Page 5 of Sunday's Best

Holden’s leaning against a metal fence rail with a bottle of beer in one hand and the other tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. While Logan couldn’t wait to throw on a pair of shorts and a tank top after his rodeo events, Holden’s still in the long-sleeve, grey shirt he wore to compete in today—though the first few pearl snaps are unbuttoned, revealing a shadow of dark chest hair.

All the winning must have Holden feeling good, too, because this is the first time I’ve seen him in a social setting in the last week. Honestly, outside of our time spent in the truck together, I rarely see him, period. I thought sharing close quarters with Satan’s prodigy would be excruciating, but it’s as if he’s doing everything possible to avoid spending time around me.

He tips his head back to take a swig, oblivious to the fact that he’s being watched, and my stomach twists with a weird, bubbly feeling.

Logan steals back my attention with, “You want another drink, babe?”

“Oh, uh…” I swallow, averting my gaze. I shouldn’t be looking at my boyfriend’s brother that way, anyway. “Sure.”

“Be right back.” His lips smack against the side of my head, and then he’s gone, wandering off into the crowd. To where, I’m not sure. I don’t suppose there’s a proper bar here, so I’m guessing he’s headed back to our trailer. I shouldn’t have made it seem like I was having fun when he mentioned leaving the party earlier. I’d kill to be in bed with a good book right now.

“So, you’re gonna be keeping Logan in line all summer?” a cowboy at the table asks, raking his fingers through shaggy blond hair. “Can’t imagine many women would want that job.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, we’ve been dating for over a year. I’m used to keeping him in line.”

The cowboy exchanges a look with the guy next to him, then both stare down at their respective beer cans. The awkward silence that follows is anything but silent.

With a gulp, I let my eyes drift back to the fenceline. Holden’s gone.

“I’m, uh… gonna go track down Logan.”

I weave through clusters of people and trailers and randomly placed bales of hay. The music gets louder, then quieter, then louder as I make my way from party spot to party spot.

It’s Logan’s hat I spot first, then his shoulders turned slightly away from me near the back of our trailer. Turned toward a woman, who’s leaning against the metal with a black cowboy boot pressed against the wall, knee tipped open in an invitation that’s beyond friendly.

My steps slow.

She says something that makes him grin, wide and earnest, and his fingertips reach out to graze her hip. As if he hasn’t spent all night giving me the same touch.

The woman doesn’t move away. If anything, she leans into the feel of his callused fingertips, her dark-brown hair cascades over her shoulders as she tilts her head up to look at him with a flirty laugh.

Rooted in place, I wait. Wait for him to step back, to look around, to think of me.

So much for trying.

The taste of beer turns stale at the back of my throat. I think about the message. The buzzing phone on his nightstand. The silence from his cowboy buddies when I said we’d been together for a year.

Tearing myself away from my unfolding nightmare, I slip into the darkness before either of them notices me. My lungs are on fire, vision blurred with unshed tears. The last thing I want is anybody seeing my inevitable breakdown, so I run until there’s no more pockets of light, the music has dulled to a low thump of bass, and I can’t make out campfire embers floating into the onyx sky.

Rounding the front of a jacked-up pickup truck, I slam into the human equivalent of a brick wall. Strong hands catch my arms to steady me before I stumble back, and my fingers clutch his shirt. One of the undone buttons digs into my palm, and his bare chest is hot on my knuckles.

“Sunday?”

I shake my head, letting go of the fabric bunched in my fist and struggling to get out of his tight grasp. “Holden, let me⁠—”

A sob slices up my throat to betray me, coming out stuttering and gasping, until I’m not fighting anymore. I’m folding into him.

He swears under his breath. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” My voice is brittle and small. For some reason, I want him to hug me. I want him to let me fall into him instead of keeping me at an arm’s length. “It’s nothing. Just let me go.”

“Bullshit,” he spits. His grip on my biceps is bruising, and I feel the intensity of his gaze over every inch of my body, burning deep into my bones, wholly encompassing me. “What did he do?”

“Please let me go.” Tears spill over, running down my cheeks and falling at our feet. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

The hardened palm of his left hand eases its hold to gently rub the length of my upper arm. He’s barely touching me now. I could run. But I have nowhere to go, nobody to talk to, and the rough feel of his skin on mine is somehow keeping me grounded.

“What did he do?” Holden repeats.