Never Let Go: Cowboys and Angels, #2

By Anjelica Grace

Cody

Life has been one crazy, wild ride. I've been on top, but I've also fallen and hit solid ground: personally and professionally. The craziest thing—my hardest fall wasn't from a bull. With a crushed heart, I learned love means nothing. I vowed never to fall, or leave myself open to hurt, again.

It was going well...until she walked into the bar.

Tatum is stubborn, beautiful, and challenges me every chance she gets. I've never met anyone like her. She may even be enough to change my mind and break my vow. But life isn't that easy. The one thing she absolutely doesn't want is the one thing I never expected, but always hoped for.

 

Tatum

Life has been one disappointment after another. People walk away, dreams are crushed, life doesn't go the way you want. Love means nothing.

Except...Cody makes me feel things.

The bull rider chose me. And much to my dismay, he keeps choosing me. He's hotter than fire, with a heart of gold. He's someone I could maybe even trust. The only problem: things aren't that simple. Cody is everything I never knew I needed or wanted. When life drops a bomb in our laps, will he be enough? Or is it disappointment and crushed dreams all over again?

Can one person be enough to change everything you've ever known?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anjelica Grace
• Release date: May 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201167233

Book preview

Prologue

Three Years Ago

Cody

I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I finally got back in the win column, rode my time, scored big, and am bringing home a nice check—with my new buckle—and the ring burning a hole in my pocket. Things are turning around for me, for us. Tonight is the night everything changes.

As I step off the elevator on our floor, I can’t contain the smile on my face. Livvie is going to be thrilled. In fact, I’m sure she’s waiting for me in our room with a bottle of the fancy shit she loves already ordered to celebrate with as soon as I get there. She said coming into this rodeo, it was time for me to win again. We needed to be back on top.

Well, I did, and we are.

I fish the room key out of my wallet, whistling and humming while I slip the card into the reader, and enter our room. There’s a trail of clothes leading from just inside the door, past the bathroom, and into the dimly lit open area, right in front of the bed.

Liv, baby, I say, pulling the marquise cut engagement ring from my front pocket, I have a surprise for you.

The only answer I get is silence, and the rustling of sheets.

You were planning to surprise me, weren’t— My words fall off when I get past the wall. When I see her. And him.

Co-Cody, you weren’t supposed to come back so early, Olivia says, pulling the sheets up high over her chest and looking back and forth between me and the man scrambling to dress beside her. He raises his head and turns so I can see his face.

Jesus.

Wade Smidt. Current bareback bronc leader.

Cody, he says gruffly, bending to pull his boots on. His jeans are still unbuttoned, shirt open, while he hops around dressing in a hurry.

What the fuck is going on here? I ask, still stunned, but feeling the anger and rage building in my chest.

What does it look like? Olivia asks, giving me a pointed look. You weren’t supposed to be back for another hour or two. Wade would’ve been gone by then, and so would I.

It looks like you are fucking another man, in the bed we shared last night! I shout. I can feel my blood pressure surging through my body, rising toward my head, throbbing through my throat, and into my temples.

I’m seeing red. I can feel the heat rising up my spine. It takes everything I have not to blow a fucking gasket.

My glare shifts from her to him.

Fuck, dude, this isn’t…I just needed to let off some steam. She was a hot, sexy, and willing body.

Say that again, I bark, rounding the bed to stand toe-to-toe with him. I would love nothing more than to pound the shit out of him right now. He deserves it. Unlike with the woman I love, I can take my anger out on him. Maybe he’ll try to fight back. Give me a reason to let loose.

He raises his hands defensively. No offense, Cody. But she was happy to bring me back here.

Or maybe he won’t. Oh well, I’ll still show him what happens when you touch my girl.

I clench my fists and raise my arm, cocking back.

One hit.

That’s all it’ll take to drop his ass, he’s too much of a chickenshit to defend himself, I can tell by his cowardly stance. But I’ll make sure it’s a hit that counts. It’ll be a hit he feels long after tonight. Just like I will feel her betrayal long after tonight.

