Page 10

Chapter ten

Colton Trouble & Confessions

T he sun hadn’t been up long. The air carried that sharp bite of early morning—cool and damp, with just enough breeze to ruffle the back of my neck as I stood outside the rescue barn.

I was keyed up, thinking about the kiss that replayed in my head like a highlight reel. I didn’t know what today would bring.

I spotted her instantly.

Riley moved like she was on a mission, her arms full of towels, head down like she could outrun gravity. She didn’t look up when I called her name the first time.

Or the second.

I caught up to her by the side door, blocking it long enough for her to finally look at me.

"Hey," I said, soft but steady.

"Hey," she echoed, polite but clipped. Eyes everywhere but mine.

Okay. So we were doing this.

Neutral ground, maybe. But the air between us still held yesterday's spark—and the static that followed.

I tried not to fidget. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"I’ve been working."

"Uh-huh." I stepped back and held the door for her. "So, is this how you plan to handle things now? Pretend yesterday didn’t happen and make me chase you around with clean towels?"

She froze just inside the threshold, still not turning to face me. "I’m not pretending anything."

"Riley."

Her name pulled her gaze to mine—finally.

I softened my voice. "I’m not here to push. I’m just… trying to do the thing you’re always telling me to do. Communicate. Use my words. Not screw it up."

That earned me a reluctant half-smile.

She set the towels down on the counter. "You really are learning."

I stepped closer, enough to brush my knuckles against hers. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

She shook her head, lips twitching. "It’s just… weird. Being on the other side of it."

"Well," I murmured, taking her hand fully, "get used to it."

I pulled her gently toward me. She didn’t resist, but her shoulders stayed tense, guarded.

"What is it?" I asked, searching her face. "You can tell me."

Riley exhaled, eyes finally meeting mine.

"I meant what I said last night. The kiss was… it was everything. But it also made things real. And real is complicated."

I nodded, my heart thudding harder than it should’ve. "I get that."

She looked away again. "I don’t want to mess this up."

"Then don’t," I said. "Let’s figure it out. Together."

She didn’t smile exactly, but something in her face softened.

“Okay, but if we’re going to start figuring things out together… can we start with figuring out how to assemble the new kennels?"

I laughed. "Sure. Well, as long as the instructions are in English."

And just like that, the air between us shifted. Not cleared, exactly. But breathable.

She didn’t say yes exactly, but it felt like a yes.

And I am not about to waste that.

***

The clouds had cleared overnight, leaving the morning crisp and bright.

It was the kind of day that made everything look a little more hopeful.

I came straight from practice, still damp with sweat and sore in all the usual places.

After yesterday, I figured things were finally turning a corner with Riley.

We hadn’t talked since, but it had felt like a yes.

I hadn’t seen Riley yet, so I figured I’d get started with the things I knew needed to get done. The barn was quiet. I grabbed a rake and went to the back, hoping to surprise her by doing something productive.

The scrape of boots against gravel hit before I saw her—fast, uneven, furious.

Something was wrong.

Riley stormed into the barn like a lit fuse, hair wind-tossed and eyes blazing.

The barn suddenly felt too small, the morning air too thin. My grip tightened around the rake handle.

I blinked. "Riley—what—"

"Did you know?" she snapped, barely stopping short in front of me.

"Know what?"

"Did you know your father is the one trying to buy out the land under Timberline?"

My stomach dropped. Hard.

"What?" I shook my head, completely thrown. "No. No, Riley—I swear, I had no idea."

She stared at me, breathing hard. "Vanessa just told me. Cornered me like she’d been waiting for this moment. Said it so casually, as if it were just another piece of trivia I should’ve known."

I stepped back, trying to process. My brain scrambled for something—anything—to explain or deny it. But it sounded exactly like something my father would do.

"Crap" I muttered. "That sounds like him. But I didn’t know. I really didn’t."

Riley folded her arms, still watching me like she wasn’t sure whether to believe me.

My thoughts raced. We’d just found our footing. We’d just started to get somewhere.

Why can’t something go right for me?

"I don’t know why he had to pick this place," I said, voice low. "Out of all the properties…"

Riley didn’t say anything.

And then I made it worse.

"I mean… I don’t know. Maybe the rescue could move—"

Her expression cracked—betrayal, hurt, disbelief flashing across her face like a slap.

I opened my mouth to backtrack, to fix it, but the damage was already done.

She recoiled like I’d struck her. "Move? Seriously? You think this is just about the building? The address?"

"No—Riley, that’s not what I meant. I just—"

"You just panicked," she said flatly. "You panicked and said the first thing that would make it not your fault."

I felt my face flush, throat tightening. She was right. I’d reacted, not thought.

"I was blindsided," I muttered.

"So was I. But the difference is, this is my life, Colton. My heart. You think I can just pack it up and start over somewhere else because your father drew a different line on a map?"

She stepped back again, hands shaking now.

I wanted to say something—anything—to pull her back. But I knew better. She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt. And this moment wasn’t mine to fix with words.

She took a breath, like she was trying to collect herself.

“I know you're not the one trying to buy this land,” she said, voice quieter but no less charged. “But this rescue… this life I’ve built—it’s fragile.

Not because it’s small, or struggling. But because it’s mine .

Every inch of it, I had to fight for. Every permit, every volunteer, every win—it’s all been uphill.

So when someone shrugs and says ‘just move,’ even if they don’t mean it like that…

it feels like everything I’ve built can just be swept aside. ”

I took a half-step forward, and I grabbed her two hands like I could catch the damage before it slipped further.

“Riley. I said the wrong thing. Again. And I hate that I did. I was just trying to say something— anything —that made it feel fixable. But all I did was make it worse. I know what this place means to you. I panicked, yeah—but that’s not an excuse.

I’m sorry I made it sound like Timberline could just be boxed up and moved like inventory. ”

She blinked.

I exhaled hard, the words ripping out before I could stop them. “I just… I don’t know what to do when something matters this much. Well other than to find a way to screw it up, apparently.”

For a second, her face softened—just a crack.

"I want to believe you, Colton I really do."

And that’s when I said it. “You’re not mad at me. You’re scared.”

Her gaze sharpened.

I pressed on. “Scared that trusting me means betting on the version of me you hope is real. And if you’re wrong…”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“…then it means you let your guard down for nothing,” I finished.

The silence stretched.

I hated that I understood that fear so well.

“I’ve never had someone believe in me and expect nothing in return,” I admitted. “But you did. You do . And I panicked because this— us —feels like the first thing that’s not about image or press or saving face. It’s just… something I really want to work.”

She didn’t move. But something in her eyes flickered.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me for reacting like an idiot,” I said. “But I’m asking you not to give up on me because of it.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe every word.

Her gaze dropped to our hands, still clasped. Then she let go.

“I need time,” she said.

She walked out, leaving the door open behind her.

I wanted to go after her. But that felt like the wrong move.

I’d shown up. I’d been honest. No charm. No excuses. Now I need to earn her trust. Little by little.

So, I stood there, hands empty. learning what it meant to care enough … to wait.