“I see you, Stormy,” he says. “All of you. And I promise, I’ll be here. No matter what. However, you need me.”
I run my fingers through his hair, slick and soft from the lake.
“Thank you,” I whisper, forehead resting against his. “For seeing me. For saying that.”
He nods, eyes closed for a beat, like he’s letting it sink in.
This moment feels like something I’ve only ever dreamed of. So, I let it shift, just a little. Not to escape it, but to breathe inside it.
“I think you have the best hair,” I tell him, fingers still threading through it.
“It’s unfair, really. All this cowboy ruggedness and then this stupidly perfect hair.”
He laughs.
“Cowboy, huh?”
“Well, aren’t you?” I tease, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You’ve got the boots, the truck, the animals, the whole brooding, protective thing going on.”
He shrugs, a little sheepish.
“I guess. I mean … yeah.”
I tilt my head.
“So … why don’t you ever wear a cowboy hat?”
He hesitates, and his eyes drift off towards the horizon. Then he sighs.
“My dad wore one. All the time.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I just … I don’t feel like I’ve earned it. Like I’ll never really fill his shoes—never be as great as he was. He was strong. Steady. Everyone looked up to him. I’m just … trying to keep things together.”
I reach for his hand beneath the water, lacing our fingers.
“I miss him,” he says quietly. “More than anything.”
The words hang between us, soft and heavy.
“Everyone does,” he adds. “But I’ve had to put that aside. For the girls, for my mom, and for the ranch. I didn’t get to fall apart. I had to keep things moving, keep everyone together.”
He swallows, jaw tightening again. “I’m trying my best to be enough for them. To be what he was. But some days …” He shakes his head. “Some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
I squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t look at me.
“I keep thinking how much I need him now just to tell me I’m doing okay. That I’m not screwing it all up. But he’s not here. And I don’t know if I’m making the right calls or just pretending, I know what I’m doing.”
His voice drops, almost a whisper. “I worry he’d be ashamed of me. Not because I’m not trying. But because I’m struggling so damn much.”
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are shadowed with something deep and aching. “I want to make him proud. I just don’t know if I ever will.”
“Ford,” I say softly, “You take care of your family. You work hard. You show up when it matters. You care, Ford. You really do.”
His jaw tightens.
“He’d be so proud of you,” I say. “I know that. And I think, deep down, you do too. You’re doing your best, and that’s all you can do.”
