Page 76

Rebeka

BEING A MEMBER OF THEmile-high club wasn't something on my bucket list. I mean, who thought they would ever have the chance? Wonder if I got bonus points for being initiated on a private jet.

“What are you smiling about?” Brenton asked from behind the wheel of my truck. Or was it his truck? Our truck?

“Do I get a badge or something?”

“What?” he laughed.

“You know, the mile-high club, what we just did on the plane—twice. Do I get a badge? Or is there maybe some secret handshake I get to learn?”

Instead of answering, he shook his head and smiled out the windshield.

With a smile of my own, I watched out the window at the diminishing lights of Midland. The day was perfect. Well, minus his dad showing up. And the attorney not having anything new for Brenton. And I guess coming back early was a killjoy too. But besides all that, it was a perfect day.

Because it was just us.

I snuck a side glance his way. One wrist rested on top of the wheel as he leaned back in the driver seat, relaxed. Smiling. Brenton Graves was an enigma. A military-tatted badass with millions in the bank and enough family drama to rival any reality show.

If I had to guess, the man sitting beside me was the true Brenton Graves. The man his dad had shoved so far away with drugs and women when he and Caleb were kids. We were both a little broken in that way. Never been loved unconditionally. And maybe, based on that slight defect, might not be able to give it.

I was running back to the man who had already hurt me once, and I knew it would happen again. What did that say about me?

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I asked, wanting to deflect my deep internal thoughts.

“Honestly?”

The leather groaned as I swirled in the seat to face him. “Always.”

“Yeah. I don't know what I'll do if Dad gets the ranch. I want to think Pappy wouldn't leave our family land to him, but it's tradition, what our family’s done for generations.”

“Would you want it?”

“I wouldn't want anyone else to have it.”

“That doesn't answer my question. Would you want it? Could you ever see yourself coming back here and making this place your home?”

“Beks....”

“I'm not saying with me,” I said with a sigh. The hesitation on his part sent my stomach rolling. “I'm just asking a question, not trying to hoodwink you.”

“The army is my home.”

Right. Back to that.

Instead of pushing him, I rested my head against the headrest and shut my eyes.

“It's not you. It's me.”

Behind my lids, I rolled my eyes. “Can you not be so cliché? Don't use a line 90 percent of men use as a brush-off. I deserve originality. At least give me that.”

No response. Only the hum of the tires rolling along the smooth interstate filled the cab the rest of the drive back.

**

THE ANNOYANCE AT HIScomment grew to pent-up anger. If he said a single word before I could get out of the truck, I’d probably explode. The engine idled outside Daddy's place, but thankfully Brenton continued to sit silently. I yanked the door handle and shoved it wide open, ready to be alone for a few hours to collect the damn rolling emotions he’d caused.

“I'll walk you in,” Brenton muttered at my back.