Shattered

by Cora York

  “Deal.”

  As soon as we got outside, a flash went off, then another and another and another. Someone stuck a recording device in Montana’s face and screamed quick-fire questions at her.

  “Are you drunk, Montana?”

  “Are you coming back to music?”

  “When was the last time you yelled at little kids?”

  “Are you and Dylan Willows dating?”

  “Get out of our way,” I shouted. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and bundled her into my truck. Her body shook, and her lips trembled.

  I shouldn’t have pushed her when she wasn’t ready.

  This was all my fault.

  I couldn’t leave her. Not now.

  Maybe not ever.

  Chapter Six

  Montana

  I hadn’t slept for more than five minutes at a time, and when I managed to drop off, flashing lights filled my dreams.

  Dylan didn’t have that problem. He’d slept through the night and was still in the land of nod when I rolled out of bed. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen and began the walk to my cabin.

  Last night when we’d gotten back, he kept apologizing for what had happened outside the restaurant. I reassured him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. I’d wanted to lash out at him, to scream at him for making me do something I wasn’t ready to do, but I feared losing control, of saying things I couldn’t take back. That was the old me.

  He should have listened. He shouldn’t have made me leave the ranch.

  Halfway up the hill to my cabin, a branch cracked, and the telltale sound of a lens shuttering came from the woods. My veins turned to ice.

  The paparazzi were like cockroaches. They could infest even the securest of places.

  “Please leave,” I called out. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

  The lens clicked again. “I know you’re there. I can hear your camera.”

  After some rustling, a paparazzo crawled out from where he’d been hiding.

  “Get out of here, or I’ll call the police.”

  The sleaze bag grinned. “Come on, Montana, just a few minutes of your time. Your fans deserve to know what you’ve been doing during your hiatus.”

  I crossed my arms and hurried up the hill, but before I got very far, he caught up with me and clutched at my arm.

  Anger, fueled by lack of sleep, frustration, and fear shot out of my mouth. “Don’t fucking touch me. Get your filthy hands off me, you piece of shit.”

  Fury distorted my face. He snapped about a hundred high-speed pictures. I had to get away. Get somewhere safe. I bolted, but he came after me, nipping at my heels, shouting questions, taking photo after photo.

  I looked back, and not watching where I was going, I lost my footing and tumbled down a ravine. The side of my head slammed against the ground, and every bone in my body felt like it had been snapped in two. The feeling was worse than any hangover I’d experienced in my life.

  During the fall, my phone flew out of my hand, so there was no way to call for help. My stomach churned, and my pulse pounded.

  The gossip rags were going to have a field day. Pictures like the ones he’d taken could tell a million lies.

  I pushed to standing and ran my shaking hands all over my body. There didn’t seem to be anything other than some deep scratches on my legs, arms, and face. The guy stood at the top of the ravine, still snapping pictures.

  I was too drained, too deflated, too everything to deal with this.

  “You still drinking, Montana?”

  “Are you going to help me or just stand there asking dumb questions and taking photos?”

  “Looks like you were drunk and fell.”

  I threw up my hands. “I fell because you were chasing me. You’re lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

  The sound of a horse thundering up the road made us both look in the direction it came from.

  Dylan reared Winston up in front of the journalist. Not close enough to hit him but close enough to scare him into falling on his ass.

  “Get the fuck out of here now.” Dylan glanced down the ravine, rage coloring his face. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  He jumped off the horse, curled his fingers, and lifted his fist toward the journalist, who was still on the ground.

  The jerk cowered and held up his hands. “My associate is over there,” he said and motioned to the trees. “He’s getting everything on camera. If you hit me, I’ll edit the tape so it looks like it was an unprovoked attack. Then I’ll sue you. The PBR will kick you out.”

  Dylan sneered. “Like I give a flying fuck about you or your threats.” He struck the journalist’s nose until blood spurted everywhere. “You and your associate had better leave before you both end up with more than a bloody nose.”

  The journalist moaned and glared down at me as he mopped the blood now dripping from his lip and chin. “This’ll be all over the internet in an hour. Whatever career you thought you had, it’s done. That goes for you, too, Willows.” He stood and motioned to whoever was hiding in the woods. “Let’s get out of here. We have what we came for.”

  A second paparazzo, wearing camouflage gear, came out from the trees.

  Dylan swung around and grabbed the first journalist by the scruff. “Leave your cameras, or you won’t get off this land in one piece. There are fifteen ranch hands just a phone call away who’d kill for her.”

  He shoved the shitty excuse for a human being away.

  “This isn’t over,” the journalist spat, dropping his camera to the ground. He gestured for his colleague to do the same. “We have our story with or without the video or the photos.”

  “You have nothing.”

  “I have enough. It’d be easier to dam a river than to stop this getting out.”

  His lies were about to destroy everything I’d achieved over the past ten months. There was no way I’d ever bounce back from this.

  I firmed my lips. I wouldn’t cry, and I wouldn’t lash out.

  I’d run and keep on running. No one would ever find me again. I needed someplace unpopulated. Someplace remote and isolated. One thing was for sure, I would never, ever, ever open up to anyone again as long as I lived.

