Page 17

17

Blaze

“Buddy, this is it !”

Carl’s voice booms through my phone, as confident and overbearing as ever.

“This engagement stunt? It’s gold. The media’s eating it up. Sponsors are warming back up to you, and I’ve got calls from teams sniffing around now that your suspension’s lifted. You keep this going, and you’ll be back on the ice before you know it.”

I lean back against the barn wall, wiping sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. The fake fiancée thing was impulsive—hell, I barely thought it through—but hearing Carl lay it out like this makes me realize just how much it’s working in my favor.

Not just for my career, but for Savannah’s too. Plus, keeping her close isn’t exactly a hardship.

“And the press loves the whole ‘bad boy tamed’ angle,” Carl continues, like he’s narrating a damn soap opera. “Now’s the time to double down. Charity events, public appearances—hell, take her to a gala. The more they see you two together, the more solid your comeback looks. People eat up redemption stories, and you, my friend, are selling the hell out of it.”

“Charity events, huh?” I say, smirking. “You sure they don’t want me shirtless feeding orphan puppies too?”

Carl laughs. “Whatever works, kid. Just keep Savannah in the picture. She’s the golden ticket.”

We wrap up the call, and I pocket my phone, my mind already spinning with ideas. A charity event at the ranch could be huge—not just for the media but for Savannah’s business. Something local, authentic. Or maybe we hit up that gala Carl mentioned, dress up, and charm the suits. And then there’s the social media angle—Savannah’s got that polished city-girl vibe that’ll kill online.

But let’s be real: this isn’t just about PR. I want to spend more time with her. Being fake-engaged gives me an excuse to keep her close, to make her see we could be good together—for real.

***

I find her by the stables, brushing down one of the horses. Her back is to me, her hair pulled up in a messy knot, loose strands sticking to her neck. She looks different here—out of place but still somehow like she belongs. I lean against the doorframe, letting my presence fill the space before I speak.

“Busy being a ranch hand now?” I tease, my tone light.

She startles and turns to look at me like she’s never seen me before, studying my face. After a few seconds, she finally says, “What do you want, Blaze?”

“Relax, Sunshine,” I say, stepping inside. “I’ve got good news. Thought you’d want to hear it.”

She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of news?”

I flash her a grin. “Carl called. The fake engagement? It’s working. Media loves it. Sponsors are coming back. Hell, I’ve even got teams sniffing around again. This thing is saving my career. Thank you!” I pause, letting the words sink in before continuing. “But we’ve gotta take it up a notch.”

Her expression is wary, like she knows I’m about to pitch something she won’t like. “What does that mean?”

“It means we need to make this look real,” I say, stepping closer. “I’ve got ideas. A charity event here at the ranch—something local, intimate, shows we care about the community. Or we hit up a high-profile gala, show off for the cameras. And social media—we start sharing some moments, keep the press hooked.”

Her jaw tightens, and I can see the storm brewing behind her eyes. “And what if I don’t want to?”

I smirk, undeterred. “You’ll want to. It’s good for both of us. Keeps the heat off you, keeps the media off my back. Win-win.”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “Win-win? You think this is fun for me? Playing along in some circus to fix your image?”

“It’s not just about me,” I say, my tone hardening. “It’s about us. This works because we work.”

She freezes, her face going pale. For a moment, I think she’s going to argue, but then the words come rushing out like she’s been holding them in for too long.

“I thought you were Blake.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I blink, trying to process what she just said. “What?”

“Back at the creek,” she snaps, her voice rising. “And at the pool. I thought you were Blake. I didn’t know it was you.”

Anger flares in my chest, hot and sharp. “You thought I was Blake?” My voice is low, dangerous. “Are you serious right now?”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down. “Yes, Blaze. I’m serious. And what’s worse? I think you let me believe it. You wanted me to think you were him, didn’t you? So you could… what? Get back at him? Or use me to clean up your mess?”

I take a step forward, my fists clenching at my sides. “Don’t put that on me. I thought you knew exactly who I was.”

“Oh, please,” she snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re telling me you didn’t know I thought you were him? You didn’t use it to your advantage?”

I laugh, the sound bitter and humorless. “Use it to my advantage? For what? A PR stunt? Savannah, if I wanted someone to fix my image, I’d hire a pro, not seduce some city girl who can’t tell the difference between two brothers.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to come up with a response. But she doesn’t get the chance.

“Wait,” I say, my voice colder now. “Let me get this straight. You only slept with me because you thought I was Blake.”

The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Her silence is all the confirmation I need. My chest tightens, my anger giving way to something deeper, something I don’t want to name.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me. You never gave me a chance.”

Her jaw tightens, and she fires back, “Maybe I didn’t want to.”

That does it. The tension between us snaps, the air crackling with anger and frustration. We’re both yelling now, words spilling out faster than we can think them.

