Reckless Hearts

by Jessa Wilder

Getting distracted like that was humiliating. Knowing he was the reason? Fucking mortifying.

Maverick’s laugh fills the cab of the truck, and it hits me in the chest.

I froze, letting myself use the quiet to take him in. The sharp edges of his features had eased in sleep. He looked soft. Like someone I’d want to hold on to.

I couldn’t feel my legs. The doctors couldn’t tell me if it was permanent or temporary. And I was all alone. I really thought he’d be there. That I was more important. But I wasn’t. Callie left. And Maverick didn’t come. And ain’t that a bitch.

My chest constricts as his expression melts from stern, revealing that boyishness I remember. Whether he knows it or not, something’s changing between them.

He goes back to pulling stuff out of the cooler like he didn’t just rock the foundation I’m sitting on.

I wait for the disgust. The revulsion. Wait for the urge to shove him off, dunk his smug face under water, and hold it there. But I don’t move. I can’t.

And his eyes… even in the dark, I can feel the intensity in them fixed on her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the surface.

When they’re having a hard day, so your sole goal becomes making them smile. Not because you pity them, but because it physically pains you to see them sad. I didn’t know back then that everything I was doing was because I was in love with Callie.

“Fuck you.” I crash my mouth into his. I’ve lost my fucking mind, and I don’t intend to find it.

A thrill races through me, sharp and sweet, at the realization of just how closely Maverick’s been watching me. Not just looking… noticing. Every inch. Every detail.

Maverick’s laugh booms out, splitting the air, and something torn inside me stitches itself back together.

My chest tightens, like someone just handed me wings and broke my ribs in the same breath. I don’t know if I want to fly or fall apart.

Now, there’s a charge under the softness. A slow, simmering ache that tightens my chest and twists low in my belly. But the bones of us. The heart of it. It’s still there. Solid. Familiar. Home.

It comes out strained, like he’s aiming for cocky but can’t quite hold the weight of it.

The words gut me, sharp and brutal. No armor between us now. Just blood, bone, and everything we never said.

Does she know? That I’m already picturing a life she doesn’t believe we can have? Her in this house. Our kids running wild. Maverick fixing fences while I wrangle horses.

She looks like summer and heartbreak.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing the ride. I’m chasing them.

but this morning moves slowly. Warm. The kind that stretches and yawns before it ever thinks about starting.

You respooled the thread that unraveled when I left and used it to sew the broken pieces of me back together.”