Reckless Hearts

by Jessa Wilder

“And that means I should change my behavior because they can’t control themselves?” “No.” Colt’s head tilts to the side, and he replies like it’s obvious. “You do whatever you want. We’ll take care of anyone who’s stupid enough to get close to you.”

The silent language we used to speak came back easily. If there’s one thing we still agree on, it’s her, and if anything’s wrong, we’re going to fix it.

I don’t want to own her. I want her to own me. I want her to let me do everything for her. To let me be the one she relies on.

A horse whinnies, kicking its hooves, and throws its muzzle over the gate, huge black eyes staring right at me. Hot air huffs from wide nostrils, as if to say I’m annoying him. Animals are sensitive to emotion, especially horses. Centuries of being prey have ingrained their flight response, tuned to read the rest of their herd for any signs of danger. It’s unsurprising that my anxiousness sets him on edge, making him restless, head swinging back and forth, tail whipping his sides. If I unlatched the gate, he’d be a mile away in a minute.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “You scared the shit out of me.” “You scared me first,” I whisper back.

The three of us are knotted up in a tangle of bruised hearts and broken pieces trying to fit together. And for one perfect second, it feels like we actually could.

Maverick spots me over the hood, frozen mid-swipe, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. He tilts his head like, You seeing this shit? I lift a single brow. Handle it. Oh, he does. He drops the squeegee with a clunk, walks straight across the lot like he owns the pavement, and before I can even breathe, he’s got a hand curled around Colt’s neck, pulling him in. The kiss is… emphatic. Slow. Territorial in a way that’s not even a tiny bit subtle. Colt’s eyes go wide for half a second, and then his whole body sinks into it, hands fisting in Maverick’s shirt like instinct. Like home.