19H
"I'm already gone / And I'm feeling strong / I will sing this victory song / My my my my victory song"
– Kelly Clarkson
***
The truck's windows were down, warm Oklahoma air whipping through the cab, carrying the scent of hay fields, wildflowers, and that rare kind of freedom that made you feel invincible. The radio was cranked up—some upbeat country song about backroads and bad decisions—and Cassie was half-hanging out the passenger window, arms stretched toward the sky like she was trying to catch the wind, hollering the lyrics at the top of her lungs.
I was squeezed in the middle on the bench seat, laughing so hard my sides hurt. One hand was braced on the dashboard, the other clutching Beau's thigh as he navigated the winding country roads with a confidence that still surprised me.
"BEAU! FASTER!" Cassie shrieked, her blonde ponytail whipping wildly in the wind. "This is Oklahoma, not a damn Sunday drive to church! Let'sgo!"
"I'm already going seventy!" Beau shouted back, grinning. His left hand was casual on the wheel, his right shifting gears with the kind of smooth precision that made my stomach flutter. He'd gottengoodat driving manual—no more grinding gears or stalling at stop signs. Now he handled my truck like he'd been born to it, downshifting into curves, accelerating out of them with a confidence that was honestly kind of sexy.
"Seventy is basically crawling!" Cassie turned back to us, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Winnie, tell your man to step on it! We need to feel the G-force!"
"Leave him alone," I laughed, squeezing Beau's leg. "He's doing great. Better than you ever did in this truck."
"That's a lie! Slander!"
"You stalled it four times trying to leave my driveway last week!"
"That was a mechanical failure! The clutch was being difficult!" Cassie protested, but she was grinning, turning back to the window to belt out the chorus again.
We'd been driving aimlessly for over an hour, no destination in mind, just burning gas and blowing off steam after a week that had been equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. My training times were getting better—consistently in the low sixteens now—and Beau had been lighter, happier, like some weight had lifted after our vulnerable shower conversation earlier in the week. We hadn't talked about Dallas, or his dad, or the reporters. We'd just... existed. Together. And it felt good. Normal. Like this was our real life, not some temporary dream.
"You know what?" Cassie declared, pulling herself back inside and slouching dramatically against the door. "Beau, you're officially a real cowboy now. Like, certified. You can drive stick, you don't complain about early mornings, and you've survived Pickles. That rooster is the final boss of ranch life."
Beau laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Does that mean I get a trophy? A plaque? Maybe a belt buckle that says 'I Survived the Chicken from Hell'?"
"Better. You get Winnie's undying affection and Pops' approval. Which, let's be honest, is harder to earn than any trophy." Cassie waggled her eyebrows at me. "Right, Win?"
"Pops does like you," I admitted, leaning into Beau's shoulder. "He told me last night you're 'good people.' That's high praise. Usually, the best someone gets is 'tolerable.'"
"Good people, huh?" Beau's smile softened, his hand leaving the gearshift to rest on my knee, thumb tracing lazy circles. "I'll take it."
"You should. Pops doesn't say that about just anyone." I tilted my head up to kiss his jaw, quick and sweet, and he turned his head to catch my lips properly, the truck drifting slightly before he corrected.
"EYES ON THE ROAD, YOU TWO!" Cassie yelled, smacking the back of Beau's headrest. "I'm too young and beautiful to die in a fiery truck crash because you can't keep your hands to yourselves! Save the heavy petting for the bedroom!"
"You literally just told me to go faster!" Beau shot back, but he was laughing, both hands back on the wheel now.
"That's different! That's controlled chaos! This is distracted driving!"
I rolled my eyes, grinning at Cassie. "You're so dramatic."
"It's part of my charm."
The song shifted to something slower, mellower—a ballad about longing and open roads—and Cassie turned it down a notch, leaning her head back against the seat. "This is nice. We should do this more often. Just drive and forget the world exists."
"Agreed," I murmured, settling against Beau's side, feeling the warmth of him, the steady thrum of the engine, the way the truck rocked gently over uneven pavement. For a moment, it really did feel like the world had shrunk down to just us—three people, one truck, endless sky.
Then Beau's phone rang.
It was loud in the suddenly too-quiet cab, the generic ringtone cutting through the music like a knife. Beau's hand tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching, and I felt him tense beside me. He glanced at the screen where it sat in the cupholder.
Z.
