Page 145 of Sunrise & Serenity

It’s quieter in here than the main barns near the house. One of Chance’s new studs lifts its head over the stall door as I pass. I scratch his nose absently on my way to the tack room. After tossing the rope onto a hook harder than necessary, I brace both hands against the edge of the workbench and hang my head.

Europe. Twelve months. Gallery shows. The words keep circling through my head. A life that has absolutely nothing to do with this ranch.

Or me.

How am I supposed to ask her not to want that?

The thought should make this easier. Instead, the knife that’s lodged itself into my gut twists again. With a humorless laugh, I scrub a hand down my face. Should’ve known better.

Outside, a familiar voice laughs near the equipment shed. Probably Quinn. Drawing in a breath, I straighten. I can’t keep thinking about it. I should go help with the never-ending fence repairs before the others start bitching about having to do everything themselves.

Instead, I dig my phone out of my pocket and swipe it open to my last message to Rick.

Hold off for now. Rethinking things.

Before I can think too hard about it, I hit dial and wait for him to pick up.

He answers on the second ring. “This is a surprise. Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you finally gotten bored with retirement?”

I lean back against the workbench, surveying the mountains through the open tack room door.

“Something like that.”

Rick snorts quietly. “That sounds promising.”

For some reason, that almost gets a laugh out of me.

“Any of those offers still on the table?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he clears his throat. “Depends on which ones.”

“Training. Commentating. Mentorship stuff. Any of it.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Well, shit,” he mutters. “Didn’t expect that today.”

Yeah, neither did I.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. Sage’s face flashes through my head. The look on it when I told her I knew where this thing was going. I swallow hard.

Rick’s voice cuts back in. “Holden?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure about this?”

No.

The answer burns my throat. But staying here, waiting for her to leave, would be so much worse. Because once she’s gone, I’ll be stuck with even more reminders of what’s been lost from this place.

No more second coffee mug in my cabin sink. No more camera sitting on the passenger seat of my truck. No more of her laughing with my family.

Just emptiness where someone used to be.

I built half my damn life around making sure I wouldn’t have to face this shit again. Except somewhere along the way, I’d let people in again. My family. Sage.