For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, drinking it in. This scene—the warm light, the easy laughter, the sense of belonging I’d foundhere—it was everything Dallas wasn't. Everything my father’s world had never been.
And the article was threatening to burn it all down. To turn it into tabloid fodder. To reduce these good people to supporting characters in the "Beau Sterling Redemption Arc."
The unfairness of it squeezed my lungs.
"You rise like the dead," Winnie teased, catching sight of me. She eyed my rumpled shirt. "Nap coma?"
"Yeah." I dropped into a chair, but my pulse thrummed, palms slick with sweat. The article’s fallout, Dad’s rage—it boiled under my skin, making everything feel off-kilter.
I reached for the water pitcher, but my hand trembled, knocking it sideways.
Glass shattered on the tile. Water splashed my socks. Shards scattered like accusations.
"Fuck—sorry!" I lunged down, grabbing pieces blindly. My fingers slipped on wet glass, slicing a shallow cut into my palm. Blood dotted the floor, mixing with the puddle, swirling pink.
Panic flared hot—stupid, disproportionate panic. My vision blurred at the edges. Everything I touch turns to shit. Everything.
Winnie was there instantly, towel in hand. Her laugh was light, disarming, cutting through the static in my head. "Hey, breathe. It’s water and glass, not the end times." She eased me back, mopping the mess with quick swipes, bumping my knee playfully. "Clumsy today, huh? Pickles got you spooked?"
I wanted to tell her. I wanted to collapse into this moment and confess everything—the article, the threats, how terrified I was that my presence here would ruin the one good thing I’d found.
But the words stuck in my throat, lodged behind years of trained Sterling composure. We don't show weakness. We don't burden others with our messes. We handle it.
Pops snorted from the stove. "Boy’s got ranch jitters. Happens when the real work sinks in."
Elise glanced up, one eyebrow arched. "Or city drama. You good, Beau?"
"Fine." The lie tasted sour, but Winnie’s grin pulled the edge off, her easy forgiveness a lifeline I didn't deserve.
Dinner unfolded anyway. Chili bowls steaming. Cornbread slathered in butter. Talk meandered—Pops on a stubborn heifer, Elise’s Denver client woes, Winnie’s quip about Bandit’s "diva" moods. I shoveled food mechanically, nodding at the right moments, but it all felt distant. Like I was watching from outside my body, seeing this perfect tableau and knowing I was about to destroy it.
Sweat prickled my neck despite the evening cool. Laughter echoed, warm and genuine, but inside? A hurricane.
The door banged open.
Cassie barreled in, jeans ripped at the knee, eyes wild with competitive fire. "Trivia! Now! Hendersons swept the last two weeks because y'all didn't come with me—strutting around like peacocks. We defend or die!"
Winnie sighed, fond. "Cass, plates aren't cleared."
"Clear faster! Beau, you're with us—your city-boy brain is gold for pop culture. Hustle!"
"Give me a minute." I bolted up, pulse racing, grateful for the escape.
Outside, the dusk air cooled my flushed skin. Crickets chirped their warnings. Gravel bit my boots as I paced to the truck’s shadow, away from the porch light’s warm glow. The ranch stretched out before me—fields darkening to purple, the barn a solid silhouette against the dying light.
A month ago, I’d hated this place. Now? It felt like the only solid ground I’d ever stood on.
And I was about to lose it.
I dialed Dad. My breath hitched as I waited for the connection.
He answered instantly. "Beau. Explain this shitshow."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached, No hello, no how are you. Just straight to the point. "You first. Why’d you give Solene the ranch address?"
"What? I—"
"Don't lie to me. She shows up out of nowhere, almost wrecks everything and now this article? It’s too convenient. You leaked it. You dragged me back here to make this place look like a joke so I’d beg to come home."
