My throat goes tight because I don’t know the answer. After the way we ended things, after how much pain she’s in… I can’t promise anything.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “For now, how about you practice warmups on your own? The way she showed you.”
Aria nods again, but it’s halfhearted. “Okay.”
She jogs down the steps and heads toward the barn. I stay sitting, watching her go, feeling like the biggest coward alive. The little girl deserves stability. Ella deserves love. Instead they’ve both been stuck dealing with the fallout of my fear.
I stand and start walking, not consciously choosing a direction, just moving because sitting still makes everything worse. I end up near the far fence line overlooking the training corral, the same spot where I’ve found myself more than once these last few days.
I’m surprised to find Ella here. I didn’t expect her to be. She’s been hiding since our own blowout, so this is unexpected.
She’s opposite the girls, leaning against the rail as Aria trots a slow circle.
Her posture gives her away immediately. Shoulders slightly hunched, arms folded like she’s holding herself together from the inside. The fire she carried before is quieter now—not gone but dimmed. Even the way she corrects Daisy’s posture sounds softer than usual.
I watch her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the bruise on her cheek from Calista long gone, but its shadow still lingering in my mind. I screwed up the day I pushed her away. I know that now more than ever. And listening to her fall apart in front of her brothers only carved that truth deeper. She’s hurting from everything in her past—her accident, Zane’s accident, the break-in—and then I added to the pile.
I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her, tell her she doesn’t have to hide with me, that if she needs to break down, I’ll hold every shattered piece. But I stay where I am because I’m not sure I have the right anymore.
Hank appears beside me without a sound, the way older cowboys do when they’ve spent decades moving quietly around livestock. I glance at him, but he keeps his gaze on Ella.
“She hasn’t looked like that since she was seventeen,” he notes quietly.
My stomach drops. “Since the accident?”
He nods. “That broke her in ways she never let on. But she didn’t want Beck to drown any deeper, so she hid it. Same way she hid the fear after the break-in, and how much Zane’s accidenthurt her.” Hank sighs, long and heavy. “That girl’s been smiling through hell for years.”
I swallow hard. “And I made it worse.”
Hank turns his head just enough to look at me. “You didn’t cause it. You just happened to be the last straw.”
It doesn’t make me feel better.
“You care for her,” he comments, not asking.
I nod. “More than I meant to. More than I deserve to.”
Hank lets out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Son, deserving’s got nothing to do with this. My daughter loves big. When she chooses someone, she chooses with her whole damn heart. She chose you, and you hurt her, yes, but you’re also the only man she’d let help her climb out of this.”
My chest pulls tight. “She asked for space from everyone.”
“She’s had three days. Any more and she’ll think you don’t want her back.”
I look at Ella again. She’s helping Daisy adjust her stirrups, her voice gentle, smile paper-thin. Something inside me cracks.
Hank claps a hand on my shoulder. “Go talk to her, fix this, before she convinces herself she’s better off alone.”
I hesitate. “Hank—“
“I’m her daddy,” he cuts in. “I know when someone belongs with my kid. And you do. Now go.”
He walks off, leaving me with no more excuses. If that ain’t him giving me his blessing, I don’t know what is.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and head toward her. She spots me when I’m still twenty feet away. Her spine goes straight, then stiffens. She murmurs something to Daisy and Aria, pats both horses, and sends the girls toward the barn.
By the time I reach her, the only thing between us is a few feet and all the hurt I caused.
“Ella.”
