Aria is sitting up—small and exhausted, but smiling when she sees us.
“Ella,” she says, holding up her bandaged wrist. “Look! They put a brace on. And they gave me stickers.”
Something inside me warms, then melts completely.
I kiss her forehead carefully. “You scared me, sweetheart.”
“I scared me too,” she whispers, then giggles.
When she looks up at me again, her eyes are clear, trusting, and completely unshaken by me.
Cole leans down, brushing her hair back. “You’re a tough one, baby girl.”
She beams at him, but she reaches for my hand. Just mine. And something in my chest loosens, the sharpest part of the guilt dulling.
We take her home together. Cole drives, glancing at me every few seconds like he’s making sure I’m still breathing. I sit in the back with Aria, holding her hand the whole way, letting her talk about the horse, how she wants to try again once she heals, and how she’s not scared, not really.
When she leans into me, head on my shoulder, sighing softly, I close my eyes and rest my cheek on her hair. This closeness,trust, and little girl choosing me fills me with a kind of certainty I’ve never known.
Even if I messed up today, even if I panic, even if I’m flawed, scared, and healing from things I still don’t have names for—Aria doesn’t see me as a failure; she sees me as hers, and that is enough to make me believe I can try again tomorrow.
When we walk her inside, Cole pulls me back gently by the wrist, his thumb brushing the rapid pulse there.
“You did everything right today,” he assures quietly. “You saved her. Don’t ever doubt that.”
He pulls me into him, a soft groan of relief leaving his chest. I let myself melt into the safety of his arms because after everything that happened today…
I finally believe him.
18
COLE
The sound of the construction site is like music to my ears. The rhythmic bang of hammers, groan of lumber settling into place, low hum of generators, and the dusty scent of fresh-cut wood carried on the warm Texas wind. It fills the entire east side of Iron Stallion Ranch, echoing with familiarity, allowing me to feel like my old self.
Not the man clawing his way through the wreckage Calista left behind, the one trying to keep a business from collapsing under a woman who wanted to bury it, or one holding himself together with caffeine, anger, and guilt.
Just… me. Cole Dawson. Construction contractor. Builder. Father. And—fuck, I’ll say it—Ella’s man, even if we haven’t put a label on anything yet.
Aria runs across the site with Daisy trailing behind her, her wrist brace covered in glitter stickers. She waves her good hand at me before disappearing into the corral where Hank promised to give them both a lesson on roping. Seeing her smile again after the accident is like someone unclenching a fist that’s been squeezing my heart for days.
She’s healing, happy, and still brave enough to get back on the horse when she’s all better.
And Ella… Jesus Christ, Ella.
It’s been a few days, and every time I see her, something cracks open inside me. She’s back in the arena, helping Aria with ground exercises since the brace keeps her from riding, and every time I watch her crouch beside my girl, explaining steps with her hands moving in small, precise gestures, something warm and steady settles deep in my chest.
But what sticks with me most, what has been replaying in my head every damn night since the accident, isn’t the fall, the X-rays, or how small Aria looked in that hospital bed.
It’s Ella. The way she shattered when she thought she’d failed my daughter, and folded in on herself like someone had taken the air out of her lungs.
I’ve seen grown men break on job sites, on scaffolding, in the wreckage of their own lives, but I have never seen someone look more devastated, more terrified, than Ella did when she thought Aria’s injury was her fault.
She kept whispering: I should’ve seen it, I should’ve stopped it, I should’ve been faster, and it fucking gutted me.
Because she didn’t just care—she cared too much, in a way that told me it wasn’t some casual attachment, polite fondness, or temporary affection she was giving Aria.
Oh no. Ella has already stitched my daughter into her heart.
