Page 9

Chapter nine

Riley: Fear and Feels

M orning light filtered through the high windows of the rescue barn in slanted streaks. It caught the dust I kicked up as I moved from task to task like a woman possessed.

By the time I reached for the third bale of straw, I’d already reorganized the supply shelf, swept the side kennel twice, and scrubbed two perfectly clean water bowls. Again.

I am being productive, right? If I am productive, I can’t be avoiding anything. But the truth buzzed louder in my head than the fluorescent lights humming overhead.

I paused for a moment, resting my chin on the top of the broom. I loved how it felt to have his arms around me when we danced.

If we had been on a date instead of attending a gala, I would have wanted him to kiss me after that hug. Who am I kidding? I still want him to kiss me.

But then Vanessa had to open her perfectly glossed mouth and lace the whole night in doubt.

Now, I can’t stop running the moment through a different filter. What if none of it had been real? What if I’d imagined the way he looked at me?

Why am I such a mess?

I heaved the bale down by the back kennel with more force than necessary. Dust exploded around my boots, catching in the beam of light like glitter made of grit.

"You always throw hay like it's personal, or is that just a today thing?"

I froze.

Colton’s smooth and familiar voice echoed across the quiet barn aisle.

I didn’t turn. Maybe if I ignored him long enough, he’d vanish like my coffee's last bit of warmth.

"No cameras," he added, as if reading my mind. "No entourage. Just me."

I muttered something that might’ve been a greeting and busied myself with the latch on the feed bin.

He was walking toward me now—I could hear the crunch of his boots, slower than usual, careful. Cautious.

"Need a hand?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure? Because from here, it looks like that latch is winning."

I yanked it open with a satisfying clang. "Got it."

There was a pause. Long enough for me to think maybe he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

Instead, he knelt beside me and reached for the scoop.

“I’ll fill the buckets. Just point me to the right kennels.”

I grabbed the scoop from his hand without looking at him.

“I’ve got it.”

He didn’t budge.

"Okay, tell me what you do need help with."

His voice was annoyingly calm, like he was determined to absorb my energy and wear me down.

I finally glanced over.

His hoodie was rumpled, dark green, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair was slightly damp as if he’d just showered and hadn’t bothered with a hat. And those eyes—clear and sharp—watched me without flinching.

Great. He looked good. And here I was, covered in straw dust and self-doubt.

"Why are you here, Colton?" I asked, dropping food into the first bowl with more noise than necessary.

"I wanted to help."

Why am I annoyed? He is here to help—without the PR entourage.

Why is he so confusing?

His jaw ticked just slightly. "Just wanted to see if the grumpy girl who throws hay like a gladiator needed a hand."

I turned toward him, ready to say something—what, I didn’t know. One look at him, and the words tangle in my throat.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I walked away.

But, of course, he followed.

“Careful, you missed a spot,” he said, nodding toward a patch of dust I’d just swept.

I spun around, broom still in hand. “Do you want a medal, or are you just trying to annoy me on purpose?”

Colton grinned, infuriatingly relaxed. “Just trying to be useful.”

“You’re not. You’re in the way.” I turned back, aggressively sweeping the same spot again to prove I wasn’t rattled—even though I was very rattled.

“Wow. You really do sweep angry.” He leaned against the wall near the kennels, arms folded. “Should I be worried?”

I shot him a glare. “Only if you plan on getting between me and the disinfectant.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Noted.”

I moved to the next kennel and began replacing bedding, trying to block out the awareness of his presence. But his footsteps trailed me, soft and steady, matching every move I made like some stubborn shadow.

“I’m not here to make things worse,” he said, quieter now, like he was trying. “I just… I hate feeling useless.”

I paused, one hand gripping the edge of the kennel door. The air between us shifted—something less combative and more exposed.

“You’re not useless,” I muttered. “Just… irritating.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I can live with that.”

I blew out a breath, exasperated. “This isn’t working.”

“What isn’t?”

“This. You, trailing me.”

Me trying to pretend I’m not aware of every move you make.

“We’re just… arguing in circles and getting nothing done.”

He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Okay. So what now?”

I tossed the rag I’d been using into the bucket with a wet slap. “Now we sit down. Before we destroy the barn and each other.”

He blinked. “You want to talk?”

“No,” I said, brushing straw from my hoodie. “But I think we need to.”

We sat on an overturned crate and a bag of feed, both of us still catching our breath, as if the fight had been physical instead of just emotional.

Colton ran a hand through his hair and looked around. A dog barked once from the far side of the barn, then again, more urgently. Colton stood, strode over, and came back with one of our newest rescues—a wiry little terrier mix with anxiety issues and eyes too big for his head.

He scooped him up like a baby. The dog melted against his chest, going boneless with trust. It was ridiculous. And, okay, a little bit heart-melting.

“You really have a way with them,” I said before I could stop myself.

He shrugged. “Dogs are easy. People... not so much.”

I nodded. “You know, I used to think you didn’t care what anyone thought. But lately, I think maybe you care too much. About all the wrong things, unfortunately.”

