Page 11 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

“So, nothing, cupid.” My lips twitch, seeing the hopeless romantic flickering away behind Brad’s eyes.

“In case you missed the memo, I’ve gotta stay focused on rodeo, and manage the ranch.

There ain’t time to waste on navel-gazing and figuring out why I suddenly wanted a guy when I’ve never felt that way before. ”

“Oh, I bet you weren’t gazing at your navel.” He waggles his eyebrows.

A full-bodied laugh barks out of me, and I give him a harder push this time. “Shut up. ”

“Cool . . . so you played a little tonsil hockey with a dude . . . one time?”

I shrug. “Yeah. That’s all it was.” The more we talk about this, the less of a big deal it seems. One little kiss? And here I’ve been blowing it all out of proportion. It seems pathetic, laughable, really.

Brad taps on the railing, staring out into the arena as we watch the next horse and rider complete their cloverleaf pattern, circling the barrels.

“So, then what happened? You put yourself on ice for months on end and clammed up like a high-security vault rather than talk to anyone about it—I’m not butt hurt, by the way.

Not. At. All.” Brad sticks out his bottom lip and proceeds to dramatically plunge an imaginary knife into his heart.

“God, you’re a drama queen.”

“Have you told other people? Or talked to anyone else about this?”

“Just you, man.”

Brad clicks his tongue softly. “Ok, Wilder, you’ve officially gone a little way toward patching up that giant hole you just gouged in my heart.

I’m honored you felt like you could tell me.

Even if I’ll never let you live it down that you were sneaking around sticking your tongue in a boy’s mouth at my own party and didn’t tell me. ”

I dig my heel into the dirt. “I was hardly shoving my tongue anywhere. It wasn’t like I planned for it to happen or anything.”

“Was he a good kisser, at least? For your first time and all.”

“Fuck, you’re really not making this easy.” My ears singe, and I wrap one palm around the back of my neck. “Dunno. I guess so? Pretty sure I went from staring at his mouth, to blacking out when he grabbed hold of me. I think I only came back to earth when he walked away.”

“Hot.” Brad sighs wistfully. “So you think it’s guys only for you, or are you still figuring things out? Which is totally normal, by the way.” He’s hasty to add.

Groaning, my head tips back between my shoulders. “Pretty sure I’m just broken.”

“Dude. No way. You’re not... maybe you’re just needing a deeper connection?

” Brad eye rolls me with a quit being so pathetic look .

“Now that you haven’t got booze to use as a crutch, you’re probably in a better state of mind to realize what, or who, you’re actually wanting.

You should see if he still wants to meet up? ”

He might be right, but it still feels awkward, like a pair of boots a size too small. I try to brush it off. “No promises—besides, I can’t go for a drink , so it makes it kinda weird jumping straight in the deep end to ask a guy out for dinner, or some shit like that.”

Brad laughs. “Kayce Wilder. Stage five clinger right out the gate.”

“Fuck you.” My lips tip up.

He grins broadly while digging out his phone, checking a message that has just arrived.

“Crap, I gotta go help out my dad over at the stables.” With a thoughtful, searching stare, he looks up from the phone, narrowing his eyes at me, and then lands a soft punch on my arm.

“You’re good? Need me to find an excuse to bunk work so we can go for a drive if you wanna chat more in private? ”

“Nah, go see what old man Rhodes wants. I’m fine . . . but thanks for . . . you know . . . understanding.”

He starts striding away, but calls back over his shoulder. “If you need anyone to talk to about how weird the heart is, I’m your guy. My best friend is dating my dad, and well, Flinn and I have got a story to tell you one of these days.”

I chuckle and wave him off, deciding to stay and watch a couple more of the barrel racers before heading to my truck.

Damn, it feels like a whole elephant has climbed off my chest by unloading some of that to Brad.

Having him just listen . Even if it doesn’t exactly solve the problem about the bonfire night or any of the messed up collision of thoughts I’ve had ever since.

Maybe it really is because I’m broken?

I’ve never felt close to anyone, certainly not enough to trust them, and definitely not to fall into something more involved than just chasing a rush.

Drinking helped me pretend, be the guy who fucked around, nothing but a good time.

The life of the motherfucking party, the last man standing at five a.m., all while dying on the inside.

As I decide to head home, to make my way back up Devil’s Peak, my phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out and catch a glimpse of my notifications, a plummeting sense of stone-cold dread hits out of the blue.

Mom .

Our non-existent relationship summarized in the series of red dots steadily piling up on my phone screen. Three Missed Calls. Two new voicemails. Five unread texts.

