It's really hard to break old habits.

It used to be the first thing I would do in the morning—before I showered and ate breakfast and then hit the weight room—was pull out my phone or tablet and look at league news I might have missed from the night before. There's always something going on, and it pays to be aware of it when you're someone who gets interviewed a lot.

Since the scandal, though, I've had to force myself not to check my phone beyond the bare minimum. I check for calls and emails from my agent, I keep lines of communication open for Jake, and that's honestly about it.

But sometimes I slip. Sometimes I'm half-awake, staring up at the ceiling fan in Jake's guest room, and I just reach for my phone out of habit. I scroll through all those emails and messages I haven't read, and I'm immediately reminded of why I came out here in the first place.

Both inboxes are filled with requests from different news sites, blogs, TV stations, and even a direct request from some big-wig at ESPN. They want my side of the story, past whatever Russ has been telling them. But I'm not ready to give my side of the story yet. Especially when I see a text from Jeremy, buried deep in my inbox.

I don't know what compels me to open it. I guess it's that same thing that makes you load up your ex's Facebook page or Twitter profile months after you've broken up. Morbid curiosity, maybe.

But as I open it and read his words, I know there's more to it than that.

JerBear: hey babe

JerBear: i know u probably dont wanna talk to me right now

JerBear: but i miss u

JerBear: im sorry all this crazy shit is happening

I stare at the messages in disbelief."'I'm sorry all this crazy shit is happening." Seriously? As if he's not the reason all this "crazy shit" is happening?

Anger surges in me, and I tap the text box, all too eager to reply. I want to yell at him. I want to scream. I want him to feel every bit of pain I've felt over this; to be as humiliated as I've been.

And even though I know I'm not going to accomplish anything like that through a text, my fingers fly over the digital keyboard.

Before I can send it, there's a knock on the bedroom door that makes me jump out of my skin.

"Jesus Christ," I yelp, and barely manage to hold onto the phone.

The door opens a crack to reveal Jake, his form silhouetted by a distant light. "Shit. I didn't wake you, did I?"

I glance at my phone, and suddenly wish he actually had. At least then I wouldn't have been on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid.

For a split second I think about telling him that, but I don't need him thinking any worse of me than he probably does already.

"Not really. What's up?"

"You haven't seen my aftershave, have you?"

I blink at him. "I haven't shaved since I got here."

"Right. Yeah." He starts to turn away, then catches the door with his hand again. "It's just I had it out on the counter, and I know it was there yesterday morning. It's cool if you moved it, I just need to know where."

There's so much awkwardness in this conversation, starting with the fact that I'm sitting up in bed, shirtless, and my brother has his head poked into the sliver of open doorway, but he's not actually looking at me.

It feels like we're college roommates or something, and he's asking me if I borrowed his bottle of lube instead of his aftershave. And the fact that he's having trouble asking me about it is making me weird, too.

"I don't think so," I say, trying to think back.

"No big deal. I'll just use soap."

And then he's gone. I see him once more, after I'm up and dressed and he's pouring some coffee into a thermos. There's no animosity—it's not like he's standing there glaring daggers at me for not knowing what happened to his aftershave. But it's weird, and I feel like it shouldn't be this weird.

Especially when not ten minutes after he leaves, I remember I accidentally knocked the bottle off the very small counter last night and just stowed it under the sink.

At least it distracts me from thinking about Jeremy, but I'm no less wound up when I get to Shane's ranch. I throw myself into the work, almost wishing he hadn't decided to join me after taking the horses out. The more work there is, the more of a chance I have to redirect my energy. It's always been that way for me. When I used to get into fights with my dad, I'd train twice as hard that day; push myself farther than I ever had before. If we had a bad game, I'd be the first one in the gym the very next morning, and the last one to leave the practice field that night.

Here, though, I'm nearing the end of my half of the stable, and there's still too much noise in my head.

"You okay?" I eventually hear Shane ask.

I stop, realizing I'm panting already as I try to answer him. "Yeah. Why?"

His brows lift just slightly and he gestures toward the wheelbarrow. "Half the straw's on the ground."

I look around me, and sure enough, he's right. A clump of it is even on top of my boots, and I didn't notice. I've just been bending and shoveling and bending and shoveling.