He looked down at the dog, rubbing behind its ears. “With my dad, it was always about the highlight reel. What people saw. It didn’t matter what was going on underneath as long as you looked like a success from the outside.”

The dog’s eyes fluttered shut. “So, you learned fast—never show weakness, never say you’re working on anything. Because once you do, they treat you like you're broken. And broken things get sidelined.”

I waited, sensing there was more. The barn had gone still, just the soft rustle of hay and the occasional sigh from one of the dogs.

Eventually, Colton continued, “I didn’t choose hockey.

I was just a kid who liked to skate fast and hit things.

But I was good at it—too good. My dad saw an angle.

Sponsorships, deals, press. He turned every win into a handshake or a headline.

He used my wins as leverage—every goal, every headline, every handshake.

It was never about what I wanted. It was what he could get out of it, and I let him. ”

“Because you wanted him to be proud?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Because I didn’t know I had a choice.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “You do now. But you keep acting like you don’t. Like you’re still trapped in the same game.”

He looked up at me, eyes sharp and quiet. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just scared that if I stop doing what everyone expects, I won’t know how to be anything else.”

"But Colton, if you keep acting like that guy’s the only version of you, you’ll never get out from under him."

Colton glanced down at the dog, his voice quieter now.

“You know that text to Ryan… the one you coached me through?”

I nodded slowly.

“I never would’ve sent that before. Not because I didn’t want to—I did. But I didn’t know how. Didn’t know if I was even allowed to ask for time for myself. To get myself mentally together. Being open, being someone who communicates? That’s not how I was raised.”

He exhaled, thumb brushing the dog’s fur.

“Honestly, it scared the crap out of me. But you said it was the right thing to do. And I trusted you. And you were right—it helped. It made things better, not worse. That was new for me.”

He met my eyes.

“You’re the first person who’s actually tried to help me figure out what I want. Everyone else seems to try to help me do what they want me to do. You're... different. And I don’t want to mess it up.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, not right away.

The terrier snored softly against his chest. Colton gave a dry laugh. “At least he thinks I’m useful.”

I smiled. “He’s got good instincts.”

I looked at him sitting on a feed bag, cradling that dog. I couldn’t match him to the person who used to strut through a room like he owned it. The two versions of him were messing with my head. And I didn’t know which one to trust.

“I need to say something,” I said quietly. “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

His brows rose a little, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“You confuse me, Colton.”

His head tilted, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I remember the Colton who sat with me for hours in the hospital waiting room. The one who brought coffee without asking and distracted my dad with stupid sports trivia when he was too scared to sleep.”

His jaw tightened.

“But then there’s this other version of you—the one who says things like the girl was ‘too much work’ to have on your arm.”

His shoulders stiffened instantly. “I said that?”

I nodded. "And I know it was a long time ago. But hearing that… it messed with the version of you I thought I knew.”

Colton ran a hand down his face. “Ouch. Wow. I really was a jerk.”

“Yeah. You were.”

We both laughed.

“But here’s the thing,” I said as I gently placed my hands on his knees. “I don’t think that’s you anymore. At least… I hope not.”

He looked up, something searching in his eyes. “Who do you think I am now?”

I pull my hands back, sit up a bit straighter, and I smiled, just a little. “A really good guy… who still acts like a jerk sometimes.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it.”

“Okay,” I said, pushing up off the crate. “Let’s get back to work. I promise I’ll let you help this time.”

He laughed. I offered him my hand, and he took it, as we rose together.

The terrier gave a soft grunt in protest as Colton gently set him down on the feed bag.

“Stay here, buddy,” he murmured, giving the dog one last pat.

We were standing close now—closer than before. I could feel the heat from his skin, the press of his fingers still loosely holding mine.

He reached out slowly, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “You had something right here…”

The touch was soft, almost hesitant, but it lingered longer than necessary. My breath caught, and I didn’t step back. I didn’t want to.

His eyes searched mine, asking without words.

I didn’t stop him.

He leaned in.

And kissed me.

Slowly. Sweetly.

We finally stopped pretending.

I felt his hands settle at my waist. My own slid up from his chest, curling around the back of his neck. His warmth and the quiet barn around us blurred into one perfect, impossible moment.

Until a door slammed, out back.

The spell snapped. I pulled back, breath shaky.

Colton blinked, still close. “I’m sorry. Did you not want me to kiss you?”

He looked flustered, unsure if he’d just crossed a line.

We just landed somewhere in the middle of a very complicated map.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the gala,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck. “But that was your night, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”

He shifted, searching my face. “Um… Riley? Help me out here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I touched his cheek, palm warm against his skin. My thumb brushed lightly along his jaw. “It was perfect,” I whispered. "The kiss was perfect."

His eyes searched mine like he wanted to believe it.

And I meant it. Every word.

But even as the warmth of his lips lingered, doubt threaded through the cracks.

My pulse was racing, panic creeping in.

That kiss meant I believed in him. But what if I’m wrong? What if I bet on the version of Colton I want him to be—and not the one he actually is?

“I have to go,” I whispered.