What I hated most was how easily I could still picture the kiss.

It wasn't even the kiss itself, not really. It wasn't the way his lips pressed against mine, or the way his hand settled on my back, cautious but firm, like he was afraid I might pull away. It was everything that came after. The pauses in our conversations, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, like we were both thinking the same thing but didn't dare speak it out loud. That kiss had taken something easy between us and turned it upside down. Now it was all tangled up in what-ifs and should-haves.

I hated that it changed everything, because it wasn't supposed to. We were supposed to be the same, supposed to be Rem and Lem, just like always. But every time I saw him now, something hung in the air between us. A weight. The unspoken truth that we'd crossed a line, and there was no pretending otherwise.

But now, every time I walked into a bar like this—our bar—my stomach twisted up in knots, half-expecting to see him and half-dreading it too. It wasn't just the place, though that was bad enough. It was the memory of what used to be simple between us. The way we'd meet after our first ride of the season, swapping stories about close calls and the bulls that had thrown him too soon. It used to be easy. Light.

But the kiss? That kiss took all of that away. From me. From him.

I scanned the dance floor, my eyes moving over the sea of cowboy hats, the smell of beer and sweat mixing into something almost stifling. Each face blurred into the next, none of them the one I was hoping, or maybe fearing, to see. And the worst part? Every now and then, someone would move just right, their hat tilted, their stance familiar enough to make my heart hitch in my chest. Only for it to drop again when they turned and it wasn't him.

Where the hell was he?

I pulled my phone out, staring at the empty screen. No message, no call. A year ago Rem would've been the one to text first, asking if I was on my way, or if I'd gotten caught up with something at the ranch. He'd have been waiting, probably already halfway through his first drink, teasing me the second I walked through the door.

But now?

Now, I couldn't even count on him to show up.

My thumb hovered over his name, the letters blurring as I stared at the screen. The urge to call him crept up, unbidden and unwelcome, pulling at me in that familiar way that left me feeling raw. But I shoved the phone back into my pocket before I could act on it. Desperation didn't suit me, never had, never would. And yet, it clung to me now, a silent weight that threatened to unravel the fragile calm I'd been holding onto.

Damn it, Rem.

I tugged my jacket tighter around me, feeling the air in the bar grow thicker, more suffocating with each passing minute. The lights dimmed, the music shifted, and the crowd moved with it. I made my way toward the back wall, where the old payphones still hung, relics of another time, when things were simpler. They hadn't been touched in years, probably still covered in dust from back when we were just kids, sneaking into this place after the rodeo.

Rem used to laugh about those phones, saying they were from a time before life got complicated, before we had real problems. He wasn't wrong. And now, looking at them, they felt like some kind of symbol for what had happened between us. Old, forgotten, barely functional.

I turned on my heel and headed toward the bar, the noise of boots scuffing against the hardwood blending with the twang of country music. I slipped onto a barstool, resting my elbows on the counter. The bartender caught my eye, already recognizing the look of someone who didn't want to talk, just wanted to drown something for a while.

"I'll take a gin and tonic," I muttered.

The glass slid across the counter with a clink, and I stared at it for a moment before wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. The condensation slipped under my fingertips, the drink steady in my hand in a way nothing else was tonight. I took a sip, letting the burn settle in my chest, but it didn't ease the tightness still coiled inside me.

My eyes scanned the crowd again, half out of habit and half hoping, though I wasn't sure what I was hoping for. Rem had talked to me today like nothing had changed, like that night between us hadn't happened. But I felt it. Things weren't the same. They couldn't be.

And yet, deep down, I missed what we had. The friendship that had been so easy, so natural. The way we could talk for hours without thinking too hard about anything. I wasn't hung up on him, not the way people might assume. But I missed us.

I took another sip, scanning the crowd one last time, but deep down I already knew the truth. He wasn't coming. He hadn't been coming for a while now.

I set the glass down, the cool weight of it grounding me, but it couldn't stop the rush of thoughts that had been crowding my head ever since I stepped into the bar. The last year had been nothing but a series of realizations like this, moments where everything shifted and things stopped being simple. And that damn kiss was the tipping point. I didn't even want to think about it, but it lingered, turning something that used to be easy into something that had me questioning everything sense.

I stared into the glass, letting the ice swirl lazily in the amber liquid, hoping the burn would do more to calm me than it had so far. A voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. "You look like you could use some company."

I didn't bother looking up right away. The voice had that too-confident tone I'd heard a hundred times before. The kind that came with an assumption. My fingers tapped the glass, the soft clink of ice echoing in the space between us.

"I'm fine," I said, keeping my voice flat, hoping he'd catch on and leave me be.

But of course, guys like him never took the hint. They never really did.

"Oh, come on now," he drawled, the grin practically dripping from his voice. "Bar like this, night like this—I'm just lookin' for a little company. Figured I'd try my luck."

I sighed, drawing my gaze up slowly from the drink, letting my eyes meet his. He was standing too close, as if crowding my space would somehow change the way this was going to end. Behind him, two more lingered, like they were waiting for the punchline to some tired joke.

"You've got plenty of company," I said, my voice even, but with just enough edge to cut through his confidence. I tilted my head toward his two shadows. "Why don't you enjoy it?"

