Page 46 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

catalina

. . .

I was still stewing over what Carter said about rent. He wasn’t wrong, and that made it worse, worse than the words themselves was the fact that he was right. A couple of months’ worth of rent wasn’t enough—not when I didn’t have anything else lined up.

No backup. No real safety net.

How the fuck was I supposed to run a business when I could barely keep my head above water?

Whatever. I keep showing up, working doubles at the bar as I smile through the pain, pretending my feet don’t feel like they’re about to break through my shoes, pretending my lower back isn’t one shift away from locking up permanently, pretending I’m not drowning in doubt.

Quitting isn’t an option. Not anymore.

I need to prove that I could do this, prove to myself that I wasn’t just another spoiled rich girl who gave up when things got hard.

I’m on break now, slouched against the rough brick wall behind the bar, dragging in lungfuls of fresh air that don’t seem to reach where I need them to. My head rests back against the wall, eyes closed, just trying to exist in silence for five fucking minutes.

My phone buzzes on the sidewalk near me, it’s my fuckwad of a father.

Fuck.

My stomach drops, leaving a pit in my stomach, and the feeling of nausea settles in. I answer anyway, like always.

“I’m on my break,” I say flatly, not even trying to hide the bite in my voice. “What do you want?”

His voice slices through me, cold and sharp like a blade against skin. “Still bartending at that slum you call a bar, huh? Like a goddamn disappointment.”

That same word. Disappointment. It’s his favorite word. He’s been throwing it at me since I was old enough to hear it, and he never misses.

My patience is running thin with him. But I still don’t say anything, because there’s no point. My heart pounds in my chest, a rhythmic warning to keep quiet.

It’s what I do best with him. He no longer hears my voice, so I don’t give in to his beratement. I don’t lose it, I listen.

Just breathe, Catalina. Breathe.

“Hopefully you’re learning your fucking lesson being shipped out there, not living the life I gave you,” he sneers. You made your bed, Catalina. Lie in it. And maybe, if you’re a good girl and behave, I’ll consider bringing you back home.”

The line goes dead.

My teeth grind together so hard my jaw aches, and I can taste blood from the constant biting of the inside of my cheek. My heart is pounding out of rhythm, a broken drum echoing between my ribs. The breath I’ve been holding escapes in a long gasp .

Fuck, it never gets easier.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hard enough to see stars. I won’t cry, not for him. Not this time. The dull ache in my chest is impossible to ignore, like someone is sitting on my chest, crushing every bone connected to my sternum.

I’m so fucking tired. Tired of feeling like I have to prove my worth, tired of chasing a version of myself that he might one day approve of and I’m definitely fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t gut me every time he opens his mouth.

When you grow up in a toxic cycle like this, it fucks with your head.

It alters your brain chemistry, how you flinch when someone raises their voice at you, and having to move cautiously to not make the other person mad.

I want to stand up to him—I do. But the truth is, I’m still fucking scared of him.

Not because he’s powerful. But because, deep down, a sick part of me still wants his love and approval.

I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, taking deep breaths. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, I want to go back to his stupid mansion and break everything he fucking owns.

Instead, I push myself off the wall and walk back into the bar.

Reed gives me the rest of the day off after lunch, muttering something about, “You’re gonna burn out and drop dead behind the bar if you don’t get a goddamn break.” He says it like a joke, but the concern in his eyes makes me pause.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, brushing it off like I always do.

He narrows his green eyes, wiping a glass with a towel. “Yeah? Well, you don’t look fine. You look like you’re two espresso shots away from screaming into the void. Go home, Catalina. Go… reset.”

I blink, startled. “Seriously?”

He nods toward the time clock. “Jade will cover you. Go before I change my mind.”

I don’t argue. I clocked out so fast that I nearly forgot my bag.

As I push open the bar doors, the crisp afternoon breeze hits me like a sigh of relief, fluttering through my hair and cooling the sweat on my neck. I close my eyes for half a second, breathing in the fresh air.

God, I needed this.

I’m digging through my purse for my phone when I feel it—that prickle of awareness on the back of my neck.

I look up, and there he is.

Carter. Leaning against his truck like a fucking scene from a movie. One boot propped against the tire, arms crossed over that broad chest like he’s carved from stone. His hat’s tilted low, but not low enough to hide the fact that—Oh my God. He’s smiling like actually fucking smiling.

He looks so fucking beautiful when he smiles.

I walk up to him, putting my hands on his chest. “You’re actually smiling,” I tease, my grin slipping through before I can stop it. “Or are you constipated?”

He lets out a throaty laugh. “You’re such a pain in my ass,” he says, cupping my face as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “Maybe I’m smiling because I missed you. ”

A smile escapes my lips as I reach up to grab his face, and he instinctively leans into my touch. “I missed you more,” I finally say.

He opens the passenger door for me, and, like clockwork, he smacks my ass as I climb in.

“Get in, darlin’.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m already melting into the worn leather seat, the scent of cedar and pine wrapping around me like a blanket. God, it smells like him.

Home .

He slides into the driver’s seat, remains silent, and reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand, and I swear to God, something cracks open inside me.

