Page 59 of Spurred On

He’s going to choose the damn rodeo because he loves it more.

“Well, you made it clear what you love most. If you’re not ready to be done, then I guess we are.” I take a shaky breath before saying goodbye to the love of my life. “Good luck.” I take two steps back physically and emotionally, preparing myself for the heartbreak I know is going to hit me.

He moves to stand as I turn on my heels. “Ava, wait.”

I hold my hand up to stop him. “No, Mav. You made your choice. You didn’t even hesitate to make it, actually. You chose the rodeo so damn fast.” I snap my fingers. “Like I was never really a considerable option. That right there tells me all I need to know. I may love you, Maverick Ryder, butyou, you love rodeo and your ego. There wasn’t enough love left over for me.”

His whole body deflates at the finality in my tone. “You know I love you.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said it this entire conversation. You may think you love me, Maverick, but I am beginning to wonder if you even know what love really is. My stuff will be out of the house by the time you get home.”

“But the courts,” he says, trying to grasp on to anything to slow this down. But there is no slowing this down. This was doomed to crash and burn the second we said ‘I do’ in Vegas because happiness just isn’t something that happens to me.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Ava,” he pleads one final time.

I don’t stop this time. I keep walking.

Because if I don’t, I might back down, and I don’t think my heart can take another loss.

Chapter 33

Maverick

For the first time in months, I walk through the front door to an empty house. An empty and eerily quiet house. The only sound filling the space is the raindrops on the roof. The dark, gloomy clouds match my mood. Ava kept true to her word, every trace of her is gone except for the lingering scent of her fucking candle. No shoes by the door, no blanket thrown over the futon, no books piled up on the back; it’s all gone. Anger rises through me, not really at her, but at myself. I handled that whole thing wrong, and now she won’t talk to me. My calls have been going straight to voicemail.

Luckily, it’s cowboy Christmas and I’ll be busy as hell working my ass off all the way until our scheduled court date. But even I wonder if that will be enough to keep her off my mind.

I throw my hat off my head and onto the empty futon. Looking over where she spent so many afternoons and nights curled up with a book makes my stomach drop. I have been through a lot of painful things, broken almost every bone in my damn body, but nothing hurts quite as much as losing her. She was too good for me from the start, but that didn’t stop me from falling hard.

Tears fill my eyes as I look around the cabin, really study it. It no longer feels like home without her. Cowboys may not cry, but then what does that make me?

“FUCK!” I yell, throwing my bag onto the floor. Sinking into the futon, my head lands in my hands.

My body still feels sore from the last damn rodeo. I get to be home one night before I’m back on the road for the next week. The last one will be a hometown show, more for publicity than anything. Should have just stayed on the road and skipped this because the silence in this cabin is torture.

Three taps rattle the outside of my front door, but the last thing I want right now is company. Dragging my feet across the room, I whip open the door with more force than necessary.

“What?” I say to Weston. I love the guy, but I might punch him straight in the fucking jaw if he tries his bullshit with me today.

“Oh, just checking up on you. I heard you had a pretty tough ride.” He has his classic smile on his face, and he’s ditched the cowboy hat for a ballcap. Little watermarks stain the top of it from the pouring rain.

“That’s all you heard?” I know good and well the news has probably spread through all of town that my wife left me in the injured tent. There’s no hiding from your secrets around here.

“I mean, there was the part about you getting into it with your woman.” He leans against the wooden door frame, crossing his arms. The covered porch keeps him protected from the rain, but the cool air rushes into the cabin.

Keeping my hand gripped on the door in case I need to slam it on him, I reply, “That’s the real reason you’re over here.”

“The real reason I’m here is because it sounds like my best friend had a really shitty weekend and I wanted to make sure he was doing alright. Asshole.” I do feel like an asshole. An asshole about the whole thing, not just this.

Running the hand not on the door through my hair, I shake my head, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I blew it.” My head hangs down like my mood.

“Care to tell me what the hell happened?” He pushes off the door a little to stand straight and shoves his hands into his pocket, rocking on his toes.

I open the door a little wider, inviting him in. “Yeah, you want a beer?”

“Sure.” He waltzes in like he owns the place, straight to the fridge. I hear a can crack open.

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