Page 29 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

K ayce hasn’t said a word since I picked him up from the medical center.

Sitting there like a statue, he listlessly watches out the window, and I honestly don’t know if anything will make this better for him.

When I pulled up, he was already waiting out in the cold.

Sat on the wooden bench beside the automatic doors with his head resting on one hand, phone in the other.

I didn’t need to hear the words because there’s a universal language across rodeo.

Slumped shoulders and a faraway look in his eyes when he blinked a couple of times at the sight of my arrival—like he was trying to figure out what planet he was even on—the standard symbol for bad fucking news .

I don’t want to push it. If he talks, he talks. If he wants to self-destruct, then who am I to stop him?

He’s got friends. He’s got his dad. They can be there for him.

Clearing my throat, I jerk my chin in the direction of a burger joint with a drive-through. “I’m gonna grab a bite before we hit the road.”

“Sure.”

“Need something to eat?” I hit the blinker and we bump over the curb.

Kayce exhales heavily, both hands dragging over his face. “I don’ t fucking know. Might just end up hurling it all back up,” he croaks into his palms.

“Some food will help.” I wind the window down and rattle off an order for both of us into the speaker.

I don’t bother pulling over to stop and eat.

There’s too much shit I’ll need to do when we get back to the ranch, and I’m hoping we can make good time to arrive before dark.

As much as I don’t care about needing to be out in all weather, I’d prefer not to be checking on cattle by flashlight while freezing my nuts off if I don’t have to.

We eat as I drive, and music from the radio fills the front of my truck.

Kayce picks at his fries and takes a few reluctant bites.

Eventually, he starts eating properly. I’ve already polished off everything of mine before he’s made it halfway through his burger.

Who fucking knows when he last ate a decent meal.

As I shoot a glance to see if he’s finished his food, I get a good look at the hollowing of his cheeks.

They’re more sunken than a few weeks ago.

Christ. If there’s one thing to guarantee about Kayce Wilder is that he fucking excels at not looking after himself.

His phone buzzes several times and I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t bother checking or replying to anything coming through.

For someone who is such a goddamn social butterfly, seeing him act that way makes my jaw tighten.

So I turn my attention to the road and just keep my goal focused on getting us back to Devil’s Peak.

Who knows what’s going on for him, but eventually he’s gonna have to open up about it.

I’ve got an actual job I need to get back to.

Beau has told me to take as long as I need, but that generosity will only go so far.

I can probably offer a couple more days to help Kayce out, and that’s gonna be the limit.

This sorry little routine of silence and ignoring reality he’s got going on? Yeah, that ain’t gonna cut it.

By the time I’ve finished up with the horses and cattle tonight, my stepbrother had better damn well have loosened his tongue and be ready to talk .

Fortunately, I didn’t have to resort to needing a headlamp while out with the cattle, but by the time I handle the horses and leave the barn, it’s the time of night when everything is pitch black.

No moonlight. No stars. Just an endless inky void overhead.

When I move further inside the house, I’m already on high alert—my hearing attuned to where Kayce might be. As much as I don’t want to have to go beat down his door like we’re back to being teenagers, I’m not gonna let him avoid this conversation.

Though I don’t have to worry about any of that, because the sound of his voice floats my way. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but the familiar crackle and tinny sound of the radio intersperses his words.

Pausing in the kitchen, I take a moment to rest my ass against the counter and briefly check my phone for any emails from Beau or Tessa.

As I linger here, I can make out Kayce’s conversation with more clarity.

He’s discussing the long-range weather report, confirming the supplies and medical gear we’ve got on hand here at the ranch.

It’s not a social call, but he chats to the male voice on the other end with familiarity and, well, just the usual dose of Kayce that warms people to him immediately.

I exhale through my nose, steeling myself for what comes next, because this spot right here is where he’s gonna damn well stay until he’s explained every detail from earlier.

When Kayce finally emerges from the office, one hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, his attention on the phone in his other palm. He doesn’t notice me for a moment, and I can’t seem to take my focus off him.

