Page 38 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

catalina

. . .

I ’ve been sulking in this fucking room for days. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to breathe. I want to lie here and rot inside the heavy, invisible weight pressing down on my chest. I want to sink into the mattress and disappear.

I want my mom. God, I want her so fucking bad it feels like I can’t breathe without her here. I close my eyes, clinging to the faintest memory of her voice, a voice tucked away in the farthest corner of my mind where grief hasn’t fully destroyed it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mija. Can’t you see what a smart, beautiful woman you are? Set your mind to it, and you’ll accomplish it. I’m always in your corner, cheering you on.”

The words feel like a knife against the raw parts of my heart.

Tears slip quietly down my cheeks, soaking into the stretched collar of Carter’s sweatshirt that still clings to my skin.

I roll onto my side, my gaze landing on the notebook abandoned on my nightstand.

The number I wrote down— three thousand dollars —stares back at me in angry, ugly ink, underlined so many times it practically tore through the page.

It’s not Linda’s fault. It’s not even unfair.

It’s me. I’m the fucking problem.

Reality hits me like a freight train all over again.

Three thousand dollars a month. Money I don’t have.

Money I pissed away when I could’ve been smart and saved.

Years of drunken nights, designer shopping sprees, and pouring my grief into anything that would numb the screaming silence my mother left behind.

A sharp, hollow laugh escapes me as I keep staring up at the ceiling. I clench my jaw until my teeth hurt, willing the lump in my throat to stay down, trying to beat back the familiar spiral clawing its way up my chest.

I feel like a fucking failure.

A broke, directionless twenty-four year old who doesn’t even know how to fix her own fucking life. As if the universe hasn’t shunned me enough, today is my birthday.

Another year reminding me that I haven’t accomplished anything.

The buzz of my phone on the nightstand shatters the heavy silence. I flinch, swiping blindly until the screen blares to life. Group chat notifications flash across the screen, cutting through the fog clouding my head.

Amelia

Happy birthday to my favorite gremlin, I love youuuuu.

Layla

Another year of being hotter and slightly more chaotic. We love to fucking see it. Now get out of bed, and go ride some dick.

A tiny breath of a laugh pushes past my lips. It lands softly in my chest, a fleeting reminder that maybe I’m not as alone as I feel. Of course, they remembered, they always do.

The ones who sat with me in hospital waiting rooms, who pulled me out of bars when I was too broken to leave on my own, and who refused to walk away even when I shoved them with every ounce of rage and grief I had.

I send them back a few heart emojis and snap a quick selfie with my bird’s nest hair and exaggerated duck lips, just to prove I’m still breathing. But as I swipe back through my notifications, the familiar emptiness returns.

No missed calls. No new texts. Nothing from the one person I secretly, stupidly, still wish would care.

Of course, he couldn’t message me a happy birthday.

My chest caves in a little more. I throw the blanket off with a frustrated groan; the weight of it feels like it’s suffocating me.

I sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing my hands down my face, anger and sadness swirling so fast I can barely tell them apart. It’s pathetic how much power he still holds over me. It’s pathetic that some wounded part of me still hopes, aches, for something different.

God, my daddy issues are fucking Olympic level.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a long, shaky breath.

Fine. If he won’t be proud of me, I’ll find a way to be proud of myself.

I fly down the stairs like an absolute ape, my bare feet thundering against the wood, not giving a single fuck about how much noise I’m making.

I’m pissed, and it’s not even eight in the goddamn morning.

I storm into the kitchen, fully ready to rage at the first person who crosses me—and of course, it has to be Carter.

He sits at the kitchen island, looking perfect as usual. Freshly showered, damp strands of dark brown hair pushed back, a white Henley clings to his broad back, as his muscles strain through the thin fabric.

God, I hate how he looks this good just existing.

He turns slightly, his blue eyes finding mine, and his entire face shifts. Gone is the teasing, cocky cowboy. In its place is something softer, like he can see right through the storm raging inside of me.

“Come here, baby,” he says quietly, voice rough with sleep but so damn gentle it makes something in my chest crack.

I hesitate, blinking at him, not trusting myself to speak. I still look like shit, but Carter looks at me like I’m the only thing he sees.

Like I’m beautiful even when I’m broken.

I move toward him without thinking, and before I can say a word, he’s out of his chair, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrap around me, anchoring me against the warmth of him, as his hand cradles the back of my head, tucking me right under his chin.

“I got you, baby,” he says against my hair, “I know these past couple of days were shit. And this morning isn’t much better. You don’t gotta say anything... Just let me hold you for a minute, alright?”

The tears I swore I wouldn’t cry threaten to fall again, burning my eyes. I squeeze them shut and breathe him in instead—cedar and pine, something that smells like home .

I finally showered, cleaning days’ worth of filth off of me. Carter insisted on a surprise today.

God fucking help me.

His hand wraps around mine, tugging me straight into the barn. The scent of hay, leather, and that distinct musky horse smell smacks me in the face. I immediately dig my heels into the dirt like a stubborn mule.

“No,” I say firmly, crossing my arms. “I’m not cleaning up horse shit today.”

