Page 89 of Hard to Love
Alex waited until she followed Delaney outside to study the envelope he’d palmed. Excellent paper quality. Heavy linen.Alex Villanuevawas written in a feminine script across the front.
An invitation of some kind?
Something told him he needed to open the damn thing before he walked out and joined the crowd, so he shoved his thumb under the flap and ripped it open.
The card matched the envelope, and when Alex tugged on it, it slid out easily. It was simple. Elegant even. And included only six words.
Your life, your love, your prophecy.
No air moving in or out of his lungs, Alex stared down at the paper in his hand.
This…
Oh, God. It was true. Everything Greer had told him was true.
His breath stuttered back to life, but his chest burned with the effort of filling his lungs. It felt as if each inhale was filled with glass shards.
This…this simple piece of paper…was it really was telling him Delaney had made him a pair of prophecy boots?
That meant he was supposed to be with Greer because she was his soul mate?
The certainty of it blazed inside him. And that meant if he walked away, neither of them would live the life they were meant to. A life together.
But if he didn’t get Nicolás the hell away from San Antonio, he would be dead.
His and Greer’s best life? Or his brother’s life?
As much as Alex cared for Greer, there was only one answer to those questions. Nothing had changed.
Alex crushed the heavy paper in his hand, felt a quick slice across his palm. A hell of a lot less pain than what he deserved. A line of blood seeped from his fist and hit the dirt floor between his feet.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alex stumbled outside, his brain full of static and his stomach full of razor blades. He should never have come to this little town. Should never have tried to work his way into a better life.
All it had done was show him everything he couldn’t have.
Family. Normality. The boots.
Greer.
She was standing on the front steps of her little Sunday haus, her dress blowing around her calves and her hair doing its best to work its way across her beautiful face. With an impatient motion, she shoved it behind her shoulders and lifted a bullhorn. “Hey, y’all!” Her excitement was evident in the volume and tone of her voice. “Are you ready to find out the competition winner?”
People hooted and hollered. Stamped and clapped.
Alex stood at the crowd’s edge nearest the barn. If he won, it would be easy to get around the people to accept the prize. And if he didn’t…well, he’d deal with that if he had to.
“Before we get to that,” Greer said, “I want to do a few shout-outs. Lots of people around here who helped make this competition happen. Sawyer Gunn was generous enough to supply a dedicated food truck for the artists andthe village visitors. And you can thank Bostick’s General Store for the port-a-potties. To Raylene Pearce, I can’t tell you how much everyone appreciated your afternoon treats. Where else but Prophecy can you get Nuts About You cookies and Everything but the Kitchen Sink granola?”
A cheer went up to honor Raylene’s delicious snacks.
“To my brother, Cal Maddox.” Her voice hitched, and she scanned the crowd, her gaze landing on her brother, who was grinning up at her. “Thanks for letting me use what our dad left us to build something for the entire community. Sure hope I’ve proven the Wild Card Artisan Village is a good use of it.”
“And to—” Greer paused, breathed, and cleared her throat, “—Alex Villanueva. Thank you for inspiring this entire competition.” With a hand shading her eyes, she peered around the group and her gaze finally landed on Alex. “Without you, Wild Card would’ve never gotten off the ground.”
Yeah, and it—and she—would go on, no thanks to him. He broke eye contact with her. How was he supposed to stand here and look at the woman he was leaving, knowing he was screwing up her life more than she even knew?
When he snuck another peek at her a few seconds later, her face wasn’t nearly as animated, but she squared her shoulders and said, “Delaney Shields, the prophecy bootmaker, has the envelope we’re all waiting for. The one that will tell us who you—the people of Prophecy—have chosen to win the ten-thousand-dollar prize. Y’all ready?”
