Page 44 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

COLT

T he city rises around us like it’s made of steel and glass and unfinished business. I’ve seen pictures of New York and watched plenty of movies featuring it, but nothing has prepared me for how small I feel, being here.

Stormy sits beside me in the back seat of the SUV that picked us up at the private airport. Her expression is calm but focused, and she hasn’t said much since we landed. I haven’t pushed her to speak either. My girl has a lot on her mind, and she’ll talk when she’s ready.

The SUV slows in front of a high-rise with a private entrance and a doorman who probably makes more in a week than I did working on my parents’ ranch for a month.

Stormy grabs my hand and turns to me when the vehicle stops.

“Are they here for you?” I ask, not completely understanding the gravity of this situation.

“Yes. Ignore them. Ignore what they say. Keep your eyes forward, okay?”

I give her a nod, and she squeezes my hand. Seconds later, Stormy’s door opens. The moment her heels hit the curb, her name is shouted from different directions. The flashes nearly blind me.

“Stormy! Is it true you called off the wedding at the altar?”

“Stormy, who’s the new guy? Is this your replacement for Donovan?”

“Are the rumors about your mental breakdown true?”

She keeps moving forward, and I stay beside her as she pretends this is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s intense, and I don’t know how anyone lives their everyday life this way.

One guy steps too close for comfort, and I slam my shoulder into him. “Back the fuck up, bud.”

My voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be.

Based on my expression, he knows I’m not asking.

I don’t care what kind of photo they’re trying to get of her or us.

He lifts his camera to angle past me, and I shift my body to block him.

Stormy reaches for my hand, and I take it without question.

Her small frame dragging me at six-two must be a scene.

“Stormy! Give us something!”

“She’s not answering questions,” I say over my shoulder. “Respect her space.”

They keep their distance but continue screaming her name.

My hand stays in hers as she guides me closer to the building. Park Towers sparkles in golden letters above the entrance.

The guard nods as we approach, and the doors slide open. When we slip inside, the noise cuts off, as if someone flipped a switch. I immediately feel out of place.

She exhales slowly, but her stiff posture doesn’t change. She’s not rattled, but I can see the difference in her here versus in Texas. She’s tense, calculative, and wearing armor I haven’t seen.

The elevator opens, and she presses her thumb against the pad. We zip upward, and she leans against the mirrored wall, lost in her thoughts.

“Do you deal with that all the time?” I ask.

She nods. “Since I was a young child.”

I squeeze her hand. “How?”

She glances over at me. “I didn’t have a choice. I was trained for this life from birth.”

“You walked through it like you were bulletproof,” I mutter, impressed.

She stares at me for a long moment, like she can’t believe I’m here. I pull her closer, and she wraps her arms around my waist.

Leaning forward, I press my lips against her forehead. “You’re safe.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, squeezing me a little tighter as the elevator doors open.

We step into a private foyer, and then she unlocks the door and allows me inside first.

Two walls are made of glass with crisp lines, offering a view that stretches across the city. I can see the river and Central Park.

“This is your home?” I take a slow glance around.

Everything is beautiful and expensive, but it doesn’t feel lived in.

Stormy sets her bag down on a marble counter. “It never felt like one.”

“Yeah, I get that vibe. Doesn’t feel like you.” I notice how the air smells like lemons and money, and every wall is millennial gray.

This makes me chuckle.

“What?”

I shake my head. “The color on the wall.”

A pretty smile touches her lips, and it’s the first one I’ve seen since we deboarded the plane.

“I need to grab a few phone numbers from my office upstairs. Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here, waiting.”

She disappears up the stairs. There’s something about the way she walks away with her shoulders squared and jaw tight. I hope she takes a quiet moment for herself while she’s up there.

I move to the windows and stare outside. Buildings stack on top of each other, and it’s beautiful, in a way. Nothing like Valentine, where the sky’s so big that it’s easy to forget your name.

I hear her voice before I see her.

“No. First thing tomorrow. Not a call, in person. Just make it happen.” She’s direct. Upset. I can hear it in her voice.

