Page 53 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)

“I’m sorry for what happened yesterday,” she blurts out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Scott and I’m sorry for the notes I made before I got to know you.

I’m sorry I ever thought this article would be payback for a stupid thing back in high school that wasn’t even your fault. I brought my notebook. Let me?—”

“Doesn’t matter,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“But if you’d listen?—”

“I’m all good.”

A tense silence fills the room. I hate the feeling of Harper’s hand in mine. I don’t want her apologies or her pity.

“You should go,” I say.

“I want to stay.”

“The assignment’s finished. You’ve got what you need from me. There’s nothing left for us to say so just go, Harper. Go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine.” My chest feels like it’s cracking open, but I lean into it, relishing the hurt.

“Please don’t push me away.” Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper. I can hear her pain. It makes me want to reach for her, bury my face in her hair. But I can’t move. Fear and frustration boil over into hot rage.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I push again. “You’re a distraction, Harper. I never should have let things go this far between us.” I force myself to look at her. I’m many things, but I’m no coward. If I’m going to inflict pain on someone, I’m going to face it head on.

Hurt flashes in her eyes but she doesn’t let go of my hand. “You don’t mean that. I know you’re scared right now, but pushing me away won’t help.”

“Won’t it?” I growl. “Ever since you waltzed into my life, I haven’t been able to think straight. I was off my game tonight because I couldn’t stop thinking about our fight, and look what happened.”

“That’s not fair,” she says quietly. “You can’t put this on me.”

“My head hasn’t been right since the moment I met you.

You’ve fucked everything up, Harper. My focus, my career.

I might never play again because I let myself get distracted by you!

” Then I drive the final nail into the coffin of our relationship.

“We were nothing. Just some fun. This…” I grit out through the lump in my throat, “It was a challenge to see if I could get you into bed and I did, so you might as well go.”

“You don’t mean that,” she says, finally dropping my hand, backing away.

“The hell I don’t.”

Tears streak down her face but she steps to the door without a word.

A sudden panic seizes my chest. I want to beg her to stay, but my anger wins out.

A red mist covering my thoughts. I lost the game.

I was distracted. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my injury.

These thoughts spin on an endless loop. There’s no room for Harper’s feelings, for her at all in my mind right now.

When she’s gone, I lie in the silence for a long time, waiting for a relief that doesn’t come. Mama returns with the doc and it’s only when I catch the smiles on their faces that something eases in me, a knot loosening.

“Good news, Mr. Sullivan. The tackle caused a pinched nerve. It can be excruciatingly painful, but not serious. I’m going to send the team physical therapist in to manipulate your neck, and with some rest and some meds, you’ll be fine.”

“Can I play in next week’s game?”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to. If the nerve moves back into place and I expect it will, you should be back to normal in no time.”

I close my eyes, relief sweeping through me, ice-cold wind to the red mist of anger.

“Let’s get the neck brace off you now we know there’s no spinal damage.” The doc frees me from the brace and I reach a hand slowly to my neck. A sharp pain shoots down my left shoulder, bad enough to twist my gut, but at least I’m moving.

An hour later, the physical therapist has worked his magic and I’m sitting up in the bed, waiting for Mama to finish talking to the team docs and drive me home.

When the door opens, my heart lurches with hope that takes my breath away.

It crashes down at the sight of Dylan in the doorway.

I sigh and close my eyes. A lecture from my big brother is the last thing I need.

“I come in peace,” he says.

I tentatively open one eye and he huffs a laugh.

“I mean it,” he says as he drops into the chair beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a ton of bricks landed on my neck, but the doc says I’m good.”

He nods. “You always were a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.” Something makes me think of Dad in that moment. How he saved my life the night of the storm but lost his in the process. The memory consumes me in a familiar grief. Like always it’s tangled with a raw, unforgiving guilt. I’m the reason my father died. Harper’s voice plays in my mind.

I bet anything, even if he knew the outcome, he’d still have done it a thousand times over.

Her words are a soothing ointment, despite everything going on between us. I take a shuddering breath and let the guilt go for now.

Beside me, Dylan shifts in the chair, his hulking frame looking out of place in the small room. He clears his throat, eyes darting around before finally settling on me. “Look, Jake, I owe you an apology.”