  Giving my heart and trusting someone with all my secrets was too risky. Going into town with Dylan last night had been one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Or maybe the biggest mistake of my life was falling for him and believing in the fairytale. That he could protect me and keep me safe. That we could stay here and live in our very own bubble-wrapped world.

  As soon as the two scum bags were on their way, Dylan took the rope hanging on the side of Winston’s saddle and threw one end down to me. “Grab on.”

  I reached for the rope, looped it around my waist, tied a knot and held on. As I walked up the embankment, Dylan pulled. My sprained ankle, which had been on the mend, screamed in pain, and my head pounded with every step.

  When I reached the top, he gave me a once over. “You okay? I’ll call Mason and have him come up.”

  Physically, I would heal. Mentally, not so much.

  “No, don’t call anyone. Can you take me back to my cabin? I have to order a new phone and make plans.” My words sounded hollow, void of emotion.

  He nodded as if knowing how much trouble he’d caused. How much him forcing me to do things I hadn’t wanted to do had fucked everything up.

  Dylan helped me get onto Winston, but this time I didn’t ask him to hop on behind me.

  Once we got to my cabin, I dismounted without any assistance, and when he went to hug me, I left my arms hanging by my side.

  “You’re scaring me, girl.” His voice was soft and deep.

  “They know where I am now and will keep coming and coming until they break me. I have to go.”

  He stepped away and dug his fingers through his hair. “You’re running away? You’re going to let them think they’re winning?”

  “They’ve already won.”
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  “I can protect you. I’ll stay with you. Truth is, I’d planned to drive up to Tulsa at dawn to take part in a rodeo, but I stayed because you needed me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, cowboy. I don’t need you. You can’t protect me. No one can. It’s time for you to leave. Go to Tulsa. Go back to your rodeo. “

  I turned away and walked into my cabin. I closed the door, slid down to the floor and cried my heart out.

  Useless.

  Worthless.

  Pointless piece of piss.

  Dylan

  The sound of her sobbing would haunt me for life.

  She was right. I couldn’t protect her. I’d tried and failed.

  If she wanted me to leave right now, then I would, and I’d never look back. I might not make it to Tulsa in time to compete, but I’d go there and get some practice in. I wouldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted or needed.

  I rode back to the house and threw my stuff into my bag. When I was all packed, I went over to the stables. Sampson poked his head out of his pen. I scratched between his ears and was rewarded with a head nudge. “See you soon, boy. Be good for everyone. Remember everything I taught you.”

  “You leaving without saying goodbye?” Tricia asked from behind me.

  I jerked my head around and saw thunder on her face. Spending time with her grandbaby hadn’t softened her any.

  I’d crack most of my teeth if I clenched my jaw any harder. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “Wanted to get here and make sure you hadn’t killed my horses.” The glint in her eyes told me she wasn’t playing around. She wouldn’t have left if she thought I was any danger to her babies.

  “Ever hear of texting or calling before just showing up?”

  “And spoil the surprise?”

  “Why are you really here?”

  “Hmmm, let me think about that.” She tapped a fingertip against her lips. “Could have something to do with you and the princess being plastered all over the internet coming out of Gino’s.” She grabbed an empty feed bucket, turned it upside down, and sat. The frown lines on her forehead deepened to creases. “Wanna tell me what’s been going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bull fucking shit.” She shot me a reprimanding look. “On the way up the road, saw a couple of guys, one was covered in blood. He said you punched him and that she’s back on the sauce. Also said you stole their equipment.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “With all due respect, Aunt Tricia, it’s none of your business.”

  “Not how I see it.” She smiled sweetly, but I wasn’t fooled. She knew she’d catch more flies with honey. “The fact that someone trespassed on my property and then my numbskull nephew socked him in the nose makes it my business.”

  I had to make an effort to ungrit my teeth and unclench my jaw before responding. “Montana fell down a ravine because of him. He was harassing her. I had to do something.”

  “When I asked you to come here, it was to train my new horse, not roll around the hay with one of my guests.”

  “Your only guest,” I reminded her. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

  “You’re dumber than dirt.” She clucked her tongue. “So now you’ve had your fun, you’re running away. Too much woman for you, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Tulsa?

  “Headed there now.”

  “Heard you went to see Mason yesterday. He said something about a concussion. Decided to keep that to yourself. How many does that make? Three this year?”

  “Two, and I’ll make sure to thank him by kicking his ass next time I see him.”

  “He didn’t want to worry your mom so he called me. He was concerned. All those times you were bucked off seems to have cracked your common sense as well as your skull.

  “My daddy, God rest his soul, rode when he wasn’t fully healed, and that goddam near killed him. Jonah almost died more times than I care to recall. He would’ve too if I hadn’t given him an ultimatum. Look at your daddy. You want that to be your future?”

  I took a second to pull back my annoyance before I answered. Tricia was just looking out for me in her own harsh way. “I’m not Granddaddy, I’m not my daddy, and I’m not Jonah. I need to keep riding.”