This man, who barely talks and growls more than he speaks, looks at me like I’m something to be protected, not pitied. He has gone soft for me, and I don’t know what to do with that.

Except hold on tighter.

“So,” he says as he pulls onto the road, the sun casting molten gold across the windshield. “What do you want to do with your free night?”

I smile to myself, my heart fluttering stupidly in my chest. “Bubble bath, face masks, and trashy reality TV.”

He snorts, like he can’t help himself. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“We?” I ask, raising a brow.

“Yeah,” he says, “you think I’m letting you watch bad TV without me?”

I lean back against him, my body sinking into his chest as my legs tangle with his beneath the warm water. The soft scent of eucalyptus rises with the steam, curling around us like a cocoon.

Carter’s arms wrap snugly around my waist, his fingertips tracing slow, lazy patterns along my stomach. Each stroke sends a wave of calm through me, unraveling the knots I have been carrying.

“I desperately needed this,” I whisper, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder.

He doesn’t say much; he grunts in agreement. He reaches over the side of the tub without looking and hands me the iced matcha he picked up for me on the way home.

My lips twitch as I take it from him. “Ugh, thank you.”

He nuzzles his nose into the space behind my ear. “You’re welcome, baby.”

Jesus. That voice. That nickname. The casual way he says it, like it’s been mine all along.

I love him. I haven’t said it, but it’s there, pressed between us in the quiet, in every small gesture and lingering touch.

After our bath, my skin still hums from the heat and the feel of his hands on me. I watch him from the doorway as he stands at the sink, a thick towel slung low around his hips, arms crossed, looking every bit like a six-foot-seven grumpy cowboy who was just thrown into my life and stayed.

“Shit!” I blurt out, spinning on my heel, and bolt out of the bathroom like a girl on a mission .

Behind me, I hear him call out.

“The hell are you doing?”

I don’t answer. I’m too focused as I dig through my overnight bag in the bedroom with manic energy until I find what I’m looking for—my skincare pouch.

My holy grail.

With triumph in my eyes and rosewater-scented victory in my hands, I march back into the bathroom, where Carter is still standing by the sink, staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

He lifts a brow. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Enhancing your beauty,” I announce, holding up two rosewater sheet masks. “You, Carter Hayes, are in desperate need of hydration.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not putting that thing on my face.”

I start tearing open the packet, the scent of rose and mint already floating through the room. “Too late. It’s open. We’re committed.”

He grumbles but doesn’t move, as he watches me with that annoyed-puppy expression as I gently unfold the cold, gooey sheet mask. I press it to his face, gently.

He flinches. “Jesus, fuck, that’s cold!”

I giggle as I smooth it over the sharp planes of his cheeks. “Stop being a baby.”

He mutters something under his breath as he holds onto my waist, but I’m too busy admiring how ridiculous he looks. The sheet doesn’t quite fit his square jaw, and the cutouts stretch awkwardly over his too-intense eyebrows, only making him look more dramatic.

I hold up the mirror.

Carter glares at his reflection .

“Catalina, if you take a picture–”

Click.

“Too late.” I grin, already backing up.

I slap the second mask onto my face, the icy coolness biting into my skin in the best way. He’s still grumbling when I grab his hand, dragging him out of the bathroom and head downstairs.

We flop onto the couch, the cushions are soft and warm beneath us. Carter barely gives me time to adjust before he pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me with a low, satisfied groan. I settle between his legs, my back pressed to his bare chest, and I grab the remote.

“Now hush,” I say, scrolling through the TV. “Love Is Blind is on, and they’re about to go into the pods.”

The theme music blasts through the speakers, and I feel his chest rumble beneath me as he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

We look absolutely ridiculous. He’s in grey sweatpants with a rose-scented sheet mask clinging to his rugged face. I’m wrapped in his old t-shirt, hair still damp, and a bowl of popcorn nestled in my lap like a fucking gremlin. And yet... It feels like the happiest kind of domestic chaos.

I look up at him, unable to stop myself. I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“What?” he grumbles through the mask.

“You,” I giggle, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes. “You look like a grumpy little spa day disaster. If only your brothers could see you.”

He groans, tipping his head back. “Don’t you dare send them that picture.”

“I won’t,” I say, smirking. “But you secretly love this.”

He doesn’t respond.

He tilts my chin up gently with two fingers.

My breath stutters when I meet his blue eyes, soft beneath the ridiculous mask.

He leans in slowly, not rushing it, just letting the moment settle around us.

His lips brush mine, once, twice, then deeper, pulling me into a kiss that curls my toes and floods heat straight to my center.

I sigh into it, one hand threading into the back of his wet, messy hair. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me entirely into him as our mouths move in a slow, heated rhythm. When we finally pull apart, I can barely breathe.

He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb stroking the edge of my jaw.

The deep baritone vibrates throughout my back as he finally speaks.

“Not nearly as much as I love seeing you like this... happy, safe, like you belong right here with me.”

I freeze, my heart skipping like it’s not sure what to do with itself. Something warm and terrifying unfurls in my chest, blooming fast and wild. But for once, I don’t run. I smile, pressing closer into his arms, whispering back.

“Me too.”