Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

It’s not her fault she can’t have kids, but she’s not even sure if they’re in love anymore…if she loves him. So why is she still holding on to him? She’s making him upend his life for her dream, dragging him across the country and away from his family. And for what?

I want so badly to tell her to dump Brayden. But I can’t. I have so many feelings about this, and all of them point to me. I’m afraid if I say anything, it will reveal how I feel about Brayden, and how much I wish I were the one wearing his ring and having his babies and being a part of his ranch dream.

“I’m sure the two of you will figure this out,” I finally say. But inside, I swallow my longing, the insatiable hunger that’s growing by the day—and will never be satisfied.

Chapter Seventeen

Brayden

“Brayden, mail,” my mom called from the kitchen, her hands elbow deep in a pool of soapy water. I’d gotten her gloves last Christmas because she was always complaining about how weak her nails were, and there they are, hanging on a hook next to the landline phone.

“Should I return those?” I ask, nodding at the gloves. But her eyes are on the mailbox and the departing mail truck, and I know I’m getting nowhere. My mom has this weird obsession with the mail, even though it’s mostly junk and bills. It’s probably because she spends every day here at the ranch, and the mail is a small outlet to the outside world. She’s also one of those sentimental types who still writes snail mail, which means there’s sometimes a surprise letter in the box. So I humor my mom by bounding down the porch steps and jogging to the mailbox. When I open it, there’s the usual bills, but there’s also a large envelope addressed to me from the Horse Ranch Convention—otherwise known as the HRC.

“Anything good?”

I look up from my perusal to see Nina standing there, the sunlight gleaming off her now pink hair like a halo. It takes everything in me to not brush aside the lock across her forehead that’s threatening to fall in her eyes.

“Just the usual,” I say, “and something from the convention I’m going to in a few weeks. Which reminds me, we’re closing down the ranch in three weeks while I’m gone. We do this every year so that the guys and I can get away, and my mom can actually sleep in.”

I think I note a hint of disappointment in Nina’s face, and I realize she might be jealous that we’re all going and she’s not.

“I’m sorry,” I add. “We booked this last year, and they sell out immediately. But if you want to go next year…”

“And interrupt your stag weekend?” she teases.

“Well, not exactly. Jordy will be there too.”

I regret the words as soon as I say them, especially when something I can’t quite decipher crosses her expression. And in the moment, I’m more than disappointed that it’s Jordy going and not Nina, which really isn’t fair to either of them.

“She’ll be there mostly for the wine and barbecue,” I admit, “and will probably wipe them out of western wear that she’ll never put on after the convention.” I’m not even sure why I’m still talking. Nina looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in this conversation.

“What about the horses?” she asks. “Do you need someone to feed and care for them?”

“Hazel can handle it,” I assure her. “I also have a crew of FFA members who need the volunteer hours. You should stay home and enjoy having an empty nest.”

“Yeah.” Her tone is anything but sure, though. “I’m heading back in, want me to take those to the house?” She lifts her chin to the mail, and I put everything except the convention packet in her hands. When she walks away, I swear it’s with a loaded weight on her shoulders.

“Oh sweet, is that the schedule?” Jake asks as I enter the barn. The guys are all there, kicking back after an afternoon ride. The horses are brushed and put away, and the guests are on their own until dinnertime. There are a few hours when we’re free to do nothing, and yet here they are, shooting the shit. I swear, they’d live on the ranch if I had the housing.

“Yeah, but I haven’t even looked at it.” Nate snatches it from my hands before I’ve even finished my sentence and tears into the envelope while the guys crowd around him.

We’ve been going to this convention for close to a decade now. Some of it is business as usual, with board meetings and discussions with the foundation. I’m the only one allowed at these meetings, since it’s members only. My dad had been a part of the leadership before the accident, and after, I naturally took his spot. But going alone isn’t that much fun, so I always get tickets for the guys too. There’s plenty of good food, and the alcohol is flowing. Plus, five single dudes can find plenty to do at a convention like this, especially when the women are beyond hot in their tight jeans, low-cut tops, boots and a cowboy hat over a low ponytail.

Which is why these guys are amped to go, and I bring my girlfriend.

But this year feels different, and it has everything to do with wishing Jordy weren’t coming. It’s an awful feeling to have, and I know it’s so unfair. But all I can think of is how much she pouted last year, bored out of her mind before the first day was even over. I’d even suggested she leave early, but she said she’d stay to support me. What she didn’t know was how miserable she made the whole weekend, from her tireless complaints to her refusal to join in on any of the weekend’s fun.

But to be honest, that’s not really all I’m thinking of.

I look back toward the house, and Nina is on the deck, watering the plants. There’s a kid with her, one of the residents’ daughters, chatting her ear off. But Nina is all smiles. She’s always like this, especially when there’s kids, and something about it makes my heart ache.

“Fuck yes,” Nate shouts, and I turn to look at the program I never got to see. “They’re bringing back the Cowpokes.”

I laugh, knowing he’s not talking about other ranch hands. The Cowpokes is this all-girl band; they wear short skirts that make their legs appear miles long, all while playing fiddles and Cajun drums. Every year, Nate disappears with the fiddle player at some point during the conference. And every year, they say goodbye until they meet again at the next convention.

“I think they’re pretty much a staple,” I point out. But Nate is too busy ogling the flyer with their photo on the front.

“Is Jordy coming?” Levi asks, breaking away from the guys to sit with me. I nod and he claps his hand on my shoulder, as if to say Tough break.