Carter chuckles under his breath, glancing over his shoulder at me with that annoying little smirk that makes my knees weak.

“Relax, baby,” he says, voice low and teasing. “You’re not shoveling anything today.”

I narrow my eyes, pouting as I trail after him reluctantly. He heads straight to one of the stalls, calmly grabbing the reins of a huge black horse that looks like it could murder me with a single kick.

“Absolutely not!” I yelp, “That thing is a death trap! A giant, muscular, four-legged death machine!”

Carter ignores me completely, saddling the horse, tightening the leather straps, and runs a soothing hand down its neck.

“His name’s Midnight,” he says casually, “and he’s harmless, unless you start screaming like a lunatic. ”

“I make no promises!” I shout back, clutching the barn door like my life depends on it.

He laughs, a real throaty laugh, the sound is something so rare from him, and I cherish every second of that beautiful laugh.

“You trust me?” he asks again, cocking his head, holding his hand out.

I bite my lip. “No.”

“You’re safe with me, Catalina. Always.”

Damn him.

I stare at his outstretched hand for a moment, my heart hammering in my ears. I take a cautious step, grumbling under my breath and stomping over to him.

“You owe me,” I mutter.

He grins as he hauls me up with effortless strength, seating me right in front of him in the saddle.

He pulls me back against him, arm sliding around my waist as I settle into the saddle.

His chest presses to my back, close enough where I can feel the pattern of his breath.

One hand rests near mine on the reins, the other stays at my waist, holding me tight.

The horse steps forward, its hooves trot through the grass with a muted thud. My body shifts with the movement, throwing me off balance. I grab the saddle horn, my fingers curling tight around the worn leather.

“Loosen up, baby,” he teases in my ear, “enjoy the ride.”

I snort, squeezing my thighs tighter around the saddle.

Carter takes me around his land, endless golden pastures, fences stretching far and wide, clusters of trees that dance with the breeze, and cattle graze lazily in the distance.

It’s truly breathtaking.

I can feel the tension I always carry leaving my body. The wind in my hair, Carter’s hand holding my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Finally, after what feels like forever, he leads the horse through a break in the trees.

There it is—a lake, tucked away like a secret.

The water is so still that it looks like glass, its surface reflecting the blue of the sky and the cotton-candy swirls of the fluffy clouds. Wildflowers border the edges, lavender, white, and soft pinks tangled together.

I sit there, stunned. “Carter,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper. “This is…”

“Yours,”

MINE?

I blink up at him, my heart a tangled mess in my chest. We sit down by the water’s edge, the gentle breeze playing with the loose strands of my hair. He stretches his legs out, leaning back on his palms, watching me.

For a long moment, I just listened to the soft rustle of the trees and the distant sound of Midnight grazing behind us.

I pick my shirt, nerves running through me, and the words leave my lips like a word vomit.

“It’s my birthday today,” I whisper.

Carter’s head snaps toward me, something shifting behind his eyes.

“I feel so fucking stupid,” I continue, the words pouring out now, “I thought maybe… maybe my dad would text, call, or just something. But of course he didn’t. And now with the bookstore rent, it’s like… what’s the point? I’m so fucking tired of getting my hopes up just to get crushed.”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes watch me intently. Suddenly, he’s moving, getting up and walking to the pack he brought with him. I sit there, blinking, not understanding what’s happening until he crouches back down in front of me.

He holds something out—a black box, worn at the edges from being handled too much. My heart stutters as I take it with shaky fingers. Slowly, I open the box, putting the lid aside to be met with a beautiful pair of work gloves.

Lavender suede.

Right across the top, stitched in sparkling stones, are my initials.

I choke out a laugh, tears blurring my vision. Such a simple gift, the old me would of been so fucking mad, but now?

It’s everything.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he says, his fingers raking through his hair. “I got them for you weeks ago. I didn’t know when the right time would be. But, I wanted to make you feel better after the past couple of days you were having, so today was perfect.”

“You had these made?” I whisper, barely trusting my voice.

Carter shrugs beside me, as his hand rubs the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.

“Thought you might like something that actually fits. Something that feels like it’s yours.”

I stare at him, completely useless against the way my throat closes and my eyes sting. Before I can think better of it, I throw my arms around him, nearly knocking him back into the grass.

He catches me with a low grunt, his arms come around me like instinct. His hand slips into my hair, the other rests low on my back, holding me steady as I bury my face in his chest .

“You okay, birthday girl?” he asks, his voice a low whisper near the crown of my head.

I nod against the crook of his neck, the tears falling anyway. “You really know how to make a woman feel seen.”

He pulls back just enough to tip my chin up, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek. His blue eyes are soft, open in a way they never are with anyone else.

“That’s because I do see you, Catalina,” he says softly. “All of you.”

My breath catches, a quiet little sob slips free before I can stop it. It’s not from sadness, not even from the stress of everything I’ve been carrying.

It’s from this, this feeling, that someone finally, truly sees me.

No expectations. No conditions. No pretending. Just me .

“I don’t deserve you,” I say quietly.

“No,” he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, “I don’t deserve someone as beautiful and wild as you.”