Page 34 of Broken Roads
"You know what? Don't say anything. It's what you do best, isn't it? Stand there with that look on your stupid face like you're the only one who gets it. Like the rest of us are just passing through your world, not worth the effort of actual conversation."
My voice breaks on the last word, betraying more emotion than I want to. I hate it. Hate the way my eyes suddenly burn with tears I refuse to shed. Hate the way my heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Most of all, I hate the way he's looking at me, the way something shifts in his expression that I can't—won't—decipher.
"I'm trying to save your family's legacy," I whisper, the fight suddenly draining from me. "But you can't see past your own stubborn pride to let me."
The silence stretches between us, thick with words unspoken. For a moment, just a brief, disorienting moment, I think I see something vulnerable flash across his face. Something raw and exposed that mirrors what I'm feeling. But then it's gone, shuttered behind that impenetrable mask he wears so well.
"Forget it," I mutter, stepping back, needing distance between us. "Just... forget it."
I turn on my heel, not waiting for a response that won't come anyway. My boots strike the wooden porch with sharp, angry sounds as I stride away from him. Away from the frustration andthe hurt and the inexplicable pull I feel toward a man who seems determined to hate me.
The morning air burns my lungs with each breath, but I don't slow down. My hand finds my pocket, fingers closing around the sobriety chip hidden there. One day at a time. That's all I need to focus on. Not Bradley Walker and his impossible stubbornness. Not the way his silence cut deeper than any words could have.
I slam the office door behind me, the sound ricocheting through the small space. My breath comes in shallow gasps, lungs unable to pull in enough air. What have I done? I just unleashed seven days of bottled rage on the son of the man who hired me, the man whose approval I need to keep this job. My legs suddenly feel boneless, and I sink into my desk chair, hands pressed flat against the cool wood surface to ground myself.
Papers lie scattered across the desk—financial projections, marketing plans, ideas that Bradley dismissed without a second glance. The sight of them sends another wave of frustration through me.
I need to talk to someone. Need a voice that doesn't carry judgment or disappointment.
My fingers tremble as I pull my phone from my pocket. The chip comes with it, tumbling onto the desk with a soft click that somehow cuts through the chaos in my head. I stare at it for a moment, at the worn surface that's carried me through my darkest moments. Then I reach for it again, clutching it in my left hand while my right scrolls through contacts.
Tessa answers on the second ring, her voice bright and warm through the speaker. "Hey there, ranch girl. Tell me you're calling with good news about Bradley finally getting his head out of his—"
"I just yelled at him." The words tumble out. "I completely lost it, Tessa. In front of the house, where anyone could have heard.I called him a scared little boy. I told him his pride was going to destroy everything."
There's a brief silence on the other end, then Tessa's voice returns, all traces of teasing gone. "Are you okay?"
"No," I admit, rising from the chair to pace the small confines of the office. "No, I'm not. I was trying to calm down after that disaster at breakfast, and then he was just there, and everything I've been holding back came pouring out and—"
"Breathe, honey," Tessa interrupts gently. "Just breathe for me, okay?"
I obey, drawing in a shaky breath, then another. My hand tightens around the chip until the edges painfully dig into my palm.
"That's it," she says. "Now listen to me. You come straight to the bakery. Right now. I'll have coffee waiting and a quiet corner where you can properly fall apart."
Relief washes through me, so powerful it makes my eyes sting. One week in this town, and somehow this chaotic, wonderful woman has become my lifeline.
"I don't know if I should leave," I say, although every cell in my body wants to flee this ranch, to escape the suffocating weight of Bradley's silence and my own outburst. "I have work to do, and after what just happened—"
"Work will wait. Your sanity won't. I'm not asking, Hailey. I'm telling. Get in your car and come here."
A small, watery laugh escapes me. "Yes, ma'am."
"I'll see you in twenty minutes."
I'm just sliding the phone back into my pocket when a soft knock sounds at the door. My heart leaps into my throat. If it's Bradley, I don't think I can face him again. Not so soon after everything I said.
"Hailey?" Ruthie's voice, not Bradley's, calls through the wood. "May I come in?"
I quickly swipe at my eyes, though I'm not sure if any tears have actually fallen. "Of course."
The door opens, and Ruthie stands in the doorway, her petite frame somehow filling the space with her presence.
"Oh, sweetie," she says, and there's so much understanding in those two simple words that something cracks inside my chest.
She steps into the office, closing the door behind her. "I came to apologize for Bradley's behavior at breakfast. That boy's got more pride than sense sometimes, and the way he spoke to you—"
She stops abruptly, shaking her head. Whatever she sees on my face seems to change her mind about what's needed. Instead of continuing, she crosses the room in a few quick steps and does something that steals my breath entirely.
