Page 151 of Sunrise & Serenity

The sky is already lightening outside my window, so, still in yesterday’s clothes, I throw on my boots before I lose my nerve. The morning air cools my skin as I cross the grass toward Holden’s cabin. But the second it comes into view, my stomach sinks. No light shines from the windows, and his truck is gone.

Still, I climb the steps and knock.

Nothing.

I try again, harder this time. Silence. My heart is already free-falling as I reach for the door handle. It’s unlocked, the cabin empty, the bed made, the closet half bare.

Gone.

A flash of white on the countertop next to his coffee maker catches my eye. I pick up the folded piece of paper and read it.

Coffee maker’s yours. Figured you’d need it more than me.

Holden.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The way his handwriting starts to blur tells me tears are winning.

I’ve barely driven my car since getting it back from the shop. After I get changed, I drive it to the ranch house, part of me still half hoping he’ll be there. That he wouldn’t leave without talking to me face to face one last time.

But when I find Taryn sitting on the front porch, her forlorn expression tells me everything I need to know.

He’s really gone.

CHAPTER 38

HOLDEN

The arena smells of dirt, beer, sweat, and livestock. Exactly the same as every other one I’ve ever been in.

Music pounds through the speakers, pulsing in my chest as riders crowd around the chutes, adjusting gloves and vests. Bulls slam against metal gates behind them, rattling steel and setting the whole line vibrating.

Heads turn when I walk past. Not all of them, but enough.

“McBride.” Tyler Jensen, one of the riders I came up through the ranks with, leans against the rails, grinning beneath the brim of his hat. “Thought that ranch of yours swallowed you whole.”

“Almost did.” I shift my jaw, working the tension loose.

Laughing, he claps me once on the shoulder. “You coaching tonight?”

“Just observing for now.”

“Sounds boring as hell.”

My lips twitch. “Probably is.”

He snorts and heads back toward the riders while I continue along the fence line.

Everything here is familiar. The noise. The dust. The restless energy buzzing through the arena. For years, this place felt more like home than anywhere else.

Now it mostly just feels loud.

My shoulder aches faintly as I lean against the rails near the chutes. Though maybe it’s just in my head—a reminder of what’s gone.

One of the younger riders glances over as he tightens his bull rope. His eyes widen before he nudges the guy beside him and mutters something. Over the noise, I catch only fragments.

Two-time champion.

No way.