Don’t you dare, Cody! Olivia shouts, pushing up to her knees and throwing her arm out between us, leaving her body on full display while she protects him. She actually protects him. Wade, you should go. Quickly.

Yes, ma’am, he answers, scurrying around me and picking up the rest of his shit before he bolts out of the room, leaving me and Olivia alone.

Once the door is closed, she squares up to me from where she is still kneeling on the bed, uncaring her tits are on full display with red marks all across them as evidence of their encounter, and puts her hands on her hips.

What the fuck? While I’m out riding, winning for us, ready to propose to you, you’re in here fucking another man? I shout. I could’ve fucking killed him! And you defended that motherfucker?

I told you, you stay top of the standings or I walk. You can’t give me the life I want if you aren’t winning. Just look at the ring, Cody. Look how small it is. She doesn’t show an ounce of regret. Not in her tone. Not in her demeanor. None. If she’s anything, it’s annoyed I showed up and ruined her good time. Interrupted her plans. Instead of remorse, she’s spewing shit about me not being good enough. Me. The man who would’ve given her everything.

Excuse me?

It’s small. You aren’t winning. We can’t upgrade the ranch from the small, Cracker Jack box size it is. You aren’t keeping up your end of the agreement.

My end of the—You mean to tell me, after over a year together, you don’t give a fuck about me? It’s all about me winning? I can’t believe this shit. Any of it. Everything has been a God damn lie.

It’s always been about you winning. Which you haven’t been doing lately. But Wade has.

That’s just it? You’re done?

Yes.

I shake my head and clench my fists tightly. No matter how mad I am, I would never touch her. Ever. I don’t hurt women. Instead, I can feel the diamond digging into the skin of my palm as I grip it tighter, and the ache of it is a welcome feeling, a distraction from the growing rage and hurt in my heart. Maybe it’ll break the skin, cut me deeper. It couldn’t hurt any worse than what I feel already.

You don’t get it, Cody, she says, leaving the bed and pulling her dress back on over her body, you were my meal ticket. You were giving me the home, the luxuries I wanted, and when that stopped, so did my need for you.

It was a fucking year and a half, Livvie. Eighteen months.

Quit calling me that. It makes me sound like a five-year-old. I am not five. Nor am I your Livvie. I’m not yours anymore, period. You may as well take the ring in your hand back.

Her words are the final dagger through my heart. I hold the ring tighter, pushing the diamond through the skin on my hand. I can feel the blood seeping out around it. It’s the only thing grounding me right now. The only thing keeping me from snapping.

Rage and hurt battle for dominance in my heart and head. One fuels the other, and then cycles back through to the original again.

I look her up and down, taking in the woman I’ve loved for well over a year, the one I had planned on asking to marry me; the woman who just taught me my most valuable lesson in life for the first, and last, time. I push all the sappy, hurt shit down and say to her, with my teeth clenched, Get out of my room, Olivia. And since I paid for the house, you can get your ass back to Texas and move your shit out of there, too. You have until the end of next weekend to be gone.

She scurries around the room, grabbing her makeup and everything else scattered across the floor and tabletops, and tosses them into her bag quickly.

Leave the key behind. I don’t want you back again. Ever. The words come out hard. My voice is heavier, deeper, even in my own ears. It doesn’t slip or shake, falter in any way that would give away just how hurt I am. Instead, I sound mad. Done. And I am. But she doesn’t need to know the rest of my feelings, too.

You found your big boy pants, finally, she tosses back. It’s too little, too late to be the man I need now.

Fuck you. Get out of here.

Gladly. I don’t need to be tied to a washed-up cowboy, who can’t ride for shit and will never amount to anything else, for the rest of my life. Now I won’t be.

Before I can respond, she’s out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Once I’m alone, with only my thoughts and heartache to keep me company, I lose what little grip I had left on myself and shout, Fuck!

