Page 7 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

"Sure you are." She snorts, the sound so unexpected it momentarily jars me out of my spiral.

"And I'm the Queen of England. Listen, we all have our triggers.

Mine's wedding receptions. Can't handle them, even now.

All that champagne, people saying, 'Just one glass for the toast.'" She mimics a high, wheedling voice.

"Makes me want to throat-punch someone while simultaneously diving headfirst into the nearest bottle of bubbly. "

A surprised laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "That's... specific."

"Trauma usually is." She leans against my car like we're old friends, not strangers in a parking lot. "So, you're new in town. Where are you staying?"

The question is casual, but something in her eyes tells me she genuinely wants to know. It's been so long since someone looked at me with simple curiosity instead of judgment or pity that I find myself answering honestly.

"Walker Ranch. I'm working there as a financial consultant."

Tessa's eyebrows shoot up. "No shit? Bradford finally convinced his son to get help?"

"Not exactly. He still thinks he doesn’t need me." The memory of Bradley's cold eyes and dismissive words surfaces.

"Ah." She nods knowingly. "Bradley Walker. Town's most eligible hermit bachelor. Great ass, greater trust issues."

Heat rushes to my face. "I wouldn't know about his... I mean, I just met him today."

"And he was a total dick, right?" Tessa grins at my startled expression. "Small town. I know everyone's business. And Bradley's been wound tighter than a two-dollar watch since his ex left."

I shift uncomfortably. The conversation has veered into territory I'm not prepared to navigate. "I should probably get back. It's getting late."

"Sure." Tessa straightens, but makes no move to leave. Instead, she looks at me with sudden seriousness. "Do you have a sponsor here?"

The question catches me off guard. "I just moved here today."

"That's not what I asked."

Suddenly exhausted, I run a hand through my hair. "No. My sponsor's back in Chicago."

"That's what I thought." She nods decisively. "I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"Be your sponsor." She says it like it's already decided, like there's no possibility of refusal. "You need someone local. Someone who knows this town, knows the triggers hiding around every corner. I've been where you are—new place, fresh start, same old demons packed in your suitcase."

I stare at her, this bright, chaotic woman who's inserting herself into my life with the subtlety of a freight train. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough." Her voice softens slightly.

"I know you flinched when Matt talked about his accident.

I know your hands shake when you think no one's looking.

And I know that living out at Walker Ranch, surrounded by cowboys and cattle and probably a whole lot of isolation, isn't the easiest place to stay sober.

" She meets my gaze directly. "Sobriety's a bitch, but it beats the alternative. "

The simplicity of that truth hits me harder than any of the flowery speeches I've heard in meetings. It's raw and real and exactly what I need to hear.

"I don't need—"

"Yes, you do." She cuts me off gently but firmly. "Everyone needs someone, Hailey. Especially us."

I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of me. She's right, and we both know it. Moving to Montana, I'd told myself I could handle recovery alone. That I was strong enough now. Six months sober and suddenly I was invincible, right? But tonight proved how fragile that strength really is.

"Okay," I say finally.

Tessa's face breaks into a wide, genuine smile that transforms her entirely. "Great. First order of business, you're coming to my bakery tomorrow."

"I have work—"

"Before work. After work, doesn’t matter.

" She's already digging in her oversized purse, pulling out a napkin and a pen with a plastic flamingo on top.

She scribbles an address with dramatic flourishes.

"The Wildflower Oven. I open at five but come at seven.

The morning rush will be over, and the cinnamon rolls will be fresh out of the oven.

" She presses the napkin into my hand, her fingers warm against mine.

"The cinnamon rolls alone will keep you coming back," she adds with a wink.

I glance down at the napkin, where she's written not just the address but drawn a little cartoon cupcake with a smiley face. Something unexpectedly warm unfurls in my chest. It's been so long since anyone has simply been kind to me without an agenda.

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than she could possibly know.

"Don't thank me yet. I'm a tough sponsor. You'll be cursing my name by the end of the week." She pushes off from my car, adjusting her mismatched earrings. "Seven tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll hunt you down at that ranch." She turns to go, then spins back. "And hey, Hailey?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happened—whatever's making you carry all that weight—it doesn't define you. Not unless you let it."

Before I can respond, she's walking away, her red boots clicking against the asphalt, blonde curls bouncing with each step. I watch until she reaches a battered blue pickup truck, wondering how a complete stranger managed to see straight through me in the span of ten minutes.

For the first time since arriving in Montana, I feel the ghost of a genuine smile tugging at my lips. It's small and uncertain, but it's there.