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She shot off a text with a lot of exclamation points and emojis at Marigold’s accomplishment. She was just setting down the phone again when she heard a familiar deep baritone outside the bathroom door.

She started to turn back to finish her shower, but the words Shaw spoke stopped her dead.

“The team has a great reputation for major playing power. They just need a good leader, someone to take them to the next level. I’m confident that coach is me.”

Her heart flip-flopped. He was talking with someone on the phone about a coaching position.

Hockey.

Just when she reconnected with Shaw, an offer to coach came in? He’d never hinted that he wanted to rekindle their relationship, but when she saw that look in his eyes and…

Well, she’d jumped to conclusions, obviously. She knew her ex—hockey was his first love. When he lost it, he ran far and fast, which meant dropping her and Marigold.

How could she be so stupid?

Realizing she was still dripping wet, she grabbed a towel off the rack. Hastily, she wrapped herself in the terrycloth while her emotions roiled with each word Shaw spoke.

“That sounds like an incredible opportunity. A challenge I’m up for.”

The old excitement for the sport he loved rang in his voice. He’d always wanted this.

Sloane only remembered the worst parts of hockey. Every game they lost ruined the mood. The tension Shaw carried with him in the days leading up to games had given her whiplash. She could honestly say that while they fought before, his mood swings after the injury led to their breakup.

She couldn’t do it. Not again.

Long seconds passed before Shaw spoke again, thanking the caller for the chance and promising to meet with him by the end of the week.

She’d be gone by then…but maybe it was better to leave now.

Why stick around pretending she hadn’t stupidly hung her hopes on the one man who knew how to wreck her?

Leaving Dylan would be another kind of wrench. So stupid of her, getting emotionally attached to a man after a short time. No matter how real it all felt, it wasn’t.

Hands shaking, she used her phone to call the ranch office. A woman answered, and Sloane pitched her voice low to keep from being overheard despite the shower still running.

“This is Sloane Simpson in Bungalow 12. I need a car arranged for me immediately. I’m leaving the ranch.”

Chapter Thirteen

Dylan eased onto the sofa with care. Babying his back had become the norm, but he was damn annoyed that he’d taken that fall. If his riding skills were that rusty, then he wouldn’t get far this season in the PBR.

He eyed Shaw. The man paced up and down the short hallway, speaking on the phone. From what he discerned from the snippets of the one-sided conversation, Shaw was getting an offer from the college where he was interested in coaching.

Dylan already admired the hell out of the guy, and did more so now. He was pushing toward his goal, his dream. Dylan had to wonder if he’d ever had that same kind of drive.

His whole life, he just floated along, doing what he was good at. He wasn’t as invested in winning championships as Shaw was in the game of hockey.

A thumping noise came from the bedroom. Then another.

He threw a look at Shaw’s back—he was still deep in conversation.

Pushing off the couch, Dylan headed to the bedroom to check on Sloane. He knocked softly. When she didn’t answer, he pushed open the door.

Shock tore through him. She had her suitcase on the bed and was hurling clothes into it.

She didn’t bother looking up from her task of tossing garments into the suitcase.

“What are you doing?”