Opening my hand, the ring is tinged red from the blood I’ve drawn from myself, turning the pure, clear and perfect diamond into something messy, and ugly. The perfect representation of our relationship as it stands now.

She threw it all away. She threw us away.

With that thought in mind, and the visceral anger surging through my body, I send the ring flying across the room, watching it hit the wall and fall behind the furniture with an unsatisfying, quiet thud.

I need more.

I need to let this out.

To feel the pain physically as deeply as I am emotionally.

I turn to the wall and go to work. My fist pounds against it once. Leaving nothing to show or feel for the impact. I hit it again, harder. It makes my hand sting, but it’s still not enough.

I draw my arm back and wail my fist into the wall over and over again, hearing the plaster crush beneath my knuckles, feeling the impact against the stud behind it immediately.

But I don’t care.

I swing again and again, grunting and screaming out my feelings, until a pound on the door stops me.

Go away! I shout, taking the time this interruption has caused to evaluate the damage to my room, and my bloody, swollen hand.

What the fuck are you doing in there? Chase, my best friend, hollers back from the hallway. I can hear you all the way out here!

Fuck, I mutter and stalk to the door, opening it with my head hanging low and my fist cradled up against my chest.

What the hell, Cody? What’s going on in here? He steps into the room around me and continues slowly, surveying everything, perfectly calm and untouched, until he turns to the wall. Did you do that?

Don’t start. Not tonight.

Chase shifts his gaze from the wall to me, and then my hand. What the fuck is going on? I won’t ask you again, Cody. Where’s Olivia?

She’s probably in Wade’s room and back in bed with him by now.

Excuse me?

Yeah, you see, I came back here after our drink, ready to propose to her and celebrate, and found her in bed, post-fuck, with Wade Smidt.

Chase’s brows shoot up in surprise, and he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.

What? No smart-ass comeback? Or some fucked-up speech on how that doesn’t give me the right to destroy my hotel room and my hand?

No, none of that. Shit. I’m not an asshole.

I look at him and roll my eyes. You aren’t? Since when?

Fuck you, he says, chuckling. I’m not when it comes to this. I’m…I’m sorry, though, Cody. That’s some fucked-up shit.

He drops onto the foot of the bed and seems to think twice about sitting there, before he stands and moves over to the desk to lean against it.

"Me, too. And it is. I’m…She was it for me. You know that. I packed up and moved my life to Texas for her. She was my girl."

You were really going to propose?

The ring is somewhere over there, it hit the wall and bounced behind something.

Jesus. What a fucking bitch.

I was giving her my whole life, man. Everything. I wanted it all with her. The white picket fence, kids, ‘til death do us part. All she wanted me for was to bring in bigger checks to give her a pampered life.

Fuck her, Cody.

I did. And I loved her. But apparently Wade fucked her better. Rode better.

Wade is a pompous ass.

One rolling in cash.

One who’s probably got every fucking disease in the book. I hate to ask this, but is there any chance he passed something on to her? And as a result, you?

I look up at him and he’s managed to contort his face into a painful looking grin, making me think about his question a little. You mean does she fuck without protection?

Chase only nods.

They were finished by the time I got here. But she’s been so hell-bent on not having kids; I don’t see why she’d start letting anyone come anywhere near her without a rubber now. I never was…

Chase nods again and then adds, Well, to be sure, you need to get fucking tested when we go get your hand X-rayed. If she cheated once… He trails off, not wanting to point out the obvious; she’s probably cheated on me many times before tonight, too.

I will.

Then let’s get to the fucking hospital. You’ve got a grapefruit growing on your hand; I’m sure it needs to be set and cast.

I don’t care, Chase. I really don’t.

I know. But you will. When the pain is gone. When the anger subsides. When you are ready to ride again, you’ll care a whole helluva lot about whether your hand is fucked up or not.

With how I feel right now, I don’t know if that’s true. I’m hurting too fucking bad to think about riding.

Yeah, I get it. First stop, hospital. Then we buy a bottle of liquor and you forget tonight ever fucking happened.

