Page 49 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

“Remember when I told you to tell me if you had any skeletons in your closet?”

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and the second they do, I know I’ve started this conversation the wrong way.

Frustration simmers under my skin—not at Georgia, not really.

I get why she didn’t bring this up in the short time we’ve been together.

I do. And maybe I rushed her into a proposal, though to me, it didn’t feel rushed. I know her. I know us.

But now, I can’t shake the gnawing feeling that while I’ve laid everything bare—every flaw, every truth—she’s been holding pieces of herself back.

And worse? Someone else knew before I did.

Someone who’s circling like a vulture, ready to rip apart her past and use it against her.

That thought alone fills me with a fury I can barely contain.

Georgia shrinks back, her expression flickering with something unreadable, and I realize I’ve already pushed too hard.

This isn’t about me feeling embarrassed or lied to.

It’s about trust. It’s about the fact that we’re more than just boss and employee now, and yet, she didn’t believe she could share this part of herself with me. And that stings.

But what stings more? The fact that I should have seen this coming. I should have asked the right questions. I should have protected her before this ever had the chance to explode. And now, I have to fix it—no matter what it takes.

“I’m sorry, Georgia,” I say, stepping toward her, but she flinches and backs away. “Please, tell me everything I should know, so that I can get ahead of this. To protect you.”

I can see the pain in her eyes. She looks away before speaking, her voice softer. “I was just a kid. No one was supposed to know about this.”

“Unfortunately, they do.”

She bites her lip, then stalks off to the kitchen, grabs a large wine glass and fills it to the brim. She downs it like it’s water, the glass barely leaving her lips before she lets out a long, tortured sigh.

“When I was sixteen, my Civics teacher gave us an assignment to write a letter to any state senator about an issue that mattered to us. I was the editor of the school newspaper and cared a lot about the local economy because it impacted my family. I decided to focus on rural infrastructure—it was something that I enjoyed learning about. Our town was growing, connecting to bigger cities like San Angelo, but the infrastructure wasn’t growing at the pace that it needed to.

Roads were falling apart, and it was hell transporting goods from ranches like my dad’s and uncle’s.

I’d overheard my dad complain and though I didn’t understand all the details, I spent a lot of time that semester researching just how bad things had gotten.

It wasn’t safe for my dad, and I was worried about him. ”

She lets out a sigh then rests her elbows onto the countertop and places her head in her hands.

“The senator I decided to write to had been voting to divert funds from rural development to sketchy funds in other divisions, and I had proof of it. I dug through years of voting records, found a clear pattern of neglect that stemmed back to his father who was also a senator. He wasn’t just ignoring rural towns; he was screwing over the big cities too.

On a school field trip to Houston, I saw how bad the bridges were in the city. ”

She pauses, taking a breath. I can see her hands shaking slightly. She’s trying to hold it together, but the tension is written all over her face.

“My letter was direct, maybe a little harsh, but it was backed by facts, and I was sixteen years old. I didn’t expect a response—I mean, who actually reads letters from high school kids?

Sure, I hoped he’d see it. But a few months later, when we were short on content, I published it in the school newspaper.

It got some attention. People started talking, and someone posted it on social media—it went viral and other people dug up more details around comments this senator had made online towards vulnerable people.

Eventually, it all landed on the senator’s radar forcing him to make a public comment. ”

“Damn.”

She nods, tears sliding down her cheeks now, falling into the glass she’s gripping. I move towards her, pressing a steadying hand on her back to encourage her to continue. She’s strong and doesn’t need me, but I want her to know I’m here.

“The senator was young, in his early thirties, and came from a long line of politicians. His family was old money. He didn’t take kindly to being called out by a bunch of kids.

In a public statement, he called me a ’ small-minded child from middle of nowhere Texas with a below average education, ’ dismissing everything that I’d written and what the others had found.

But it didn’t stop there. Behind the scenes, he used his connections to make life harder for my family.

Rumors started—threats to sabotage my dad and uncle’s ranch, false claims about our property.

It went beyond talk. Other ranchers, local business owners, even friends distanced themselves from us.

My reputation at school crumbled. Some of my classmates’ parents sided with the senator, and I became a target.

They wanted me to retract the letter, write something supportive of him since there were other things he was involved in that were good for small towns like ours.

He was the youngest senator from a similar Texas town, after all.

People only saw the good he did and wanted to ignore the insensitive, inappropriate comments and wrong.

But I couldn’t. I knew I was right about all of it.

