Page 92 of Riding the Storm
“But I just had sex in the barn with a client!”
Matty laughs. “Not something I would normally encourage, but who am I to judge? Look at me. I’m the poster child for mixing business with pleasure.
“There is one difference though,” she adds. “Bryce is leaving Wildhaven.”
“I know, and his stupid ass is gonna get back on a bull,” I say. “I failed.”
I’m done.
I tell myself that for the fifth time as I shove another handful of clothes into my suitcase. Shirts, jeans, socks—all balled up and crammed in. I don’t even care if I forget something. Hell, I could just buy new shit once I’m gone.
I glance around the cabin—the cheap pine paneling, the dust-covered blinds, the old leather couch. It all feels too damn small, too damn quiet. Especially after the shouting match Charli and I had not even an hour ago.
I still hear her voice in my head.
“Because you’ll be gone soon.”
She said that like the past month didn’t matter.
I’m here every day, working. Helping. Trying to be patient while she pushed and prodded and tested me at every turn.
I should’ve known better.
I slam the suitcase shut and zip it halfway before grabbing my boots from beside the door. I need to get the hell out of here before I say something I can’t take back.
There’s a knock at the door.
I ignore it.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Go away,” I mutter, tossing a handful of socks on top of the suitcase and pushing down on it with my knee.
Whoever’s out there doesn’t take the hint. The knocking turns into full-on banging, rattling the frame.
I stomp across the room, every muscle in my jaw tight. The second I yank the door open, I’m already barking, “What?” expecting to see Charli standing there, ready to throw more fire my way.
Butit’s not her.
It’s Matty.
She stands there on the porch with rain dripping off the brim of her hat, eyes sharp and steady and pinning me to the floor. “We need to talk,” she says, brushing past me before I can stop her.
The scent of rain and hay follows her inside, mixing with the stale air of the cabin. She stops just a few steps in, taking in the half-packed suitcase on the couch. I watch the way her expression changes from disbelief to something like disappointment.
“Going somewhere?” she says finally.
“Yeah. Cutting out early. Gonna catch up with the PBR Challenger Series in Vegas,” I tell her. My voice comes out flat, mechanical. “Don’t worry. You’ll get all the money the contract promised.” I don’t even look up when I say it.
She spins on me so fast, and I can feel the heat coming off her. “You think I give a damn about the money?”
I drag a hand down my face and let out a humorless laugh. “Isn’t that why you’re here? To talk me into staying? What, you want me to crawl back on the back of a bronc and pretend to fucking like it?”
Her arms cross, one eyebrow lifting. “I couldn’t care less if you rode a bronc.”
“Good,” I snap. “Because I’d rather break my neck on the back of a bull than ride a bronc.”
Matty tilts her head. “Good news for you,” she says evenly. “You can break your neck on either one.”
