Page 57 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

"I understand," he says finally. "Go change. I'll wait."

I start toward the door, then pause when he speaks again.

"For an omega, you really aren't burdensome."

The words are so unexpected, so at odds with his usual cold demeanor, that I'm struck speechless. It's not exactly a compliment— the qualifying "for an omega" makes sure of that —but from Rafe? This might as well be a declaration of affection.

Before I can formulate a response, he's walking away, already pulling out his phone to probably rearrange whatever meeting he's missing to drive me to discuss a book about an omega who couldn't choose between alphas.

The irony isn't lost on me.

I head to my room— and it is mine now, truly mine in a way no space has ever been —to change. I haven’t done my nest yet, wanting to have the time to really decorate it, but I’ll aim to do that maybe next week.

The fuzzy shirt and puppy slippers get reluctantly exchanged for dark jeans that actually fit properly, the ones Talon helped me pick out because "your ass looks amazing in them, Cherry Bomb," and a burgundy sweater that's soft as sin and supposedly brings out the red in my hair.

It was intriguing that he was using the same nickname that Briar had given me, which only made me further worry about her.

How was she surviving with this whole government issue?

Was she still at Crimson or did she leave?

How are the Omegas surviving in this chaos.

She’s thankful that she’s no longer in that chaotic environment.

Having been here for almost a month now was beginning to show that her life back then was a circus in itself, always testing her and leaving her in a state of fight or flight mode.

Now she got to enjoy life peacefully, with no unexpected chaos, though she’s also ready for it if need be, knowing that her men did have dark passes that could creep up on her or any of them. She truthfully didn’t want to be a burden, which is why she also wanted to grow in her independence here.

Learn to cook meals, learn to drive in dirt roads. Maybe even ride Luna independently.

She wanted to be an asset to the pack.

Not a burden who made them worry every single time she wasn’t in this wooden glass house.

I keep the outfit simple—these omegas already look at me like I'm some curiosity. No need to give them more ammunition by showing up either underdressed or trying too hard.

As I'm pulling on actual shoes—ankle boots that Corwin insisted were "practical but stylish"—I think about Rafe's comment.

For an omega, you really aren't burdensome.

It shouldn't mean as much as it does.

It's barely a compliment, hedged with qualifiers and delivered in his typical grudging tone. But from Rafe, who's spent four weeks barely tolerating my existence, who still tenses whenever I enter a room, who watches me like I'm about to reveal myself as the disaster he's expecting?

It's progress.

I think about the book I just finished, about Celeste playing two alphas against each other, never choosing, never committing. About how she'd rather fake her death than deal with the consequences of her choices.

That's not me.

Could never be me.

I've spent three years with no choices, no agency, no ability to control even the smallest aspects of my life. Now that I have choices—overwhelming as they are sometimes—I'm not going to waste them on games.

Even with Rafe being difficult, even with the ghost of Sophia hanging over everything, even with Luca stirring up trouble, I want to be here. Want to figure out how to fit into this pack, this town, this life that still feels too good to be real sometimes.

My phone buzzes with a text from Poppy:

Heard you're getting chauffeured by Mr. Grumpy himself. Try not to kill each other. Or do. Either would be entertaining.

I grin, knowing either Talon or Corwin probably text her to check in on me.I quickly type back:

He said I'm not burdensome. I'm considering it a marriage proposal.

Her response is just a string of laughing emojis followed by:

RIP Rafe's sanity.

Another text comes through, this one from the pack group chat.

Talon : Heard Rafe's taking you to book club. Proof that miracles exist.

Shiloh : be nice to him red

Red : I'm always nice!

Talon : LIES

Corwin : Try to get back before the rain gets worse. Weather report shows it getting bad tonight.

Red : How's the omega?

There's a pause before Corwin responds.

Corwin : Stable now. She'll be okay. Eventually.

The weight in those words sits heavy in my chest.

Another omega pushed to the breaking point, another casualty of a system that treats us like possessions rather than people. I wonder what her story is, what drove her to that point, whether she has anyone who actually cares about her recovery beyond the inconvenience it causes.

She wonders if it’s triggering for any of them — maybe specifically for Rafe — which may be why they want to keep him busy.

I’m sure the news will spread sooner or later, because that’s how it went in small towns like Jackridge, but tonight, he’d simply be focused on his newfound duty to take her to book club.

I grab my purse— another new acquisition that still feels foreign, like playing dress-up— and the book I need to return to the club's lending library.

The bookmark photo strip catches my eye, and I smile remembering how Poppy and I had squeezed into that tiny booth, making increasingly ridiculous faces until we were both crying with laughter.

That's what I want.

Not the drama of the book, not Celeste's tragic inability to choose. I want laughter and ridiculous photos and small moments that add up to something real.

When I make it back downstairs, Rafe's waiting by the door, having exchanged his dress shoes for more practical boots. He's added a leather jacket that probably costs more than most cars, and he looks...

Well, he looks unfairly good, the bastard.

"Ready?" His tone is neutral, careful. Yet his eyes are admiring me slowly, almost appreciatively.

