"I'm sorry, Ty." My voice was steady, even as my chest ached. "I care about you—as a friend, as someone who's part of this town. But we're done. Have been since we were kids figuring shit out. You deserve someone who lights up for you like that. And right now... that's not me."
His shoulders slumped, the rejection landing heavy, but he nodded, stepping back with a sad half-smile. "Can't blame a guy for trying. Especially seeing you like this—strong, but... hurting." He glanced at my phone again. "Just don't wait forever, Win. You've got too much going for you to waste on maybes."
He turned then, loading the remaining sacks with efficient silence, the barn filling with the thud of feed hitting the floor. I watched him go, the truck's engine rumbling to life, dust swirling as he pulled away down the drive. The ranch swallowed the sound, leaving only the distant low of cattle and the wind rustling the cottonwoods.
Pops' Ford appeared minutes later, him climbing out slow with that knee limp he swore was nothing. "Feed come?" he called, squinting toward the barn.
"Yeah." I forced a smile, pocketing my phone. "All set."
He nodded, not pressing, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long—knowing, paternal. "You eat lunch?"
"Not hungry."
"Liar." He clapped my shoulder lightly as he passed. "Fix yourself a sandwich. World's not ending yet."
But as I headed inside, the house creaking under my boots, Cassie's latest text buzzed:Win, I'm serious. Tacos in 30? Or I'm bringing wine and forcing it out of you.
I typed back:Not now. Training.
Then, alone in the kitchen with a PB&J I had no appetite for, I let the mask slip.
Three days of silence. Beau's promises echoing hollow. Tyler's words worming in:He might not come back.
I wasn't fine. Far from it. And the waiting was breaking me, one unanswered text at a time.
WINNIE
The worst that could happen
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
16H13
"Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is admit you can't carry it alone."
– Unknown
***
I was fine.
The mantra had become a lifeline—repeated in the shower when Beau's absence felt like a physical ache, muttered under my breath while I saddled Bandit with hands that wanted to shake, whispered into the dark at 2 AM when sleep wouldn't come and my phone stayed silent on the nightstand.
Fine.Such a small, lying word.
But I'd survived Nana's death at twelve—that hollow, gutting loss that had made the world feel impossibly big and empty. I'd survived the loneliness that followed, the awkward years of being "that abandoned baby" in a town where everyone knew your story before you did. I'd survived Tyler leaving for college, promising he'd come back and never really meaning it.
I could survive Beau Sterling's silence too.
So I did what Jamesons do: I worked.
Tuesday had bled into Wednesday in a blur of deliberate motion—5 AM wake-up, coffee so strong it burned going down, Bandit drills until my thighs screamed and my times started creeping back toward respectable. 16.9 yesterday. 16.7 this morning. Not perfect, but progress. Proof that the world kept spinning even when your chest felt carved out.
Cassie had shown up Tuesday night despite my half-hearted protests, armed with gas station tacos that tasted like cardboard and salvation, plus a bottle of rosé so cheap the label was peeling. We'd sat on the porch steps as the sun bled orange across the fields, listening to her rant about her latest Tinder disaster—some guy who'd shown up to their date inCrocs with socks, which she declared a crime against humanity—and for those stolen hours, I'd laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that loosened the knot in my chest just enough to breathe.
"You sure you're okay?" she'd asked when she left, eyes searching my face for cracks in the armor.
"Yeah. I'm fine." And God help me, I'd almost believed it.
