Winnie's laugh was sharp and bright. "Oh, you're gonna be fun tomorrow. I can already tell. Don't worry, princess, I'll bring ya a juice box and some crackers if you get fussy."
"I don't get fussy."
"You're fussin' right now."
"I'm expressing reasonable concern about the fabric of reality being torn apart by waking up at an ungodly hour!"
"It's a ranch, Sterling. Ungodly hours are just called 'mornin'.'" She headed for the door, then paused and looked back at me. For just a second, something in her expression softened. "But seriously, get some rest. You look like shit."
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome." She grinned. "Oh, and Beau?"
"Yeah?"
"Welcome home."
And then she was gone, her footsteps echoing down the stairs, leaving me alone in a room that felt both familiar and completely foreign.
I sat on the bed—which was definitely smaller than I recalled—and looked out the window at the pasture. A few horses were grazing in the golden afternoon light, and beyond them, I could see fields stretching out to the horizon. It was quiet in a way Dallas never was. No traffic, no sirens, no constant hum of people and chaos.
Just... peace.
It should have felt good. It should have felt like a break.
Instead, it felt terrifying.
Because here, in this quiet, there was nothing to distract me from myself. No parties to plan, no headlines to generate, no persona to perform. Just me, and whoever the hell that was under all the bullshit.
My new phone I had purchased, buzzed—somehow still had signal—and I pulled it out to see a text from Z.
Z: How's exile?
Me: Theres many animals who wants to murder me I think.
Z: Sounds about right
Me: And Winnie thinks I'm an idiot
Z: She's not wrong
Me: You're supposed to be supportive
Z: I'm being realistic. Don't fuck this up, Beau. This is your last chance.
I stared at his message, then looked back out the window where Winnie had appeared in the pasture, leading a dark bay horse. Even from here, I could see the easy confidence in the way she moved—like she belonged exactly where she was.
Me:Yeah. I know.
I plugged my phone in, kicked off my shoes—my poor Dior boots that were definitely not ranch-appropriate—and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I'd start figuring out how to not be completely useless.
Tonight, I'd just try not to think about how fucking terrified I was.
Somewhere outside, Pickles crowed, and I flinched hard enough to nearly roll off the bed.
Let's find out if I survive long enough to see tomorrow.
