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I’m going to be honest, I’m staying away out of respect for your wishes, but it’s getting harder by the second. Need to hear you. Need to hold you. Need to know that you’re okay.

Let me know if you get tired of hospital food. It should be illegal what they serve in there.

Going to sleep isn’t the same without you by my side.

Waking up is even worse.

Heard your dad is already requesting steak. Take a deep breath, cowgirl. It’s all going to be okay.

I’ve probably passed the limit on how many texts a person can send without getting a response and not seeming like a stalker. I’m sure one of your ’ology classes would have something to say about this. Maybe I should take the hint, but I can’t. I miss you.

When you need a break, I can be right outside.

My vision blurs. Tears flood my eyes. I pushed him away, but like the stubborn man he is, he refused to leave me.

I scroll down to his number and hit call, my heart racing as it rings on the other end. Shane might be heading home to Vegas soon, and we might only have a little time left, but I don’t want to spend that time without him. I want to be happy—not the fake or forced kind. I want to smile for real. I want to be selfish with my heart.

My throat knots as I wait for Shane to answer, but before he does, there’s a strangled noise behind me. Something crashes to the ground and then a trashcan rolls by.

“What—” I spin around, but it’s too late.

A hard object strikes me in the head, knocking my phone from my hand. I’m thrust against a wall as a figure stands over me.

“Who are you?” My voice is foggy and distant. The world around me is blurry.

The only answer I get is a wicked chuckle before someone throws a burlap sack over my head.

36

SHANE

The firepit is alive with flames, but I’ve got my head tipped back, staring at the stars. With how many lights we have on around the bunkhouse, they’re not nearly as bright as they were out at Harrison Ranch. But they remind me of Harloe.

My fingers thrum against the back of my phone while it sits in my lap.

No messages. Not one returned call.

I’ve heard her voicemail so many times I’ve memorized it. She never answers, but I find myself dialing again and again like that recording brings me closer to her.

I failed her.

I failed myself.

I should have said more. Done more.

I shouldn’t have left when she pushed me away.

Distance doesn’t fix anything. I learned that the hard way when I lost touch with Grant. After everything we survived growing up—taking turns being Dad’s punching bag, learning how to stitch each other up with sewing needles and thread, stealing Dad’s smokes when he was having a bad day so he wouldn’t put them out on us—I wasn’t there when Grant really needed me.

So why did I leave Harloe alone at the hospital? Why did I let her think it would be so easy for me to let this go?

I know I can’t force her to be a part of my life. Chances are she’ll wise up and realize she deserves so much better than I can give her. But damn if I’m not going to try to prove her wrong as soon as she returns my calls.

I flip my phone over again.

Zero messages.

How many times have I tapped the screen the past hour? Harloe made it clear I’m distracting her from her responsibilities. From the beginning, she’s been drawing lines with us.