"That’ll never happen. She was it. You don’t forget that person. You’d never forget Allie."

He looks at me, to the wall with the hole, and back to my hand. No, I’d never forget Allie. She’s my world. You’ll find yours one day, too. Because I am damn sure, the woman who will really be worth all you were willing to give Olivia would never leave you broken and destroyed like this.

Yeah? What makes you so fucking positive?

Allie. He says it with so much certainty. I’m envious of what he has. The perfect woman—who was right about Olivia all along—and she hated Olivia for it. I should have listened to Allie’s warnings. She saw it coming. She knew Olivia was no good for me.

On top of the perfect life, Chase has a woman who cares about others just as much as herself and her family, too. He’s got everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, and I’ve got a broken hand. A destroyed heart. And no faith I will ever have the kind of life he does. I’ve got me. I’m not going to fuck myself over by falling in love again.

The only thing I know, now, is maybe Wade had the right mentality.

Say that again?

Wade…he told me he fucked her because she was a hot, sexy, and willing body.

And you didn’t pound his face in?

No, she got between us…She defended him. But he was right. Not about fucking my girl. But in general, fucking anyone. He’s single and can blow off steam with any woman he chooses, as long as they’re hot, sexy, and willing. You can’t have your heart ripped the fuck out if that’s your only criteria for fucking a person.

That’s just the pain talking, Brother. You know it.

No, maybe. But I’m not going to give my heart away, ask for it all with another woman again. If they’re hot, sexy, and willing that’ll be good enough for me. One and done. I will never feel this way again.

One

Present Day

Cody

Ladies’ night is the best night to hit up the bars. Especially in a college town. The women are gorgeous, the drinks are cheap, and the bars are packed. Tonight is no exception, even if it is a Thursday night.

I don’t come to The Lion’s Den frequently, but I’m home for a change, thanks to a riding injury. Chase and Allie are elbows deep in diapers, bottles, exhaustion, and party prep. They have no time to entertain me, or give me a distraction from the fact I should be heading to another rodeo right now, instead of sitting on my ass here at home. I have no desire to be ordered around by Allie tonight while they turn the ranch into a party destination. I had enough of placing chairs, tables, and tents all day today. I need a break. I’m not the married man she has by the balls twenty-four-seven. That particular honor is all Chase’s.

I look around the neon and dimly lit room, taking in the hordes of women in their giggly, tipsy groups, and all the other men and college boys out on the prowl.

School just let out for the year. Graduation is over. It’s the lead up to a holiday weekend. Everyone in the bar tonight is here for one purpose, to get fucked up and have a good time.

The trick, though, isn’t finding someone drunk off their ass. It’s finding the perfect, sexy woman who has had a few drinks, enough to make her approachable, but not so intoxicated she’s throwing herself at you without a clue as to what she’s doing or saying. Taking advantage of an inebriated woman isn’t my objective. The thought makes my blood boil. Too many of these young women are easy targets for twisted fuckers, and it pisses me off other men will pick them out and take them home without a care in the world—knowing she probably has no fucking clue what he looks like or who he even is.

That’s not me. Never has been. Never will be. I don’t care how desperate for pussy I am. I respect women. I’ll put a man on his ass quicker than he can say my bad if I see him taking advantage of, or being physical toward, any woman.

This is why getting laid on the circuit is so much easier. I know most of the women, through personal connections or by reputation. They hang around the rodeos and the decisions to hook up are made before the liquor even starts flowing.

Hot, sexy, and willing. That’s the circuit life for me.

Bars require more skill, tact, and they pose a challenge. They also differ in the fact most women I pick up in bars don’t know thing one about me, and they sure as fuck aren’t only after me because I’m a damn good bull rider.

It’s an added bonus. Even if it takes more work.

After a quick scan of all the available options for the night, I pick out a place at the bar that’ll be the perfect spot to make mine. It’s near the center of the bar, where a lot of women will funnel toward because the bartender covering the area there is a decent looking guy, young, someone the girls can flirt with for a heavier pour. I’ll be able to hang on their every word, make my moves, cast my lines, see if I get any catches.

