Page 38 of Sealing the Deal

Mad beams. “Yeah. I could be a billionaire.”

I laugh again.

When the last dish is drying on the rack, Flic shoves my jacket at my chest. “Come on, I’ll show you around the ranch.”

Outside, the cold is just as biting. The snow crunches beneath our boots as Flic leads me past the paddocks. The horses whinny from the barn, breath puffing white into the air, and Flic lifts a hand to them like she’s greeting old friends. “I’ll come see you later.”

We loop around the property until the land crests into a wide-open stretch with the snow-covered foothills rising beyond. No fences or gates. Just the ranch and the wilderness, and between them sits a full-size football field, complete with uprights.

“I can’t believe they have their own football field,” I say.

Flic nods. “Football means everything to them. Like it does for a lot of us in Denver.”

There’s a weighted pause. It feels like this lunch was as much about acceptance as it was a photo for Jake’s socials, and maybe Flic is waiting for me to give more of myself.

“Are all dinners like that here?” I ask instead.

Flic barks a laugh. “That was calm. One year, Jake and Chase got into a wrestling match over the last piece of Mama’s pecan pie and broke a chair. Mama banned dessert for three months. At which point Chase started bringing his own, creating weird concoctions like avocado and caramel, until Mama gave in and made her desserts again. Not that it stopped Chase from bringing weird cakes with him for every dinner.”

“That explains the chili and pineapple muffins,” I say, thinking of the plate of mustard-yellow, oddly shaped muffins sitting untouched on the table beside Mama’s apple pie.

“All Chase.” Flic chuckles, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “You’ve got a sister, though, right? You must’ve had some fun growing up, too.”

“Nothing like this. My father is a man who hates vulnerability. Showing weakness even as children left us open to being hurt or manipulated. It’s hard to relax and have fun when you’re on guard all the time.”

Flic frowns. “You make it sound like a chess game.”

“That’s exactly what it felt like. Helena and I have our own relationship now, but I’ve only ever seen her guard down once.”

Even though I know it’s coming, the memory still hits hard and with sickening clarity. I think of her in the hospital bed, broken inside and out. Me apologizing, telling her I should’ve come home sooner. I’d been so focused for so long on proving I wasn’t my father, and on staying out of his reach, that I didn’t stop to think about what I was leaving behind—or who. In the end, it turned out there was no place I could go out of my father’s reach. But that day in the hospital in New York was the only time I ever saw Helena cry. Silent, fat teardrops rolling down her face, swollen with bruises that made me feel sick. The attempt at a smile. The weak squeeze of my hand. It’s not your fault, Grayson.

Maybe it wasn’t. But I should’ve seen how bad things were with that bastard my father pushed her into marrying. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit her. It wasn’t even the first time she’d ended up in the emergency room. And that killed me.

I drag in a breath and force myself back to the present. I’m aware of Flic’s gaze on me, watching me with something between concern and curiosity. I’m sure she sees I’m holding back, but I’m grateful she doesn’t push. If I start talking about my father and how fucked up my family is, I’ll have to talk about Ana. Flic has only just stopped seeing me as the devil. The last thing I want is to give her a reason to look at me again and decide she was right the first time.

SIXTEEN

GRAYSON

“Relax,” Flic says, resting a hand on the stall door. “Bramble won’t bite. Not hard, anyway.”

I stop a safe distance back and lift a brow. “Once again, I feel deeply reassured.”

Her laugh echoes through the barn, and once again the sound lifts me. I stare at the horse in front of us. It’s a massive black mare with a glossy coat and intelligent, watchful eyes. She shifts her weight, snorts softly, and flicks an ear in my direction like she’s already judged me. Horses are impressive. Majestic and powerful and also very large, very solid creatures that I’ve somehow managed to avoid my entire life.

Flic raises her brows. “I thought billionaires were supposed to be fearless risk takers.”

“I am fearless,” I say evenly. “This is strategic caution.”

She steps closer to the stall, unfazed, reaching out to run her palm along Bramble’s neck. The horse responds by leaning into her touch.

Flic glances back at me and then closes the distance between us before I can retreat. “You’re impossible.”

She takes my hand, warm fingers guiding me forward. My focus should be on the horse—the softness of her coat as Flic presses my palm to Bramble’s neck. Instead, it’s on Flic. On her hand over mine and the unmistakable jolt of awareness that races up my arm and into my chest just like it did in the car earlier. Except this time, I don’t want to spook the horse and can’t pull away. I’m stuck. My pulse stutters, then picks up speed.

Her focus is on the horse, her tone soft. “See. Nothing to be afraid of.”

I swallow, my eyes dragging to Flic. The afternoon sunlight spills through the open barn doors, catching in her hair. She looks different out here than at the bar. Lighter. Freer. Her shoulders are loose, her smile easy. She looks like she belongs here.