I raise my brows. Dylan apologizing? That’s a first.

He rubs a hand over his face, the scruff of his beard rasping against his palm.

“I’ve been a real asshole to you. Ever since my injury, it’s been easier to blame you than accept what happened.

Seeing you out there tonight, watching you go down, I was terrified you were injured.

It made me realize how awful I’ve been.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. I want to brush off his words, make a joke like I always do, but something in his eyes stops me.

“I finally talked to Coach while we were waiting for news on your neck,” Dylan continues.

“He told me what really happened with the cheerleaders. How you were trying to help them and it blew up in your face. I should’ve known better than to believe the stories in the press. I should’ve had your back.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intend.

Dylan nods, accepting the jab. “You’re right. I let my anger cloud my judgment. Then when Coach moved you to tight end, I felt like you’d stolen my dreams.”

“It’s not like I had a choice. I didn’t ask to be tight end.”

“I know. But all I kept thinking was, even if I make it back from this injury, I don’t have a position to come back to.”

“Coach had to fill it, Dylan.”

“Yeah. I’m not saying my thoughts were logical, alright? I’m just trying to explain.”

I ignore the shooting pain and clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, too. I wanted to protect you in that game.”

He shrugs. “Could’ve happened anyway and we both know it. I’m sorry, Jake. Truly. And hey, if things go to plan, we’ll be playing together again next season.”

I study my brother’s face, the sincerity in his eyes. Then I smile. “If I’d realized all I needed to do was get my neck crushed for you to stop being the world’s grumpiest ass, I’d have done it months ago.”

He laughs. A deep, booming chuckle I’ve missed hearing. “Well, that and Harper giving me shit.”

“Harper?” Even her name has my heart lurching.

A smile tugs at Dylan’s mouth. “She didn’t tell you? We bumped into each other in the kitchen the other night at the ranch and she gave me a talking to. God knows why, but she’s crazy about you. Really has your back.”

I think of the notes I read and our fight, and the thought of her having my back rails against me.

But then I think of the hurt in her eyes as she walked out the door earlier.

My heart sinks with shame as I realize I’ve done the same thing Dylan did to me—I pushed Harper away.

Blaming her for my own failings, or for something nobody could have helped.

“Where is she?” Dylan asks, glancing around the room as if he expects her to materialize out of thin air.

I look down at my hands, regret burning through me. “I might’ve made it sound like I blamed her for me getting injured.”

Dylan shakes his head. “You fucking idiot.” He stands and makes his way to the door. “Well, are you coming? Or are you going to sit here and wallow all night?”

I ease myself from the bed, gritting my teeth to the throbbing ache in my neck. And that’s when I see Harper’s notebook sitting on the edge of the bed. Her words from earlier this week whisper in my ear.

Look at the rest of the notebook. Look at what else I’ve said about you.

Tentatively, I lift the cover, skipping past the first pages of her anger, and read on. The words swim in front of my eyes. Pages and pages of stories I told her and observations.

Jake doesn’t even realize the kind things he does. Helping Mama with the shopping. Opening his truck door for me.

Jake Sullivan is the best wingman anyone could ask for.

Jake Sullivan has spent his life wanting the approval of one man—his father.

With Harry Sullivan’s tragic death when Jake was just ten years old, it seems as though Jake coped by deciding that without his father, he wouldn’t be seeking approval from anyone else.

Jake will say he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him, and while a part of that is true, it’s important to recognize that not caring what people think isn’t the same as not caring, because Jake cares deeply about his family, football, and his friends.

And then my gaze lands on the last entry and it steals my breath.

I think I’m falling in love with this man!

I scrunch my eyes shut, a well of emotion gripping me by the throat.

I see it so clearly. Harper is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, despite how things might have started out between us.

There’s a reason she’s the first person whose opinion I care about.

The first woman I’ve let see beyond the bravado.

She’s funny and smart and cute as hell. And maybe she isn’t perfect.

Maybe she makes mistakes, but that makes two of us.

Because I just told her she means nothing to me.

And when I think of the hurt flashing in her eyes, I realize I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.