Page 52 of Broken Roads
"I thought—" he pauses, jaw working. "I saw you talking to Beckett by the corral today. I thought maybe you were meeting him. For a date." The last word comes out like it physically pains him to say it.
The absurdity of his statement momentarily robs me of breath. Beckett? He thought I was meeting Beckett?
"You followed me because you thought I was on a date?" I finally find my voice. "So what if I was? What gives you the right—"
"Nothing," he cuts in, hands spread wide, palms up in surrender. "Nothing gives me the right. That's what I'm trying to say. I was jealous and stupid and completely out of line."
The rain’s falling harder now, small droplets clinging to his eyelashes, tracing paths down his stubbled cheeks. The moisture darkens his shirt in random patterns, revealing glimpses of the body beneath as the fabric clings to his shoulders.
"Jealous," I repeat slowly.
Beside me, Tessa shifts, her stance relaxing slightly. When I glance at her, I'm startled to find her earlier fury has transformed into something that looks suspiciously like satisfaction. Her eyes dart between Bradley and me, lips curving into a smile she doesn't even bother to hide.
"I want to know you," Bradley says, his voice dropping lower, meant just for me despite Tessa's presence. "All of you. But on your terms, not like this." He gestures vaguely toward the community center behind us. "I violated your trust. I'm sorry."
His shoulders hunch forward as he speaks, a posture so unlike his usual straight-backed confidence that it momentarily disarms me. Water drips from his hair, sliding down the strong column of his throat to disappear beneath his collar. In the dim lighting, with shadows cutting across his face, I can see what this confession is costing him.
The muscle in his jaw works overtime, that telltale sign of emotion he's trying to contain. His hands, those large, capable hands that move with such purpose around the ranch, tremble slightly before he shoves them into his pockets.
"Well, would you look at that," Tessa murmurs beside me. "Takes a real man to apologize without excuses."
He invaded my privacy.
Yet the knowledge that he followed me out of jealousy, not disgust or suspicion, shifts something in my chest. Doesn't erase the violation but complicates it in ways I'm too overwhelmed to fully process.
"I think," I finally say. "This is a conversation best had at home."
He nods once, that sharp, controlled movement I've come to recognize. "I'll be right behind you."
The words carry a double meaning that isn't lost on me. He'll follow me back to the ranch, yes, but there's also a promise that he'll be there, waiting, when I'm ready to continue this conversation.
Tessa's hand squeezes my arm gently. "You good?" she asks, quiet enough that Bradley can't hear over the patter of rain on asphalt.
I nod, surprising myself with the honesty of the gesture. I'm not okay, not entirely, but I'm steady enough to drive, to face whatever comes next.
"Call me tomorrow," she says, pulling me into a quick, fierce hug that smells of cinnamon and vanilla. "Every detail." Her mismatched earrings—a tiny coffee cup and a miniature spoon—swing wildly as she releases me.
As I turn toward my car, I feel Bradley's eyes on me, a physical weight I've grown accustomed to over the weeks. The rain falls between us, a curtain of silver in the dim light. So much has changed in the span of minutes—secrets exposed, truths admitted—yet the pull between us remains, complicated now by new knowledge but no less powerful.
I slide into my car, the familiar space a momentary sanctuary. Through the rain-streaked windshield, I watch Bradley walk to his truck, his tall frame moving with that controlled grace that always catches my eye. In my palm, the sobriety token feels warm from being clutched so tightly. Seven months of rebuilding myself.
And now, perhaps, the beginning of building something new.
Chapter 22
Bradley
Her taillights burn red through the rain, guiding me home like twin beacons. This time I'm not sneaking, not hiding my presence like some jealous teenager. She knows I'm behind her, watching her car navigate the familiar curves of the county road that leads back to Walker Ranch. The rain falls softer now, pattering against the roof of my truck. Unlike the thundering of my heart against my ribs.
"I was jealous and stupid and completely out of line."
The words echo in my head. I don't do this, don't lay myself bare, don't admit to feelings that make me vulnerable. Yet there I stood in that parking lot, confessing to following her like some lovesick fool.
Because that's exactly what I am. A lovesick fool who couldn't stand the thought of her with another man.
I ease off the gas slightly as her car slows for a curve. The wipers beat a steady rhythm across my windshield, clearing my view just long enough to see her silhouette through her rearwindow. Her posture is rigid, shoulders set in a straight line that betrays the tension still coursing through her. I can't blame her.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. What must she think of me? Following her to a meeting where people bare their souls, their struggles, their triumphs over demons I can't begin to understand. Violating that sacred space with my presence, my jealousy, my petty suspicions.