The facts were on my side, and no one wanted to hear it but my family. ”

She exhales shakily. “The stress on my family, the isolation at school from my friends I’d grown up with—it was too much. The threats, the rumors... I felt helpless, like I’d set off a bomb and couldn’t stop the fallout and frankly, I was embarrassed by all the attention.”

Her voice breaks as she delivers the words that I know are going to gut me. “The depression... it all became too much. And I… one night I tried to end my life.”

Fuck .

I’m frozen, the words hitting me like a sledgehammer even though the reporter already told me them a few hours earlier.

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut, as if willing herself to stay composed.

“It felt like my only way out. I thought I could stop all the pain, the fighting, the damage to my family. I was so embarrassed. I’d done what I thought was right by calling him out, but it had all backfired.

It was overwhelming. My parents hid a lot from me, the impact on the ranch, but I felt like it was all my fault, and I was so damn young.

I wasn’t thinking about the future. All I knew was I’d lost the friends I’d always known, and my actions seemed to be impacting my family. ”

I squeeze her hip, wanting to tell her that no one else will ever get the chance to threaten her again.

“It taught me that some politicians don’t actually care about the people that they are elected to support.”

And damn if I don’t hate how much Georgia understands my struggle. The way that politics is often used as a weapon. It’s a twisted bond we share. Being wronged and jaded by the system that’s supposed to be for us.

“Fuck, Georgia. I’m so sorry.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Thankfully, I wasn’t successful.

My mom found me in time, and after that, my dad dropped his lawsuit though he was justified.

We let everything go, despite how much it hurt them to see my reputation attacked, they understood I needed a break from it all.

I spent my junior year at a private school and then returned for my senior year.

By that time, most of my classmates had either moved past the story or permanently disowned me.

My parents reassured me that I had done the right thing, but I learned the hard way just how power can be abused, how those in control can walk away unscathed.

Worse, my love for politics—the dream I had of working in government someday—was destroyed.

I no longer saw myself as a future congresswoman or mayor of our small town.

Everything felt tainted, fake. I wanted nothing to do with it anymore. ”

“That’s understandable,” I whisper, feeling my chest tighten.

“My parents tried to protect me; they encouraged me to keep pursuing my dreams. But after that... I had no friends, started therapy, went on antidepressants. Everyone saw me as the girl who wrote the letter, went viral, and tried to end her life. I was completely isolated until Mae Beaumont moved to town. She didn’t know any of the drama, and for the first time in months, I made a friend who didn’t look at me funny.

When I went to college, things were better.

I majored in government—the only thing I’d ever been passionate about—but two years in, I couldn’t get past what had happened.

The whole thing had ruined it for me, and I dropped out.

That’s when the depression crept back in. ”

She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Then I found the Smiths accidentally and started nannying for their kids. Despite them being in politics, I kept myself out of the public eye. Stayed behind the scenes and fell in love with working with children. Decided school wasn’t for me. And then... I found you.”

Her eyes meet mine as she drains the last of her wine. “I’m so sorry, Troy.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” I say quietly. “I didn’t protect you. Again.”

She shakes her head. “How could you have known? I didn’t tell you.

Besides, the story died off over a decade ago.

I never thought anyone from my past would drag this back up, let alone use it to hurt you—especially now, with the election.

Shit, if this causes you to lose...” Her voice breaks, and she wipes away a tear, choking on a sob.

“This doesn’t change anything, Georgia,” I say firmly. “I love you. That senator was wrong. His policies were hurting Texas infrastructure, and his response—publicly attacking a sixteen-year-old—is disgusting. It sounds like he crushed your dreams and dragged your family through hell.”

My fists clench, and I have to consciously force them to relax. I want to find that senator and destroy him. To make him pay for what he’s done to her. What he’s taken from her.

“I need you to tell me everything—the good and the bad—so that I can protect you. That way no one can ever use anything against you. Against us. But also, because I want to know everything about you, Georgia.”

She nods, but I’m not sure if my words are getting through.

“Troy, you can’t always protect everyone from everything. And some things, you can’t make right, no matter the amount of power or influence you have.”

I shake my head because I refuse to believe that. If that’s the truth, then what’s the last decade of my life been dedicated to? Hell, the last two decades. I’m barely keeping my thoughts straight now as I immediately move into fix it mode, thinking about the new people I plan on destroying.

By tomorrow morning, I’ll be at the tabloid’s office, doing whatever it takes to kill this story for Georgia—because if I can’t fix everything, I’ll at least fix this.