Page 49 of Broken Roads
I run a hand through my hair, frustration coiling tight around my chest. It doesn't matter. It doesn't fucking matter because right now, she's driving to meet Beckett, and I'm following her like a damn stalker instead of a man with an ounce of self-respect.
Her brake lights flare red in the distance as she slows for the turn into town. I ease off the gas, letting the gap between us widen. The doubt creeps in again, whispering that I should turn around, drive back to the ranch, and pretend none of this happened. That I should salvage what little dignity I have left.
But the jealousy burns hotter, drowning out the whispers of reason. I need to know. Need to see with my own eyes where she's going, who she's meeting. Need to confirm if the worst of my fears is true.
My heartbeat quickens as I realize she's heading toward the center of town, toward the small cluster of restaurants wheresomeone might take a woman they wanted to impress. Is that where Beckett is waiting? Has he been planning this, watching me fumble my chances while he smoothly moved in?
The thought sends a surge of anger through me so intense I have to force myself to breathe through it, counting each inhale and exhale until the red haze begins to clear from my vision. I've never felt this way before—this possessive, this consumed. It's like some essential part of me recognizes her as mine, even while my brain argues that I have no claim on her.
Her car slows again, and I drop back further, watching as she turns into a parking lot. The community center. My brow furrows in confusion. What could she possibly be doing here on a Thursday night?
I pull my truck to the side of the road, engine still running, and watch as Hailey steps out of her car. She pauses to check her phone, then glances around the parking lot as if looking for someone. My hands clench into fists on the steering wheel, my entire body tense as I wait to see who appears.
Is this where Beckett is meeting her? Somewhere private, away from the prying eyes at the ranch? Somewhere he thinks I won't find them?
I'm already imagining the confrontation, what I'll say, how I'll maintain some semblance of dignity while making it clear that if he wants to keep his job, he'll stay the hell away from her when the truth hits me square in the chest.
I don't have any right to demand that. Hailey isn't mine. I've never even kissed her, never told her how I feel, never done anything but dance around what's growing between us. If she's chosen Beckett, that's her right. And his.
The thought doesn't ease the jealousy burning through my veins. If anything, it makes it worse, adds helplessness to the toxic cocktail of emotions churning inside me.
I should leave. Should put the truck in gear and drive back to the ranch before I'm seen. Before I do something I'll regret.
Instead, I cut the engine and sit in the darkening evening, watching the community center entrance with a single-minded focus that would be better directed at almost anything else. I need to know. Need to see. Need to understand what I'm up against.
I'm so focused on watching the entrance that I almost miss the blue hatchback parking two spaces away from Hailey's car. Tessa steps out, her wild blonde curls unmistakable even in the dim parking lot lights. Not Beckett. Not any man. Just Tessa Morgan with her mismatched earrings and flour-dusted jeans. The jealousy churning in my gut doesn't evaporate, but it transforms, uncertainty replacing the possessive rage of moments before.
Hailey steps forward, meeting Tessa halfway between their cars. The women embrace briefly, a casual hug between friends that carries none of the romantic undertones I'd been imagining with sick certainty. They talk for a moment, heads close together, and even from this distance I can see the tension in Hailey's shoulders, the careful way she holds herself. Different from the easy confidence she exhibits during our marketing discussions, or the playful flirtation of our hallway encounters.
Relief washes through me, so powerful it leaves me light-headed. Not Beckett. She's not here for Beckett. The thought repeats itself, a mantra that eases the vise grip around my chest, and allows me to draw a full breath for what feels like the first time since I watched her drive away from the ranch.
But relief quickly gives way to new questions. If not a date, then what?
I watch as they walk together toward the building, something intimate in their body language that speaks of shared secrets. The protectiveness in Tessa's posture as she places a hand onHailey's back. The way Hailey seems to draw strength from the other woman's presence.
The rational part of my brain tells me to leave. I've confirmed she's not meeting Beckett, not meeting any man. The beast of jealousy has been temporarily caged. I have no business sitting here in the growing darkness, spying on a woman who deserves her privacy. I should start my truck and drive away, back to the ranch where a thousand tasks await my attention.
My hand even reaches for the ignition, fingers brushing the key.
But I don't turn it.
"Fuck," I mutter, dropping my forehead against the steering wheel. What am I doing? This isn't me. I don't follow women, don't invade their privacy, don't let myself get tangled up in emotions that have no clear resolution.
Except, apparently, I do. Because I can't make myself leave, can't stop wondering what's happening inside that building that Hailey couldn't or wouldn't share with me.
My curiosity wars with my conscience, a battle that twists my stomach into knots. If I go inside, if I invade her privacy this way, what does that say about me? About my respect for her? About the man I thought I was?
Nothing good.
I close my eyes, count to ten, trying to find clarity in the jumble of emotions clouding my judgment. When I open them again, my decision is made—a decision I'll probably regret, but seem unable to change.
I'm going in.
The night air hits me as I step out of the truck, cool against my face after the heated interior. Shame coils in my gut, hot and insistent, as I close the door as quietly as possible. My shoulders hunch involuntarily, body language betraying my guilt as Iglance around the parking lot, half-expecting someone to point and shout, "Stalker!"
But there's no one to witness my transgression, just the empty parking lot and the muted sounds of traffic on the main road.
My boots scuff against the asphalt as I approach the building, each step slower than the last as my conscience continues its protest. I pause at the bottom of the short flight of steps leading to the entrance. One last chance to turn back, to preserve whatever respect Hailey might still have for me if she ever discovers what I've done.