He’s in sweats and a white tank. With one arm raised high to run over his nape it shows off his well-defined bicep, flexing the underside of his muscles and outlines of the slope between his shoulder and neck.

I have to swallow back a whole lot of inappropriate goddamn thoughts when my eyes track down, noticing the way his top has lifted with the movement.

The soft fabric has hitched up to reveal one side of his stomach.

A defined line extends below his abs, a v pointing directly to that low-slung waistband and the hint of what lies below the fabric.

He’s much fairer-skinned than me, but has that golden glow about him even as we’re approaching winter—even after being stuck inside recovering for these past weeks.

Screw him and all his goddamn pretty boy looks.

Kayce being in such a vulnerable sort of state makes me want to rush straight over there. I hate seeing him like this—I’m so goddamn sick of always feeling like I gotta scoop him up and that he’s about two seconds from crumbling beneath the weight of his own nonsense.

There’s no turning it off, it’s been there right from day one.

A deep-rooted sense that he is somehow my responsibility, and none of it makes any fucking sense because he’s not mine .

He’s my stepbrother. The kid who I was forced to protect and put my ass on the line to safeguard time and time again.

The idiot who I had to beat in the arena.

We’ve always been at odds, forever clashing on so many levels.

So why the fuck does my body feel drawn to march over there?

All I wanna do right now is snarl in his pretty face.

To tell him to pull himself together, because rodeo was never going to be promised to him forever.

None of us get to carry on for an eternity.

It’s a young man’s game, and Kayce, whether he likes it or not, is on the wrong side of that equation.

My weight shifts, and I clear my throat.

Finally, that attracts his attention, and Kayce’s head jerks up.

Those blue orbs grow wide for a split second when he catches sight of me.

There’s such a glimpse of innocence there sometimes.

On the outside he’s got this shell, an armor that’s been carefully put together so that everyone sees him as one thing. The persona he allows them to see.

But I’ve had the insight to what’s underneath all of it. If there’s one thing about Kayce, it’s that he hides the truth... it’s all for show.

And he knows that I know.

“Everything good?” I ask, setting my phone aside and crossing my arms.

“Yeah.” Puffing out his cheeks, Kayce looks to be about two seconds from turning on his heel and bolting.

He hovers, weighing up his decision, and I let him make it for himself.

Either way, we’re gonna do this, even if I have to chase him down and order him to spit it out.

But I’d much rather he chooses to enter into this moment voluntarily.

To his obvious discomfort, he steps forward.

Yeah, the knee is still a problem, but the tautness in his features is less about the injury and more about facing down his torment without those shields in place.

The details he’s gonna have to vocalize as soon as he steps across that invisible threshold—when he joins me under the warm glow of the kitchen lights.

Tension rolls my way in thick waves as he approaches, but I keep my ass firmly rested against the countertop.

“I’m out for the rest of the season.” He weighs each word. It’s as if he’s practiced the phrase over and over to himself, remembering it by rote. There’s a listless detachment to what he’s saying, kinda like he’s still not believing what he’s uttering out loud, but knows he has to.

Something tightens like a fist inside my chest. But I stay unmoved, allowing him to get close enough that he pauses on the opposite side of the table.

“I won’t be competing.” His Adam’s apple dips, and his eyes are lowered, unfocused, hovering somewhere on the wooden surface. “Probably ever again.”

Those last words bounce around and around, forming a desolate echo. The only other sounds filling this kitchen are the distant crackle of the fireplace drifting through from the lounge and a clock ticking.

“Did the doc tell you that?” I clear my throat.

Kayce shakes his head. “Not in so many words. But it was in their eyes.” He pinches the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “I gotta go back for another scan to make certain... but the writing is on the wall.”

“So you’re giving up already?” My eyes sharpen on him.

That brings his gaze up to mine. Finally.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to talk to you about any of it.” The spot high on his cheekbones darkens a shade. “You’re just gonna be a fucking douchebag about it. Like always.”

“Age isn’t on your side in pro rodeo.” I tilt my head. “In case you’ve overlooked that detail.”