“How often?” I ask, keeping my tone even, controlled, like this is just information I need and nothing more.
There’s a brief pause, just enough to tell me he knows what I’m getting at. “Enough.”
Not reassuring.
Not even close.
I nod once, more to myself than to him, letting that answer sit where it belongs.
“Bull riding,” I add, my gaze holding his, making sure he understands I’m not guessing.
His jaw tightens just slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
Of course it is.
The most dangerous version of an already dangerous life.
I let out a slow breath, forcing down the immediate push to shut this down before it even has a chance to start. I didn't come here to make decisions based on fear, even if every instinct I have is telling me that’s exactly what I should do.
“I don’t like it,” I say, honest and direct, because there’s no point pretending otherwise. “Not for me, and definitely not for her.”
His expression shifts again at that, something flickering there that I can’t quite read, but I don’t stop.
I ease a breath out and keep my tone even, letting the edge fall away before I speak. “We were in Austin,” I say. It feels simpler to start there, with facts instead of everything that sits behind them. “I had a counseling position at an elementary school, and it was steady, it was safe, and it was enough for us.”
My fingers brush lightly over Hadley’s shoulder, more reassurance than restraint. “My aunt passed away a few months ago, and I came back to River Bend to help my mom take over some of the work she used to do with the kids here. This isn't supposed to be permanent, just long enough to get things settled.”
I meet his eyes and hold them, not pushing, just making sure he hears me. “But being back made it harder to ignore this,” I add,my voice quieter but steady. “Harder to pretend you didn’t exist, or that she didn’t deserve to know where she came from.”
Hadley shifts beside me, her attention still fixed on him, and I feel that familiar pull to protect and to do right by her at the same time.
“So I came out here,” I continue, keeping it simple, keeping it honest. “Not to change anything about your life, and not to ask for anything you’re not willing to give, but because you deserved to know, and she deserved to meet you.”
I draw in a breath and add what I should’ve said first. “I’m Riley. Riley Grant. And this is Hadley.” I glance down at her, softening for a second. “Hadley Grant.”
My gaze lifts back to him. “Five years ago, the county fair, after the late show at the arena,” I say, giving him the anchor he might need.
“We ended up at the Silver Spur. You were riding that weekend.”
I hold his eyes, not pushing, just placing the memory between us. “That night.”
The words settle between us without force, carrying their own weight, and for the first time since I stepped out of the truck, I let the silence stand on its own instead of trying to control it.
The silence stretches a second longer, and that’s when I feel it shift around us, subtle but unmistakable, like the air tightens just enough to remind me we’re not alone in this.
I don’t have to turn to know they’ve moved in closer.
I can feel it in the way the space changes, the way the weight of their attention settles in behind him, steady and watchful without stepping over whatever this is between us.
Family.
The word lands quiet but solid, and it makes something in my chest pull tighter, because I walked into the middle of something that already stands on its own without me.
A unit that protects its own.
And right now, I’m not part of that.
I shift my stance just slightly, not retreating, just adjusting, keeping Hadley tucked close at my side as my gaze flicks past him for the first time.