And I will.

I always do.

Making my way over to my little hole between people, I sidle up to the bar and nod at the bartender.

Hey, man, open a tab for me, Bud Light.

You got it, dude, the bartender responds. Tap or bottle?

I’m going for slow and steady tonight.

I take it you’re going to want a bottle, then, he responds, chuckling and reaching into the cooler to pull one out for me. He hands me the bottle in exchange for my card, then starts my tab on the POS system. You’re not a regular or student here.

No, I’m not a regular. I’ve been a time or two, I don’t live far from here, but I’m on the road a lot.

He nods. You picked the prime spot, women will be all over you for drinks once the rush starts in about… he glances at the clock, twenty minutes.

Precisely why I’m here, I tell him, and tip my beer back to take a drink. It’s cold and fresh, and I can tell tonight is the kind of night these will go down smooth. Which is why I’m not guzzling back a glass. Too easy to pound them and get trashed in a hurry.

I knew I recognized a man on a mission, he speaks again. You’re not an asshole, right? I know a lot of the regulars who come through, I don’t want them hurt.

I’m cool. No worries, man.

He gives a final nod then sets out to take other orders and wipe down the bar top, leaving me to lean against the bar and watch everyone around me.

There is a small cluster of girls surrounding a round table about fifteen feet away, laughing and giggling, forcing their friend wearing a 21st Birthday sash to take her shot. Based on the healthy amount of whipped cream topping the brown liquid beneath it, I’d guess it’s a Blow Job. As soon as the girl leans over the drink, hands framing the bottom of the shot glass on the table and opens her mouth wide, my suspicions are confirmed. Her friends get loud, cheering her on, and making fun of the ring of whipped cream lining her face when she finally gets the shot back and down.

To be young and dumb again.

I move on from the party girl and her friends, sliding my gaze over to the slowly filling dance floor, then toward the pool tables, and finally the door. The bouncer is checking IDs and letting people in by the second. Groups of girls. Groups of guys. A healthy mix of couples and their friends. There is a blonde fucking knockout, walking in solo, head held high as she scans her options. She’s young, but she shouts experienced with the way she carries herself. There’s an air of confidence rolling off her. If that weren’t enough to cinch it for me, the give no fucks look on her face would. It’s the kind of look that says: stay the fuck back unless you know exactly what you’re in for. A look that’s enough to keep any of the younger, less experienced guys here away. But not me.

She’s got a pair of jeans on that look like an outer layer of skin on her they’re so tight. Her black tank top hugs her firm stomach and rounds over her perfectly sized tits, like it was made just for her. And the leather heeled boots on her feet.

Fuck me.

I’d love to feel those heels digging into me while I fuck her senseless.

She’s the one.

Her.

The only one I’ll try to catch tonight.

Once she’s in the bar, she slips her license into her back pocket and scans the room. Just like I did. And just like me, she stops to watch the birthday table. They’ve gotten louder since the Blow Job shots a while ago. The group amuses her, if the smirk on her lips is any indication.

She continues slowly making her way toward the bar until Miss Twenty-one herself shouts something into the air. The girl is lit already. She’s going to be puking in no time at this rate. She shouts again, Tater Tot! You made it!

Tater Tot? Who the fuck would let anyone call them that?

My blonde bombshell stops in her tracks, and rolls her eyes a little, before she puts a smile on her face and turns toward the group of celebrating girls.

No fucking way she’s with them.

But she is. She walks over and hugs the birthday girl, squeezing her tight, and laughing when they start to talk to each other. I never would’ve pegged her for the type. Not with the way she looks.

She’s edgy. Dark makeup, skintight, dark clothing. A presence that shouts she’s so far above juvenile drinking games. Yet, there she is, talking to all the girls at the table as though she’s friends with them.

I set my empty bottle down blindly on the bar while I keep an eye on all of them. She’s intriguing. She’s sexy. I can’t get enough of her.