I turn toward the stairway as she steps back into view, phone still in hand. She looks executive, like someone who knows how to walk through fires.

When she notices me watching, she lowers the phone to her side.

“I have a meeting with my father tomorrow,” she says.

There’s a beat before I respond because I’m still catching up to the pace of her world.

“Great. Can’t wait to meet him,” I say.

Stormy walks past me toward the kitchen without missing a beat. She opens the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and takes a long drink before answering. “It won’t be a happy get-together. I’m quitting,” she says, setting the cap back on.

I tilt my head at her.

“I was groomed to take over the family business since I was old enough to speak. I’m the best at what I do, but it was never my dream. I was never given a choice.”

She’s not unraveling. She’s organizing. Planning her next move with the kind of focus that comes from knowing exactly what she wants in life.

“What is your dream?” I ask.

She pauses, bottle still in her hand. Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s no scripted answer behind them, only a flicker of something unfinished.

“I don’t know,” she says and pauses. “But I know what’s not.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life spinning lies and truths into something marketable.

I no longer want to protect men like Donovan because they cut the biggest checks.

And it sure as hell isn’t pretending I’m proud of being a part of a family that never felt like one. ”

I move to her, wrapping my arms around her. “I support any decision you make.”

She holds me tight. “I used to think power was having a seat at the table. The real power is knowing when to walk away.”

I let that sit between us for a second because there’s something sacred in how she said it. Something that sounds a lot like freedom.

“I’m proud of you,” I tell her because I can’t imagine how hard this will be. But I know the ache of letting go of something you built.

“I met you, and my entire outlook on life changed. I felt alive, something I wasn’t used to. In Texas, I learned how to breathe without being worried about who was watching or snapping photos.”

My hand finds the edge of her hip.

“What about your sister?” I ask. “She’s still on your list, isn’t she?”

Stormy doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes shift toward the window, then back to mine, her jaw working through whatever she’s not saying yet. But when she speaks, her voice is clear. Certain.

“Yes. But I won’t have to chase her. She will come to me after I confront my father,” she says with confidence. “I know her better than anyone. Or at least, I thought I did. Her secretly being with Donovan shocked me.”

I don’t speak as I tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear and listen.

“She doesn’t get to rewrite what she did. I’ve let them control the version of me they liked best. That stops now. I’ll look her in the eye, and I will not let her forget that she was one of the reasons I had to rebuild my life from ash.”

Every word she says lands with weight.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” I tell her. “Whatever you need.”

She nods, and the tension in her shoulders ease. “I don’t want you to fight my battles.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m standing beside you while you win them.”

Her lips twitch, and it’s something between a smile and a breath of relief.

We don’t move for a while. I hold her and hold on to the space between who she was and who she’s choosing to be.

Since we landed, I realize she was never returning to New York to walk back into her past, but to confront it so she can leave it behind.

Stormy leans in and presses her mouth against mine. I kiss her back, one hand brushing her jaw. There’s no need to say anything else; it’s already been said.

When we pull apart, her forehead rests against mine. Her eyes stay closed.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I tell her. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

I mean it, and she knows I do.

After a while, she steps back from me and lets her fingers trail down the front of my shirt. “I’m hungry. We should get some food.”

I nod once. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

She glances back at me, one brow slightly raised. “You sure you’re up for this? We might get followed.”

I steal another kiss, and she melts into me.

“I flew across the country to be by your side. I think I can handle a walk through the city. Should I change clothes?”

Her lips quirk up like she’s trying not to smile. “Only if you want. I don’t care what you wear.”

“I know. But like you wanted to be a cowboy princess at the rodeo, I want to fit in your world too. It would make me feel more comfortable with so many pictures being taken. Worse than my damn grandma.”

“We’ll stop at one of my favorite boutiques before we eat.”

We escape from the building by taking a back entrance. Her hand is tucked in mine, and a smile plays at the corners of her mouth.

She leads me down a quiet block lined with boutiques that only those from a particular social class shop at. The storefront she leads me into looks like a museum. It has no name, no hours, and zero price tags. A man in a sleek gray suit greets her like she’s royalty returning from exile.