  “Baby boy, what are you trying to prove, and who are you trying to prove it to?” Tricia pursed her lips. She was getting ready to give me a dressing down. “How do you think your dad would feel if he knew his son was following the same road he’d traveled? Do you know how many times he was bucked off over the years? How many times he hit his head? There were no regulations back in the day. No one cared if you rode with a concussion.” She turned her eyes heavenward as if asking for patience and strength. “There are other ways to make money. Focus on training horses.”

  Tired, I scrubbed my hands over my face. “It’s not about the money. Ridin’ is my life. I can’t walk away.”

  “But you can walk away from her.”

  “She told me she doesn’t want me here.”

  “There’s no reasoning with dumb.” Tricia stood and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. “Well, that’s that. If you’re going, get. Guess I better go check on the princess to make sure she hasn’t drowned in that bottle of whiskey she keeps on the table. The two of you make a great pair. Stupid and stupider.”

  “You don’t think she’d start drinking again, do you?” Fear made my heart thump.

  “Hard to say.” She shrugged. “What I watched that girl go through took guts and courage. Poor thing has been to hell, and over my dead body will I let her go back there. I didn’t think she had it in her. She sure showed me.”

  “She thinks you hate her.”

  “I used to. Hated what she did to my boy, but they weren’t right for each other.”

  My heart begged me to go with Tricia to check on Montana. To check that she wasn’t in her cabin drunk and scrolling the internet, reading ugly comments and fake articles. But I wouldn’t go near her. She didn’t want me, and besides, she would be better off if I wasn’t around.

  “Looks like you’re in two minds about staying or going. You coming with?”

  I shook my head. “Best leave things as they are.”

  Chapter Seven

  Montana

  The unopened bottle of Tennessee Fire sat beside an empty glass and my open laptop. Every page screamed a variation of the same headline: Montana Chambers Found and Out of Control.

  I imagined the bite of alcohol as it trickled down my throat. Imagined the buzz as it crept through my veins, dulling my pain like anesthesia.

  I white-knuckled the edge of the table and stared the bottle down. Opening it would be so easy. Drinking every last drop would make it all disappear for a few hours. The angel on my shoulder looked downcast while the devil did an Irish jig.

  Getting drunk would help me forget about life outside of the cabin for a while. Forget about Dylan. Forget about the paparazzi. Forget about people and problems.

  Nothing would ever fill the emptiness inside of me, but my good old friend whiskey was a solution, if only a temporary one.

  A brisk knock rattled the front door, shaking me from my contemplation. It was a knock I knew well.

  Tricia didn’t wait for an invite before she barged into the cabin.

  “Honey, I’m home!”

  “I see that.” I didn’t have the energy to object or try to pretend like I wasn’t thinking about getting hammered. I didn’t care if she ranted and raved and called me every name under the sun.

  “I thought I’d find you three sheets to the wind by now.” She glanced at my open laptop. “You read enough crap yet?”

  I shook my head.

  She sat down opposite me and steepled her fingers. “You have to stop punishing yourself. You know none of that stuff is true.”

  “I can’t help it,” I admitted. “I like how it makes me feel.�
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  “You like feeling miserable? Being miserable?” She reached across the table and slammed my laptop shut. “You’ve replaced one addiction with another.” She picked up the bottle by the neck. “You gonna drink this?”

  “Thinking about it.”

  “Tell the truth, I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

  I licked my cracked lips. “Are you going to pour it down the sink?”

  “Nope. You’re a big girl. You wanna drink, drink.” She shrugged, then sniffed. “Not my problem.”

  I gave her an incredulous look. “You’re saying I should drink it?”

  “Don’t go twisting my words.” She pulled the top off, then poured two fingers into the waiting glass. “Smell that.” She held the glass up to my nose and twirled it around. “Imagine how good it’ll smell and taste later when you’re face down on the porcelain throne.”

  Cinnamon wafted beneath my nose, and my stomach roiled. I pushed her hand away. “Stop. I’m going to throw up.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said and took a sip, then scrunched up her face. “Woo-eee. Tastes like paint stripper mixed with Red Hots. How’d you ever drink this shit?”

  “Very easily and with great pleasure,” I said and grimaced. “Stop with the reverse psychology. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You think I’m in the mood? I get back here and find my nephew all packed up and about to go back to the goddamn rodeo.”

  “He has his reasons,” I said, my voice flat and emotionless.

  She drummed her fingertips against the table. “I guess he does, but he’s not ready. He hasn’t allowed himself to grieve his daddy’s passing properly. He hasn’t given himself enough time to heal from the last fall. Been so hellbent on winning that goddamn buckle, he can’t see or think straight.”

  “His decision. The rodeo is where he belongs.”

  “You don’t care at all?”

  “Not one bit.”

  “Seems like you got some of your facts all tangled up there.” She leaned back in her chair and regarded me carefully. “But I guess since it’s your lie, you can tell it any way you want to.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Damn, you could make a preacher cuss.” She nodded toward the bottle, then shot me a lidded look. “Is this staying here or coming with me?”