Page 74 of Paper Horses

His arm came out to steady me, his eyes creasing with worry. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” I said, pulling the boot on the rest of the way.

“About?” He leaned his hip on the door, crossing his arms.

Sighing, I said, “My brother.” A quirk of his brow had me shaking my head and continuing, “About our relationship.”

The quirk didn’t disappear. “So I take you hard on the deck and you start thinking about your brother?”

“Don’t be gross.” I shoved him, but he caught my hand and tugged me against him.

“Then what were you thinking since your mind wasn’t on that mind-blowing orgasm I just gave you?”

My head tipped, and I studied him, seeing the playful sparkle in his eyes that had erased the worry from earlier. “Mind blowing?” His scowl had me reaching up and pulling his lips to mine. Kissing him, I mumbled, “Definitely mind-blowing.”

“That’s better. Now tell me what you were thinking about.”

I propped myself against his chest, staring at his neckline, but he forced my attention back to his face.

“Just thinking about his reaction to me wearing jeans and everyday clothes.”

He drew back, eyebrows stitching together. “Why would that be an issue for your brother?”

“It wouldn’t. Although I’m sure he’d tease me about it for months.” My fingers played in his hair as I continued. “He’d be happy that I was relaxing. But as close as we are…”

I stopped, unsure how to voice my thoughts about my relationship with my brother.

“But what?”

“I guess our past, our upbringing, and our father put a distance between us that will always be there.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and asked, “What does that mean?”

I blew out a sigh and stepped back, intending to free myself of his hold and this conversation.

“No, you don’t,” he said, dragging me back to him.

“Let me go, Hudson. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t like talking about it. There’s a difference. You think I don’t notice how you close yourself off, build your walls back when you get too close to your emotions?”

“It’s a necessity.”

“Not here, it’s not.”

I wiggled, trying to escape his hold, but he wouldn’t relent. Giving up, I dropped my head against his chest and inhaled his scent. Leather and hay. Calming.

“I can’t be soft,” I admitted in a quiet breath.

His fingers tangled in my hair, and he lifted my face. Serious eyes looked back at me. “You can be with me, Olivia. You don’t have to be strong.”

“I always have to be strong.”

“Not with me. Let me be your strength, the one who carries the weight for you.”

Something cracked in my chest, like the splitting of a boulder, its remnants crumbling to dust. The breath I drew was ragged, painful even, and tears pressed behind my eyes.

“But you can’t always⁠—”