I’ve already ignored the attempted calls that came in earlier. Arriving in Crimson Ridge and being back in cell phone service always means picking up a whole slurry of notifications when they all bombard me at once.

In this case, I’m gladly going to overlook anything where her name is concerned. There’s only one reason she ever tries to talk , and it’s when she wants something.

Beneath that is another handful of attempted calls from an Unknown Number. Most likely her, too.

Mom has her own demons. She’s always loved the pills over and above anything else. Still does to this day, even though she might try to claim she’s really truly given them up for good this time.

We both know she’s lying.

There are other texts waiting for me, mostly from Chaos.

His recent ones rabbit on about an upcoming event at The Loaded Hog, Crimson Ridge’s one and only place to find a hot meal and a cold drink.

What had previously been a backcountry dive bar has remodeled itself, polishing up nicely since he and his brothers took over not too long ago.

Even though Chaos rides broncs, he still rolls up his sleeves and helps out the other Chaos Twin— as the two of them are affectionately known around here.

A name that suits him down to the ground, but is more of an ironic nickname for Knox.

The guy isn’t even related to the Hayes’ for a start, never mind the fact he’s the ominous thundercloud to Chaos’ eternal sunshine.

Chaos:

Come to the Hog on Saturday? We’re putting on a thing for Oscar since he’s back in town. You can be my bar bitch. Wash glasses and look pretty.

I type out a reply while I’m still here and have cell coverage. After my chat with Brad and knowing all the shit I gotta keep on top of at Devil’s Peak Ranch, I’m not feeling it.

As tempting as that sounds... Nah, I don’t think I can be bothered.

C’mon. Do it for Knox?

Apparently business is always way better when Crimson Ridge’s star attraction turns up.

It’s me. I’m the star attraction.

Sighing and shaking my head with a wry smile, I start tapping at the keys.

He loves nothing more than to flash a set of pearly whites and play up the starlet bareback bronc rider role.

And he’s not wrong; the nights when The Loaded Hog can advertise that they’ve got rodeo competitors in-house to take some photos with and sign some autographs, the place packs out.

Your modesty is fucking breathtaking.

I’ll think about it. No promises.

A reply pings back quickly, but knowing Chaos, it’ll be something dumb.

So I slip my phone into my pocket and cut a path across the yard to my truck.

Between opening up about what I’m feeling for the first time, to all the failed attempts at getting in touch from Mom, to worrying about how my next event is going to go, my head is a swirling mess circling the drainpipe.

Yeah, I’m just needing to cover some miles and blast some music, and not have to deal with any of it at present.

Once I’m behind the wheel and cruising down the long gravel drive, my head is dragged to another part of Crimson Ridge, to dwell on thoughts of the other ranch where I spend so much of my time at present.

Maybe it’s the lingering ghost of seeing my mom’s name on my phone, but inevitably, my past with Raine lurches to the front of my mind as I bounce over a pothole .

It still stings like a bitch what he did. The way he just left .

To make it worse, even though we were still in each other’s lives, he made it plainly obvious he didn’t want to know me.

The rodeo community does what it does and stays tight, but he couldn’t have flashed a bigger fuck off sign my way.

Once I was old enough to start competing, I still saw my stepbrother all the goddamn time, but now it was in the arena.

It was only ever under the spotlight and glare of going up against one another.

We were permanently skating on thin ice, being in close proximity, a hair’s breadth from a fiery standoff at every turn.

Angst and rampaging testosterone that threatened to spill over whenever the jagged, torn edges of our worlds touched.

Heap on top of that a rivalry in competition standings, constant points scoring, and the drive to come out as the one astride a podium.

.. well, that soured our dynamic even more.

There wasn’t ever a world where me and Raine were going to get along.

He set the tone from that very first day, when he might as well have spat in my face at the prospect of our parents getting married.

He made it abundantly clear he’d rather chew glass than get to know me as a person.

He was the one who sneered and told me to get the fuck out of his life.

And yet, the most wretched, starkly messed up part in all of this—the bit I can’t seem to shake no matter how hard I try to ignore it—is how he stood in my way and blocked my entrance to the barn.

He might have been slinging verbal barbs in my direction, but there’s something about his presence, seeing him up close, that keeps nagging in my brain.

If I had to put a label on it, the fact he didn’t ignore me and walk off without saying a word, was... different.

Why did having Raine’s attention on me feel like a welcome thing? And more importantly, why the hell did it warm my blood, rather than causing it to boil?