"Shit," I mutter, and step back so I can scoop the hay more carefully into the wheelbarrow.

I can hear Shane set his own spade aside, his boots sounding on the floor of the stable as he comes closer to me. The muscles in my body tense and I prepare myself for the inevitable.

He's going to send me home. He doesn't want me here anyway; he's probably only doing this because Jake asked him to get me out of his hair.

"Something come up?" he asks, and I finally look at him. "With the whole… tape thing?"

The question catches me off guard, and I laugh a little. But doing so also forces some of the tension out of me. "No. At least, I don't think so. My agent would call if there was anything big going on."

And thankfully googling my name wasn't among the stupid things I did this morning.

"Just… rough morning. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess."

He nods, and I'm pretty sure he's more than willing to just let it go. But he holds my gaze for a moment longer, and suddenly I feel compelled to just… talk.

So I do.

And I don't stop until I’ve gotten through half a therapist's billing hour worth of nonsense.

"I almost texted my ex this morning. The one who put that tape online—who's now doing interviews across the country, telling everyone I took advantage of him. I don't know why I even looked at the text in the first place, but I did. And the only reason I didn't actually hit send is because my brother came into my room looking for the aftershave he thought I'd taken or lost or something and technically I didn't lose it but I did misplace it. I just didn't remember until after he left, because that's apparently how things are going to go between us."

He looks at me, his brows raised so high they almost reach his hairline. Cold shame washes over me, and I realize I must look like the whiniest piece of shit right now.

But before I can open my mouth to apologize, Shane stops me.

"Come on," he says, jerking his chin toward the stable doors.

"But the hay—"

"It can wait for a little bit."

He doesn't say a word, just leads me to the large pasture near the front of his property. The sun is just starting to crest the rolling hills, and it's casting a soft glow over the six horses that are grazing in the huge field.

They're beautiful, even as they're just standing there looking docile, their tails swiping lazily behind them. They're even more beautiful as they lift their heads one by one, their ears pivoting, perking up to the sound of Shane undoing the gate on the pasture. And as they start to trot over to him, I get a front row view of just how large and powerful they are, their muscles pulling and bunching, light and shadow cast by the sun's morning rays.

"Ever ridden a horse before?" he asks.

"What?"

I'm just staring as three of them are upon him. He lifts his hand, palm open, and one nuzzles against it, making snuffling noises. The others are snorting and stamping expectantly.

"Have you ever ridden a horse?" he asks again.

"No," I manage.

"Would you like to?"

I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a ravine, being asked if I want to jump in. I wouldn't say I'm scared of horses; I've just never been this close to them before. And even if Shane is my harness in this analogy, that ravine is still pretty intimidating. Half a ton of intimidating, is my guess.

But so is staring down a massive lineman as he follows your every move on an audible. Outpacing your blockers so there's nothing between you and that bone-breaking hit you know is coming. Adrenaline gets me over the line of scrimmage every time, and it's no different here.

"Yeah. I think I would," I say with a grin.

* * *

A half hour later, two horses wait in front of the stables, both of them in full riding tack. Shane is a patient teacher, demonstrating what to do with his own horse, and helping me stumble through dressing my own. He double-checks both of them, tugging on the straps beneath their stomachs, pulling at the pommel of the saddles. When he's satisfied, he moves to the other side of my horse.

"The easiest way to mount is to hold onto the pommel, lift your left foot into the stirrup, then swing your right leg over," he says.

“Uh-huh. Just like riding a bicycle," I mutter, nerves coiling in my stomach.

"Falling off a bicycle hurts a lot less," he says, and I can see amusement in his eyes as he looks at me over the back of the horse.

I laugh, shaking my head. "Asshole."

"You'll be fine. Here, I'll stand on your side."

He moves to stand behind me, and my heart starts pounding for a whole different reason. Shane directs me to grip the pommel with a hand on my arm. That hand moves to my leg as I lift my foot into the stirrup. And I can feel the warmth of his skin as he presses against my lower back, helping me up into the saddle.

My body flushes, and while I am actually up on a horse—high off the ground, with no easy way to back out now—I'm thinking this saddle's going to become pretty damn uncomfortable if I don't get my thoughts under control.

"See? Easier than a bicycle. I can let go and you won't tip over."

