I left the manuscript on the desk. The ending I gave my characters, the one where the girl stays, where the cowboy finally says the words, where they build a life under Tennessee stars, was the one I wanted for us. I poured everything into it: the creek, the pool, the willow tree swing, the way his hands felt on my hips when he thought no one was watching. I wanted him to read it. To see what I saw. To understand that I wasn’t asking for the world, just for him to meet me halfway. But he didn’t.
And I couldn’t stay and beg for scraps of affection anymore. Not when every kiss felt like a promise he wouldn’t keep. Not when “friends” started tasting like goodbye.
The driver glances in the rearview. “You okay back there, ma’am?”
I force a smile, small, brittle. “ I will be.”
He nods, turns the radio down. Some old country song is playing low steel guitar weeping, lyrics about leaving and loving and losing. I almost laugh. Of course. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
My phone buzzes in my lap. I don’t look. It could be Maggie, worried. Or Luke, confused. Or Cole, finally finding words at 6 a.m. when it’s too late. I don’t check. I can’t. If it’s him, I’ll break. If it isn’t, I’ll break harder.
A tear slips down my cheek, hot against the cold window. I wipe it away fast, like he might see it from miles away and know he still has the power to wreck me.
They don’t tell you that letting go feels like amputating your own heart while it’s still beating. They don’t tell you the quiet after the goodbye is louder than any fight. They don’t tell you that sometimes “meant to be” doesn’t mean forever, it means you loved so hard it changed you, and now you have to carry that love alone. Goodbye stranger, I hope you find your happy ending.
Chapter 33
The past repeating itself
Cole
I hate working in the rain. I mean yeah, sometimes it’s great, you get to cool off in this blistering July heat, but it just makes everything else harder and more difficult around the ranch. The ground turns to slick mud that sucks at my boots with every step, water drips off the brim of my hat in cold, steady streams, soaking through my shirt collar and tracing icy paths down my back. Every nail I drive feels like pushing through wet leather, every board heavier, every post slipping in the softened dirt.
Not to mention the humidity that comes after. The air smells sharp, wet wood, burnt hay from last night’s fire, mud, and that faint metallic tang of ozone still hanging after the storm. Smoke lingers too, stubborn, clinging to everything like regret.
Especially now, after this fire. Cleaning up this damn mess is going to be a bitch. Charred beams black and splintered, ash floating up every time I kick a pile, the skeleton of the back wall still smoldering in places despite the rain.
We were up till 3 a.m. hosing it down, coughing through smoke, hearts pounding every time a horse screamed. Doesn’t matter. I still have to be working at 7. The ranch never stops. It never cares if you’re broken.
“Sorry I slept in,” Maggie says, coming over to help me move the burnt wood, her gloves already filthy, hair plastered to her forehead under her hat.
“Luke’s still out, I guess?” I ask, voice rough from smoke and lack of sleep.
“Yeah, well, you know Luke,” Maggie huffs and rolls her eyes, grabbing the other end of a scorched beam. The wood groans, wet and heavy, ash smearing across her palms.
“Have you seen Layla today?” she asks me, casual, like it’s nothing. “That was pretty wild of her last night. She really cares for this ranch, for the horses. You need to make it right with her.” She adds, softer.
“You need to mind your business, Maggie,” I say coldly, sharper than I mean to, the words cutting through the rain like a blade.
“It is my business, Cole. You’re my brother, so shut up. Stop being a fucking weirdo and tell the girl you love her,” she snaps back, dropping the beam with a wet thud.
And she’s really starting to irritate me. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. The rain drums louder on my hat, cold drops sliding down my neck, mixing with sweat and soot.
“I don’t know if I love her,” I lie, voice flat, hollow even to my own ears.
“Right,” she scoffs, eyes rolling hard. Then she steps closer, voice dropping. “Not every girl is Abby, Cole. Layla isdefinitely not Abby. Far from it. Abby ran the second things got hard. Layla ran into a burning barn for horses that aren’t even hers. She stayed up with us for hours making sure every animal was safe. She’s brave. She’s kind. She’s nothing like Abby and you know it.”
Her words hit like a slap, sharp, true, stinging because I’ve been trying not to think about them. Abby left when Mom died. Left when I needed her most. Left a ring on the nightstand and never looked back. Layla… She ran toward danger. For Shadow. For this place. For us.
I drop the wood, wet thud in the mud, wipe my hands on my jeans, the denim already soaked and heavy. Rolling the toothpick around between my lips—bitter wood taste grounding me, keeping my hands from shaking.
“I don’t know what to say to her.”
Maggie exhales—long, tired. “Just don’t let the past repeat itself.”
I don’t answer. Just turn toward the guest house, boots sucking in the mud, rain dripping off my hat brim in steady plinks.
I go to knock and the door opens slowly, like it was left cracked or not fully shut. My stomach drops.
