Page 85 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“I know, Mason. Really.”

Something felt uneasy in my stomach. I didn’t like this conversation, even if I knew it was practical.

When Mason got back, all I really wanted to do was spend about ten more days in bed with him, naked and uninterrupted.

I didn’t want to be responsible. Didn’t want to worry about what others might think. But I knew I wasn’t just a man on an island, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to risk Mason losing one of his deepest friendships, either.

I hated it all.

So instead, I steered the rest of our conversation to easy things.

More chats about animals. Silly questions about Mason’s favorite color, favorite foods, and his happiest memories.

We ended up talking for another hour, and with each passing minute I only felt myself falling for him even more, being pulled deeper into a question I didn’t have answers for.

15

MASON

Maisie rode like the wind. It was a cliche, but it had always been true. My dad had said it, I’d said it, and many of our riding clients over the years had told us the same thing.

It was true now. The afternoon sunlight brought out the rich red undertones in her mane as she pounded her way through the tree-lined path on the ranch. I felt each step, but Maisie still galloped like she was gliding over the terrain. Sunlight dappled through the gently shaking leaves shading the dirt path.

It was the time of day that’s best for napping—unless you’re restless as hell, and the next best thing is going outside. I’d gotten back home from Atlanta a couple of hours ago and I’d planned on taking a nap, but I couldn’t sleep.

Instead I sauntered outside around two o’clock, not planning to ride, but I’d wound up taking Maisie out around the long, looping path.

The air smelled like wildgrass and oak. Maisie’s steadyclop-clopand the background cicadas were my soundtrack.

I’d been running, too.

Running from just about everything in my life, a whole lot less gracefully than Maisie.

“There, girl,” I said softly, barely guiding her on the path she knew so well. The sound of her even exhales and hooves was soothing, rocking, and I could tell she was as glad for the excursion as I was.

The first few days of my Atlanta trip had passed quickly after the night I’d been with Jesse, but then the rest of the trip had felt like a crawl. With every passing day, I felt like there were about a dozen other things I wanted to text or call him about, but I kept things fairly brief, with a few updates.

Truthfully, for the entire ten days, I’d been grappling with just howmuchthe night with him had meant to me.

How long had I been searching for whatever I found on that night?

And why had it felt so terrifying to finally find it?

The night at his frat house felt like a distant mirage. It was as if I was one of the horses—alarmed by something that may or may not have been posing any real threat to me. Maisie had hated it when an empty bag had blown across the dirt path earlier. That was exactly how I’d felt for the past ten days.

Spooked. Out of nowhere, like an animal. And Jesse wasn’t stupid—he must have known it, too.

Doing the volunteer work in Atlanta had been difficult but rewarding, and Mary and I had even helped the group repair an entire patio for a kind old woman who had lost her husband last year. The people we helped were so grateful, and on the outside, everyone said I was so nice, so kind, so generous with my time or money. Even Mary kept thanking me profusely for going on the trip, and I kept steering every conversation toherlife instead of mine. I asked about her work, her dating life, her parents, her sister.

It seemed nice, and it was nice.

But I was doing what I always did. Thinking about everyone else’s lives instead of my own.

I finally finished reading my self-help book in the hotel, too, but I sure as shit wasn’t any closer to knowing how totruly and fully love myself.

The book kept advising me to be as honest and true to myself as I could.

But what if my honest truth just didn’t seem to fit in the world?

---