I force out a laugh, thankful that Shane is either oblivious to the effect he's had on me, or just doesn't care. Embarrassment still simmers within me, but when I watch him mount his own horse, it's hard to think about anything else. His movements are so graceful, so fluid. He sits atop his horse and you can just tell it's as natural for him as breathing. The animal responds to his barest of movements, and even my mare eases closer to him. I really don't blame her.

He reaches for my reins, and my horse settles into a slow, steady pace beside his. Where he barely seems to move, I'm bouncing in the saddle with every step, my thighs already starting to hurt.

"Don't fight her movements," he says. "Lower your center of gravity and try to feel what she does."

I do, and while I know I still don't look anywhere near as competent as Shane, at least my jaw isn't rattling every time my horse's hooves hit the ground anymore.

We walk along the line of the fence, and I can see the golden stallion following our movements in a nearby pasture, his ears twitching and pivoting.

I almost ask about him, but Shane speaks first. “You know he’s just as lost as you are, right?”

I look over at him, and my momentary bout of confusion actually keeps me distracted from worrying about the half-ton powerhouse beneath me.

“Jake,” he explains. “He was… worried about this. About you coming up here.”

That hurts a little, but I’ve learned to let blows be glancing ones when it comes to my brother. “I guess I get that. He probably expected some sort of media circus.”

Jake’s a good guy, but he’s a teacher at a public high school. He can’t afford to have this big of a mess in his life.

Shane just shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. He was worried because he wants things to work out. He wants to get to know you and, I don’t know. Build a relationship.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by that, but somehow I am. Jake and I never hated each other—we never spent enough time together for that. But I always wondered if he didn’t resent the fact that Dad spent literally all of his time and energy on me.

I guess it’s surprising to me that he actually wants a brother, even after all of that. I have no reason to think Shane’s just pulling this out of his ass, though, so I can’t help feeling a little bit of hope.

My horse stops, Shane’s continuing on, and I look at him helplessly as Gloria dips her head down to terrorize some grass shoots.

Shane flashes me a grin. “She can tell you’re new to this. You have to be firm with her. Dig your heels into her flank a little and click your tongue.”

I give him a skeptical look, but do so. Gloria moves quicker than I expect, and I lurch forward over the saddle, taking the pommel straight to the stomach with an oof. Shane laughs.

We continue on without much trouble, though, just walking the perimeter. As I look out across the rolling hills of farmland, I find my curiosity piqued.

“You’ve probably been working with horses for a long time, right?”

“All my life,” he says, his own gaze cast into the distance. “I saved to buy my first horse when I was eight. Completely unbroken yearling. She used to do everything in her power to make my life miserable.” His smile is surprisingly fond. “Bit me and held on, stepped on my foot, walked forward when I tried to mount her, ran me into low-hanging branches…”

“Jesus,” I say with a startled laugh, “she sounds awful.”

He just grins. “She was. But she taught me a lot of patience. It helped me become a better rider, and it’s helping me here, too.”

Shane does seem insanely patient. Not just with the horses, but with me. The fact that I’m riding a horse right now—however poorly—is proof of that.

We continue on in companionable silence and my thoughts pull back toward my brother. He helped me get this ‘job,’ and maybe Shane knows of some way I could repay the favor.

“You know Jake really well,” I muse, “is there any way I can extend an olive branch?”

He considers this for a moment, leading us out into a straight, open area of the pasture. For a second I worry he’s going to make his horse run, but he maintains the same, comfortable pace.

“For about a year now, Jake’s been bringing some of his students over to the ranch every other Saturday to ride in the foothills. They’re good kids, but they don’t do all that well in a classroom setting, and they’ve got a lot of shit going on at home. Coming out here… I don’t know. I think it helps.”

I blink, not really expecting any of this. “That’s… really cool.”

Shane offers me a small smile. “You should come with him next time, or drive over here early and help me get the horses ready. I know he’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding, “I think I will.”

We finish our ride and I clumsily dismount off a very patient Gloria, giving her a stroke and later some oats as thanks for her understanding. I thank Shane, too. Not just for the advice, but for the ride. He helped me get out of my own head and gave me a path forward with Jake, and for the first time since I got here, I finally feel hopeful about our relationship.