Fallon socks me in the arm. “You are an asshole, Ford.” Another punch so hard I rock back on my boots. “Seriously, go fuck yourself and your high horse.” With venom in her eyes, she flips me off and storms for the ring. The disappointed look Wyatt gives me scalds. “I don’t know, Ford. This ain’t you, man.” It’s not. I think of the text burning a hole in my back pocket. I glance toward the barn. The concrete floor is bare and clean, every blade of hay stacked perfectly in the loft. I couldn’t even do it better. An ache twists in my gut. I tear a hand through my hair. “Fuck.” I am an asshole.