"Ready," I confirm, then glance at the window where rain is now coming down in sheets. "Though maybe we should have an ark rather than a car."

His lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close.

"The Range Rover can handle it."

Am I surprised he drives a Range Rover? Not in the slightest. Probably black, definitely pristine, the kind of vehicle that says 'I have money but I'm not tacky about it.'

I'm right on all counts.

The interior smells like leather and that expensive car smell that's somehow both artificial and appealing.

I settle into the passenger seat, trying not to think about how this is the first time I've been alone with Rafe since our “collision” in the hallway three weeks ago.

He starts the car, and classical music fills the space—something with piano and strings that should feel pretentious but somehow doesn't.

"You can change it if you want," he offers, not looking at me as he navigates down the dark driveway.

"It's nice," I say honestly. "Peaceful."

We drive in silence for a few minutes, the rain drumming on the roof, the wipers keeping steady time.

It should be awkward, probably is awkward, but there's something almost comfortable about it too.

Like we're both trying to figure out how to exist in the same space without defaulting to antagonism.

"What's tonight's book?" he finally asks as we turn onto the main road toward town.

" Hearts Divided . Romance about an omega who can't choose between two alphas."

He makes a sound that might be disgust.

"Let me guess—she strings them both along for three hundred pages then somehow gets both in the end?"

"Worse. She fakes her death rather than choose."

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"That's not romance. That's manipulation."

"Thank you!" The words burst out of me. "That's what I've been thinking the entire time, but I bet tonight everyone will talk about how tragic and romantic it is, how she was trapped by society's expectations, how the alphas should have just agreed to share her from the beginning."

Pure blasphemy.

"Sharing only works if everyone actually wants it," Rafe says quietly, and I know we're not talking about the book anymore. "If it's forced, if someone's just going along to keep the peace or keep from losing... that's not a pack. That's a hostage situation."

The weight of Sophia hangs between us, unspoken but present.

"Is that what it was like?" I ask carefully, daring to associate it with what he dealt with in the past. "With her?"

It’s a risky assumption, and I try not to feel bad about asking, but it’s a topic I know we’ll have to discuss eventually, and frankly I don’t want to keep tiptoeing around the idea as if its never going to come up.

He's quiet for so long I think he's not going to answer. I don’t mind if he doesn’t, which is why I allow the silence to drag, giving him permission to speak if he wishes or to ignore it entirely.

The rain gets heavier, forcing him to slow down, and I can see his jaw working as he weighs his words.

"We thought she wanted it," he finally says. "Thought she was happy. She said all the right things, did all the right things. Decorated her nest, wore our marks, attended pack dinners. But looking back..."

He trails off, and I wait.

"Looking back, she was performing. Just like those omegas at your book club. Going through the motions because that's what was expected, what would keep the peace, what would maintain her status and security."

I frown at the imagination of it all, and how such performative fakeness is somehow justified.

"That must have been horrible," I say softly. "For all of you."

He thinks about it long and hard, and though he tries not to show it, I can see the strain of conviction.

"It was worse for her." His voice is flat, emotionless, but I can hear the pain underneath.

"We were so busy congratulating ourselves on having an omega, on being a 'real' pack, that we didn't notice she was drowning until it was too late.

" He pauses before muttering, “Or maybe I was the one so lost in my bubble of hopeful perfection that I didn’t see the true signs for me and my pack.”

We pull into town, the lights of the shops blurry through the rain-soaked windshield.

The coffee shop is just ahead, warm light spilling from its windows, and I can see several figures already inside.

"I'm not her," I tell him as he pulls into a parking spot, the word a tad sudden but deciding this is the best time and place to emphasize the truth that maybe he’s scared of confronting.

"I know you're worried about history repeating itself, but I'm not her.

I don't know how to perform that kind of perfection.

I can barely figure out which fork to use at dinner. "

He turns to look at me fully for the first time since we got in the car.

"I know you're not her," he says quietly yet firmly, before his eyes soften ever so soften as he mutters, "That's what terrifies me."

Before I can ask what he means, he's out of the car, coming around with an umbrella I didn't even know he had.

He holds it over me as I get out, keeping me dry while rain soaks his shoulders.

"You don't have to—" I start.

"Yes, I do," he cuts me off. "What time should I pick you up?"

"Nine? Unless you want to come in, see what all the fuss is about?"

The look he gives me suggests he'd rather have dental surgery without anesthesia.

"I'll be here at nine."

I nod, then impulsively reach up to fix his collar where the rain has made it curl.

He freezes at the touch, and I quickly pull my hand back.

"Thanks for driving me," I say. "I know you had better things to do."

He's quiet for a moment, then "Be careful with them."

"The other omegas?"

"They're not as harmless as they seem. Jealousy makes people cruel, and you..." He pauses, seeming to search for words. "You shine too bright for them not to notice."

It's the closest thing to a real compliment he's ever given me, and I'm stunned speechless.

Before I can recover, he's walking back to the car, leaving me standing under the coffee shop's awning with my heart doing complicated things in my chest.

As I watch him drive away, his taillights blurring in the rain, I think to myself that maybe I'll grow on him.

Eventually.