“You’re so damn full of yourself!” she shouts. “Thinking this is all about you!”

“And you’re so stubborn, you can’t see what’s right in front of you!” I snap back.

“Am I interrupting?” a cheerful voice cuts through the chaos.

We both turn to see Juan, one of our ranch hands, in the doorway, a bucket in hand and a grin on his face. We stop mid-quarrel, both glaring at him with matching What the fuck? expressions.

He stops on his tracks and mutters, "Parecen casados, como pelean."

“What did he say?” Savannah asks.

“That we fight like we’re married,” I reply, my voice low.

Her brow furrows. “You speak Spanish?”

I shrug. “Grew up on this ranch. Had to learn. Plus, I’ve traveled.”

Juan whistles as he walks off, completely unbothered by the storm he had just walked into, leaving us standing there, still bristling but too stunned to keep fighting.

I glance back at Savannah, my chest still tight, my mind racing.

“I can’t do this.”

With that, I storm out of the stables, my boots crunching against the dirt, my hands fisted at my sides. Every word she said is still rattling around in my head, a relentless loop of accusations and confusion. I thought you were Blake. How the hell am I supposed to process that?

I pace near the paddock, trying to burn off the heat simmering in my chest.

It’s not just the insult to my pride—it’s the fact that everything between us, every moment that felt real, was built on a lie. Whether she knew it or not, it cuts deeper than I want to admit.

I glance back toward the barn and see her. Savannah’s sitting on a hay bale, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the ground. The fight’s gone out of her—no sass, no fire. Just quiet.

My first instinct is to turn away, to let her deal with the mess she’s made. But something stops me. Maybe it’s the way her shoulders are slumped, or the way her hair falls over her face like she’s hiding. Whatever it is, I grab a glass of water from the spigot by the barn and head back, my steps slower this time.

When I reach her, I don’t say anything. I just set the glass down on the bale beside her and walk off without looking back. She doesn’t need to know it’s for her, and I don’t need to explain why I did it.

Ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the fence near the paddock, my arms draped over the top rail, staring out at the open field. The horses graze lazily under the fading light, but my thoughts are anything but calm.

Her words keep coming back to me, stoking the embers of my anger. You let me think you were Blake. The accusation feels unfair—hell, I thought she knew who I was. But the part that stings most is the truth buried in her admission: she didn’t want me. She wanted Blake.

It’s always been like that. Blake’s the golden boy, the one people trust, the one who doesn’t screw up. And me? I’m the guy with the suspension, the reputation, the temper that everyone’s waiting to see flare up again.

I clench my fists, the familiar frustration rising in my chest. Is that all I am to her? A mistake? A placeholder until she can have the twin she really wants?

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to breathe through the anger. This isn’t who I want to be—not anymore. The whole point of rehab, of working through my issues, was to stop letting my emotions control me. But Savannah’s words cut deeper than anything I’ve felt in a long time, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just been thrown back to square one.

The wind picks up, rustling the trees in the distance, and my thoughts shift. Savannah. The way she stood there, furious and unafraid, even when she knew I was pissed. She didn’t back down, not for a second.

She’s different. Not just from the women I’ve known, but from anyone, period. She doesn’t tiptoe around me or try to smooth things over. She’s sharp, smart, and brave enough to call me out—even when she’s wrong.

I let out a long breath, rubbing the back of my neck. Damn her for being so complicated. And damn me for liking it.

The truth hits me like a slap: I don’t want her out of my life. Not because of the fake engagement or Carl’s PR plan, but because I like her. Really like her. And that scares the hell out of me.

But pride is a cruel thing, and mine’s been bruised too many times to ignore. If I forgive her for this—for thinking I was Blake, for only sleeping with me because of that—what does that say about me? That I’m weak? That I’ll let her walk all over me?

No. I can’t let her think that. But maybe… maybe this isn’t about pride. Maybe it’s about something bigger. Something worth the risk.

I stand up, brushing the dirt off my jeans, and start back toward the barn. My steps are slower this time, more deliberate. I don’t know what I’m going to say to her, but I know I have to say something.

Just as I reach the barn door, I hear voices—hers and someone else’s. I step inside, and my heart sinks.

Blake’s here.

He’s standing in front of Savannah, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Savannah looks tense, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“What’s going on?” Blake asks, his voice calm but edged with suspicion. He looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Care to explain?”

I cross my arms, my jaw tightening. “What are you doing here, Blake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, his tone cool. He glances back at Savannah. “You look upset. Did something happen?”

Savannah opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Blake’s eyes narrow further, and he steps closer, his gaze darting between the two of us. “It sure seems like it does.”

Savannah shifts uncomfortably, her face pale. “Blake, this isn’t—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, my voice low. “Don’t try to explain this to him.”

Blake’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, the barn is dead silent, the tension crackling like a live wire. This isn’t how I wanted this to go, but now there’s no turning back.