The man in front of me was tall, with broad shoulders, but there was a softness around the edges—like he hadn't done the kind of work he wanted me to believe he had. His cowboy hat was pulled low, casting a shadow over features that might've been decent if it wasn't for the smirk playing at his lips, like he'd already won something just by standing there. His shirt was crisp, too clean, and that oversized, gleaming belt buckle?

It practically screamed overcompensation.

I didn't flinch. I kept my gaze locked on his, refusing to let him see that flicker of disgust growing inside me. Men like him? They fed off resistance, twisted it into some sort of challenge they couldn't resist. And while his smirk might've widened, like he was enjoying this, all I felt was a slow burn, coiling tighter in my chest with every passing second.

"You're quick with that mouth of yours, huh?" he said, leaning in a little closer. The smell of cheap whiskey hit me hard, making my stomach twist. "I like that."

I took a slow sip from my drink, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable. When I was ready, I set the glass down with a deliberate clink, meeting his gaze again. "Yeah, well," I said, my voice smooth but sharp as a blade, "you're not going to like what I have to say next."

His grin didn't falter, if anything it widened. But I saw the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He reached out, brushing his fingers across my arm in what he probably thought was a casual, testing gesture. But that was all it took.

I didn't hesitate.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out a few bills and tossed them onto the bar, standing up in one smooth motion. "I'm here with my boyfriend," I said, my voice steady as ever, the lie slipping out with ease. "So unless you want him involved, I suggest you back off."

The third guy, quieter than the others, raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a mocking smirk. "Boyfriend, huh?" His eyes swept the room, searching for some sign I was lying. "Funny. I don't see him around."

I shrugged. "He's outside. Maybe you can meet him on your way out."

The first guy, still too close, let out a low, arrogant chuckle. It crawled under my skin, made my pulse jump. "Aw, come on, darlin'. No need to play hard to get. We're just being friendly." His fingers brushed the sleeve of my jacket, a move so casual it was meant to seem harmless. But I saw through it.

His grip tightened, firmer than I'd anticipated, not quite painful, but enough to send a clear message. You're not getting away. It wasn't even the force that bothered me; it was the arrogance behind it, the assumption that he had any control over me. But that was where he miscalculated. He didn't catch the shift in my posture, the way my gaze hardened before I moved.

Without thinking, I twisted my arm free, my body reacting on instinct. Years of riding had taught me more than just how to stay in the saddle. It taught me how to read tension, how to find balance even when everything around me was chaos. And in that moment, I wasn't just reacting. I was reminding myself of what I could do, of what I would do if I had to.

He didn't expect it. Men like him never do. They see the surface, the calm, the quiet strength. They don't understand what lies underneath. The things I've carried, the lines I've crossed just to survive.

And that was his second mistake.

A few people nearby glanced in our direction, but no one stepped in. This wasn't the kind of place where people interfered. The noise swallowed it all, the boots scuffing the floor, the laughter, the clink of glasses. The kind of place where everyone was too wrapped up in their own business to care about anyone else's.

I didn't give them a chance to reconsider. My boots hit the floor and cut through the crowd, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the music, the laughter, everything.

The cold night air hit me like a slap, harsh and sobering, far more effective than the gin I'd been nursing inside. I should've known better. Should've stayed at the ranch, where the air didn't feel so suffocating, where the weight of everything that had happened between me and Rem didn't cling to me like a shadow.

But no. I'd walked into that bar, hoping for... what? Closure? Clarity?

I wasn't sure anymore.

Whatever I'd been looking for, I knew the second I stepped through the door that I wasn't going to find it. The weight of it all settled in my chest, heavy and cold, unshakable. No amount of drinks or distractions was going to fix what had already shifted between us.

Damn it, Lem. You should've stayed home.

I tugged my jacket tighter around me, the cold seeping deeper into my bones, chasing the bitter sting of regret. Every step away from the bar felt like peeling off layers of the night's mistakes, but it wasn't enough. That knot in my chest only tightened, twisting harder with every breath. I should've listened to my gut, that quiet voice telling me I wasn't ready for this.

And then I heard it.

Boots.

Slow and deliberate, the kind of sound that had no rush behind it, just a warning in each step. My stomach coiled tighter, dread sinking deep, settling low, as if every part of me knew what was coming before I could even process it. The night suddenly felt darker, colder. My breath fogged in front of me as I picked up my pace, boots clicking faster against the pavement, but the sound of their steps mirrored mine.

Too close.

"Hey, sweetheart." The voice came, low and mocking, curling through the night like smoke. "Where's that boyfriend of yours? I thought you said he was outside."

I didn't look back. I couldn't.

Panic surged in my chest, icy and sharp, but I forced it down, forced myself to breathe, to keep walking like I hadn't heard them. One step after the other. I scanned the parking lot ahead, eyes darting between the shadows of trucks and cars.

My truck was too far, parked at the far end where the dim streetlight barely touched it. I'd never make it before they caught up.

Fuck.

Their footsteps quickened behind me, and the knot in my chest twisted harder, tighter, until I could barely draw breath. My fingers dug into my jacket, knuckles white, as I pushed forward, heart hammering against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to bolt, but I knew better.

Running would only spur them on, make it worse.

The laughter behind me twisted into something darker, more dangerous. They knew they had me.

And then, before I could react, a hand clamped down on my arm. I froze, my breath catching in my throat as the world narrowed to the burning grip on my skin. His fingers dug in, pulling me back with a force that left no room for negotiation.