Page 14 of Broken Roads
I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of me. She's right, and we both know it. Moving to Montana, I'd told myself I could handle recovery alone. That I was strong enough now. Six months sober and suddenly I was invincible, right? But tonight proved how fragile that strength really is.
"Okay," I say finally.
Tessa's face breaks into a wide, genuine smile that transforms her entirely. "Great. First order of business, you're coming to my bakery tomorrow."
"I have work—"
"Before work. After work, doesn’t matter." She's already digging in her oversized purse, pulling out a napkin and a penwith a plastic flamingo on top. She scribbles an address with dramatic flourishes. "The Wildflower Oven. I open at five but come at seven. The morning rush will be over, and the cinnamon rolls will be fresh out of the oven." She presses the napkin into my hand, her fingers warm against mine. "The cinnamon rolls alone will keep you coming back," she adds with a wink.
I glance down at the napkin, where she's written not just the address but drawn a little cartoon cupcake with a smiley face. Something unexpectedly warm unfurls in my chest. It's been so long since anyone has simply been kind to me without an agenda.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than she could possibly know.
"Don't thank me yet. I'm a tough sponsor. You'll be cursing my name by the end of the week." She pushes off from my car, adjusting her mismatched earrings. "Seven tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll hunt you down at that ranch." She turns to go, then spins back. "And hey, Hailey?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happened—whatever's making you carry all that weight—it doesn't define you. Not unless you let it."
Before I can respond, she's walking away, her red boots clicking against the asphalt, blonde curls bouncing with each step. I watch until she reaches a battered blue pickup truck, wondering how a complete stranger managed to see straight through me in the span of ten minutes.
For the first time since arriving in Montana, I feel the ghost of a genuine smile tugging at my lips. It's small and uncertain, but it's there.
Chapter 6
Bradley
My boots hit the worn floorboards with deliberate force as I enter the dining room, each step sending a sharp protest up my right leg. The day's work sits heavy in my muscles, a familiar ache made worse by the tension I've been carrying sinceshearrived.
Hailey Monroe.
Even her name in my head feels like an intrusion, an unwelcome reminder that something has shifted in the foundation of my world. The familiar scents of Ruthie's cooking—roast beef, garlic, fresh bread—should comfort me, but tonight they sit wrong in my stomach, like even this hasn't been left untouched by change.
The dining room looks the same as it has for as long as I can remember—oak table worn smooth by generations of elbows and forearms, walls lined with faded photographs of ancestors I've never met but somehow know, windows that frame the mountains like they were built specifically for that purpose. Dad sits at the head of the table, his hands wrapped around a glassof water, deep lines etched around his eyes catching the warm light from the overhead fixture. Sawyer's already there, leaning back in his chair with that perpetual ease that sometimes makes me want to knock him sideways. And Beckett, one of our newer hands, sits quietly at the far end, his plate already half-empty.
But there's an empty chair.Herchair.
I slide onto the seat between Dad and Sawyer, satisfaction curling through me as I stare at the vacant spot across the table. She's gone. Maybe she's already realized she doesn't belong here and packed up her fancy degree and city clothes.
"Where's Hailey?" I ask, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice. I reach for the bowl of mashed potatoes, spooning a generous helping onto my plate.
Beckett looks up, fork halfway to his mouth. "Who's Hailey?" His genuine confusion would be funny if it weren't another reminder of how quickly Dad had made this decision or how little input any of us had.
Before anyone can answer, Sawyer leans forward, a grin spreading across his face that makes my hand tighten around my fork.
"Does Beckett live under a rock?" he laughs. "She's the new financial consultant Bradford told us about this morning." He pauses, his eyes sliding to me for just a moment before adding, "Cute city girl, sharp eyes that don't miss a thing... and legs for days."
Something hot and tight coils in my chest. My jaw clenches until my teeth grind together causing a dull ache to spread along my temples. The food on my plate suddenly looks like nothing I want.
"She had some meeting in town," Dad says, cutting into his meat with methodical precision. "Ruthie's saving her a plate."
The normalcy in his voice, like Hailey's presence is already an accepted fact, like her absence at dinner is something worthnoting, snaps the last thread of my restraint. My palm slams against the wooden tabletop hard enough to rattle the dishes.
"We don't need her," I growl, the words tearing from my throat. "We don't need anyone coming in here telling us how to run our ranch."
The room goes still. Even Sawyer's perpetual smirk falters. Dad sets his knife and fork down with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against ceramic somehow more ominous than if he'd slammed them down.
"That's enough, Bradley." His voice is quiet but carries the weight of stone. "This decision isn't up for debate."