Another drink, man? the bartender interrupts my watch party.

Yeah, that’d be great. Hey, I add, turning back to the bar to talk to him, do you know the blonde who’s at birthday girl’s table? Is she a regular here?

He peers over my shoulder and shakes his head slowly. She’s not a regular. I’ve seen her a time or two, though. It would be near impossible to forget her, if you know what I mean.

Oh, I most certainly do.

I answer him with a nod, and give the room another scan, before I settle on her again. She’s still with them, but she’s stepped farther away from the table. Her posture has changed a little, and instead of facing them all directly, she’s turned her body back toward the bar again, as though she’s ready to come this direction. She shakes off the waitress who stops beside her with a small smile, then turns her attention back to the birthday girl briefly, giving her another laugh and a small hug.

Then she walks away from the group. A few of them watch her back until another loud shout and laugh draws them back into their giggly bubble of fun.

Before she looks up, I turn back toward the bar, careful not to let her see me staring. Not yet.

Hey, bro, I say to the bartender when he’s in earshot, her first round’s on me, yeah?

He gives me a nod and goes for another drink. I tip my own bottle back and take a long, hard pull of my beer. I set it back on the bar and scan my way around the L-shape until I spot her in my periphery. She’s squeezed her way in between a woman and the back of another guy. She flags down my main man for the night and puts in her order. I watch him, curious what type of drinker she is. Will she go for the fruity, prissy drink? Beer? Wine? No, it won’t be wine. Not with how she’s dressed. She’s not the type.

He sets a shot glass in front of her, pulling out the bottle of Fireball, and pours it for her. Then he reaches down into the cooler and pulls out a beer.

Atta girl.

I couldn’t have picked better myself. At least not in theory. A shot and beer are right up my alley, though tequila—Patrón—would be preferable to Fireball.

With his back to her, the bartender looks my way to make sure I still want her first on my tab. I nod my head once, and he smiles then turns back to her. She’s got her card out and ready, and he waves it off, gesturing toward me with his chin.

When she looks my direction, I tip my bottle toward her with a smile then take a drink, confirming without words this round is on me. She shoots the cinnamon-flavored whiskey back like a pro; she steps out from the people she was between and heads my way.

After a few moments, a subtle smell of the outdoors, flowers, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on wafts past my nose, and a warm body brushes against my arm, just hard enough to cause me to flex in reaction.

I slowly, deliberately set my bottle down on the bar and turn toward her with my best grin in place. A grin that falters momentarily, because the second I lay eyes on her, my jaw nearly drops. If she was a ten from across the bar, she’s easily a hundred standing right in front of me.

Tatum

This isn’t my favorite bar to come to. Certainly not on a Thursday night. But I couldn’t not make an appearance for Maddie’s party. You only turn twenty-one once, right? I know she and the girls wanted me to stay with them. If I were still on the team, trying to fit in and get along as one of the girls, I probably would have. I’d fake loving those fruity drinks. I’d toss back Blow Job shots, Jolly Rancher shots, whatever else they’re ordering for her tonight like I did it every weekend. I’d fit in. But I’m not on the team anymore. I don’t have to fake being someone I’m not to be one of the girls. I will always adore them. They’re great girls and they’re a lot of fun to travel and room with. More than any other people here, they know what it took to get this far. They understand the work, the pain, the dedication. They know what it must have felt like to lose it all, too. So, from that end, I will always love them. I’ll always celebrate their victories and their big days.

But I’ll do it from a distance.

That’s why I’m going to get my own drink. I’m going to do my own thing here tonight. It’s why I find myself bumping into the strong arm of the very attractive guy, who just bought my first round for me.

He was clearly hot across the bar. The mussed-up hair, the neat and trimmed beard covering his face, the apparent strong build, the bad boy grin he gave me that told me exactly what he was up to—it all worked for me.

Standing beside him now, well, he is so much more. He’s easily over six feet tall. His body is radiating heat, his arm