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She’s with one of the wranglers from Harrington Ranch, and I smile and wave her off.

“I’m gonna head home,” I say, pointing to the door.

“No. Don’t go.” She makes a sad face, says something to the guy, and then walks over.

“I’m sorry. I need to go home. Thanks for trying to get me out.” I hug her.

“It was Maverick, wasn’t it? You guys were dancing, and then the next thing I knew, you were both gone. I hoped you were outside actually talking for once.” She leans in and whispers, “Or other things. That would probably solve everything. In fact, after seeing the two of you dancing together, I know it would.”

“I should just go. I’m a mess.” I can’t even respond to her comments about Maverick, or I’m afraid I’ll spiral.

She looks at me and nods. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, no.” The words rush out. “I’m gonna get some sleep. It’ll be better for everyone at Prairie Rose tomorrow if I do.”

“Are you sure? I don’t need to stay.”

“I’m sure.” I smile at her and squeeze her hands. “Stay.”

I use the back door just in case Maverick’s still out front and walk to Prairie Rose to get my car. On the drive home, I pass the Broken Spur, and Maverick’s truck is gone. He’s probably ripping Zoey Samuels’s clothes off right this second.

I can’t think about that.

But thinking of Maverick’s hands on me is taking me back.

To a kitchen always bustling with activity. To the best food I’ve ever had. To Maverick, always watchful, making sure I was happy and comfortable, while Lincoln found ways to make me laugh.

Maverick was always a step ahead of us.

He was there for me when I first started my period, and I’m not sure how he could even tell, but from that time on, he seemed to know when it was happening and took care of me. I’m sure I gave him enough clues. It was the only time I didn’t want to ride. Or the way I turned so pale every time I had cramps.

He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t say a word about it, ever.

But every month, he made sure I had Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Snickers. They’d show up in my locker, or he’d slide one into my hand when we passed each other in the hall.

It was always easy with him.

The memory presses in on me now, warm and painful all at once.

That boy doesn’t exist anymore, I remind myself.

But I thought I saw a glimpse of it tonight when he helped me breathe my way back.

Whoever he was, my heart didn’t know the difference.

The lobby at Shadowbrook smells like lemon cleaner. It’s bright, and the televisions are too loud. I hate this place.

Otis walks beside me, his sneakers scuffing softly against the tile. His hair is combed with more care than usual.

We sign in at the desk and head back, passing Liz on the way.

“She’s having a good morning,” she says.

I brace myself for whatever version we’ll see.

Mom’s sitting by the window when we walk in, sunlight cutting across her face. Her hair is brushed, silver and thin, her cardigan buttoned wrong. She looks tiny. Frail.

When she lifts her head and sees me, her face breaks open into a smile so genuine my mouth drops.