COWBOY (Unfit Hero #5) - Hayley Faiman Page 0,2

Clearer.”

I can’t stand here while everyone looks at me. Completely embarrassed, without a word to anyone, I leave. I run in the opposite direction, toward the little house that I have all ready for us.

Opening the door, I slam it behind me, then make my way toward our future bedroom. I sink to my ass in the room that we are supposed to be sharing together and I fucking cry. Like a pussy, I cry.

Things don’t look clearer the next day, because Stevie is gone. I stand on her front porch, right next to that fucking swing, and I beg her parents to tell me where she’s gone. Her parents refuse to tell me where she went and so do her friends. Nobody will tell me a fucking thing.

I don’t see her again, not for ten years.

I make my way out to California where I heard she was living. It doesn’t take me long to find her, when I do, it breaks my heart all over again because the girl I once knew is gone. A stranger has replaced her and she hasn’t missed me a single day since she walked away, breaking my entire fucking world.

Chapter One

STEPANIE

Gallup, Texas.

It’s not even on the map, just a little dot, no name next to it. That’s how small my hometown is. I haven’t been there in seventeen years. I turned my back and I ran out of town as fast as humanly possible.

I left behind everyone and everything that I ever knew. Including, a boy. The boy. I hurt that boy. He loved me with his entire heart, and I crushed him. That’s probably why I haven’t ever made my way back here.

Seeing him again would be inevitable and it would probably break me. Seeing him happy with someone else, now that could destroy me.

Ford Buchannan Matthews.

God, just thinking his name sends a shiver throughout my entire body. He’s old school Texan, born and raised on the same land his daddy was born and raised on. If you looked up a modern Texas cowboy, there’d probably be a picture of him as the definition.

Driving through the miniscule town, I wonder how it has pretty much stayed the exact same as when I left almost twenty years ago. How has nothing changed? I recognize every single landmark, it looks a little older, but still the exact same.

Turning down the lane where I once lived with my family, I stop across the street and look at the old house. It definitely could use some paint, there’s a shutter hanging on by a thread, but the porch swing is still there, swaying with the breeze.

Gripping the steering wheel, I should be wondering who lives there now. Does a little girl sleep in the same room that I did? Is the light-pink crown molding still outlining the entire room? Are there still stick-on glowing stars on the ceiling?

Instead, I know exactly what lies behind the walls of the old house. Emptiness and a whole lot of memories that I’ve been trying to forget about for almost two decades.

Opening the car door, I step out on to the dirt and gravel. My high heels are going to be ruined, but I don’t care, I have dozens more. That seems to be the theme of my life these days, it doesn’t matter if something is ruined, I have more, I can buy more. But none of it makes me happy.

Walking around the front of the car, I stop on the passenger side. I can’t seem to go any farther. Instead, I lean against the door of the rental car as I look out at the house.

I can’t believe I’m back here.

I never thought that I would cross the city limit sign again. There were times that I wanted nothing more than to come back to my roots. Back to the last place that I felt at peace.

Coming here brings back memories that I never thought I wanted to revisit, memories that hurt so damn bad. There are things that I did. Things that undoubtedly caused more pain than I could ever imagine. Just driving around makes that guilt crawl up my throat and threaten to choke me.

I hear the gravel crunch beside me, I turn my head to the side. I can’t help but smile at the little girl on the bicycle. I didn’t realize kids even rode bikes anymore. She has plastic tassels hanging from her handlebars, too. I had them just like that once upon a