Page 98 of Dallas Rivals

That strange, aching wrongness of being apart. Of pretending that what’s happening between us isn’t real.

I glance at my parents. Sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere, the other family at our table turns their attention elsewhere and quietly murmurs to their child, acting as though nothing is happening. My father’s warning is clear in the slow shake of his head. My mother, as always, stays silent, her eyes pleading for me to let it go.

But I can’t.

I push my chair back and stand. The sound echoes through the hall like a confession.

“Cala,” my father warns, voice low but sharp. “Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not,” I say, my throat tight but steady. “It’s where he wants me to be. And it’s where I want to be.”

I walk to Oliver. The air seems to bend between us.

When I stop beside him, the tips of our fingers brush—barely a whisper of contact—but the jolt it sends through me is enough to set my heart racing.

He doesn’t move his hand.

“Lucien.” Oliver’s voice drops, quiet but dangerous. “Last chance. You coming?”

My father’s eyes harden. “No, Oliver. Thank you. We’ll stay here.”

A muscle in Oliver’s jaw ticks. He gives a single nod, the kind that could mean control or surrender, I can’t tell which.

Then, still looking at my father, he says, “Perfect.”

He turns toward the door. “Let’s go, Cala.”

When we reach the truck, Oliver slams his door shut and exhales all the air he’d been holding in. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“He’s such a stubborn man…” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “Did I just ruin my relationship with Lucien?”

I place my hand on his arm. “No. He was actually having a good time there.”

“But I practically kidnapped his daughter…”

“You did no such thing. He’ll get over it, Oliver. Don’t let it eat at you.”

He nods, still tense, but finally looks at me. I give him a soft smile, the kind meant to steady a storm.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi, Oli.”

He leans forward and kisses me, his hand cupping the back of my neck, his lips pressing against mine with urgency and restraint all at once.

“I’m tired of fighting this, Cala,” he breathes against my mouth.

I nod, my heart pounding.

“I just want today to be peaceful,” he murmurs. “But tomorrow… tomorrow we talk.”

When we get back to the ranch, the adult Walkers are in the kitchen, and the little ones are in the living room watching Frozen on the giant TV—Astro sitting at their feet, watching the screen like he actually understands it.

Eliza is laughing so hard she’s crying while wrestling with Killian, trying to stop him from stealing her cranberry sauce. She looks tiny next to the Walkers, but happy—and that alone makes me smile. Silas and Lauren are peeling potatoes side by side, Luca’s kneading bread, and his wife keeps scolding him for doing it wrong.

Oliver’s face softens completely. He smiles—really smiles—and, without even looking at me, he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine and holding tight. No one notices we’ve come in, so he lets his walls down just long enough to breathe.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.