto the bed and curled my fingers into my palms, digging my nails into my skin just to ground myself.

The room suddenly felt too small, like there wasn’t enough air. I needed to move. Needed to breathe.

I stood up and walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the land stretched wide and open under the moonlight, the fields bathed in soft silver. It was nothing like the city. Nothing like the life I’d left behind.

I chose this. I chose to be here.

So why did one phone call have the power to make me feel so small?

I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath coming uneven.

He still had a hold on me. Maybe not in the same way he used to, but enough that a single conversation could shatter my sense of peace.

And that realization? It made me angry.

Angry at him. Angry at myself. Angry at the version of me that still let his words sink their claws in.

I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I took a deep breath and stepped away from the window, rubbing the lingering tension from my arms. Sitting in this room, trapped with my thoughts, wasn’t going to help. I needed air. Space. A moment to clear my head before I suffocated under the weight of it all.

I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and slipped into my boots and padded quietly down the stairs, the old floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The house was still and empty, the kind of quiet that felt too big, too loud in my ears.

Granger was curled up on the couch, his big brown eyes flicking open as I approached. His tail thumped lazily against the cushions, and I couldn’t help but smile, sinking down beside him.

“Hey, buddy.” My voice was softer than I meant it to be, but he didn’t seem to mind. I ran a hand over his warm fur, scratching the spot on his belly I knew he loved. His tail wagged a little harder.

“I’m heading out to the flowers,” I murmured, more for myself than him. I placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll be back soon.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:42 PM. Wells would probably be home soon. The thought made my stomach twist.

I exhaled sharply and pushed off the couch, making my way into the kitchen. My fingers closed around a bottle of wine on the counter—no glass necessary. It was that kind of night.

On the way out, I snagged the four-wheeler key from its hook by the door. I hesitated for half a second, then shook my head. It’ll be fine. Probably. I had ridden on this thin a few times.

The cool night air wrapped around me as I stepped into the garage, the familiar scent of engine oil and old leather filling my lungs. Wells’ four-wheeler sat exactly where he always kept it, sturdy and waiting. I didn’t know if I should be driving this thing alone.

But right now, I didn’t care.

I needed to find my peace.

And I knew exactly where to look.

The four-wheeler rumbled to life beneath me, the low hum filling the quiet night. I tightened my grip on the handlebars and eased it out of the garage, the cool air brushing against my flushed skin. The night stretched out before me, dark and endless, broken only by the occasional flicker of fireflies dancing in the fields.