The words hang between us, heavy and fragile, stitched into the quiet night like another constellation. I can feel the weight of them settle in my chest, right alongside the stars.
Neither of us speaks again for a long stretch. I lean my head back against the seat, eyes tracing the vast sweep of sky, and for the first time in years, the cage around me doesn’t feel so tight. Out here, I can breathe. The cab stays filled with silence, but it isn’t heavy anymore. It feels… suspended, like the whole world’s holding its breath with us. I keep my gaze on the stars, though I can feel his on me, warm and steady, like he’s trying to read more from my face than I want to give.
The quiet stretches until it almost feels like its own language. The only sounds are the cooling tick of the engine and the faint whisper of wind against the windows.
I pull in a slow breath, let it out even slower. “It’s strange,” I murmur, almost to myself. “I thought coming out here and living with John would feel like running backward. Like giving something up. But out here…” My throat tightens. “Out here I don’t feel small. I feel—” I cut myself off, because the word which comes to mind feels too raw. Free.
Colter doesn’t push me to finish. He watches, still and patient, like the silence says more than anything I could try to explain.
After a long pause, he shifts, draping his arm over the back of my seat. Not touching, not pulling me in, but close enough I can feel the nearness of him. It’s grounding.
I tilt my head slightly toward him. “You knew I’d like this,” I say quietly.
“Yeah,” he admits. No arrogance in it, no self-satisfaction. Only fact. “I knew.”
My lips part like I might ask him why, but I don’t. Because the answer’s already written in the way he looks at me. It’s not rushed or demanding, but steady. Waiting.
I let my gaze slip back to the stars, and for a moment, it’s enough. There is only the vastness above us, the steady thrum of his presence beside me.
The spell doesn’t break all at once. It lingers, clinging to the cab as I finally lean back into my seat. My hands rest loose in my lap, though my pulse hasn’t slowed, not really.
Colter starts the engine again, headlights spilling over the gravel like liquid light. The stars dim against it, but the weight of them stays inside me, like I’ve tucked the sky away to keep for later.
Neither of us speaks as he guides the truck back down the winding road. The hum of the tires against dirt is steady, hypnotic. Outside, the landscape slips past in shades of shadow, trees pressed black against the horizon, the occasional fencepost catching a flash of light before vanishing again.
I steal a glance at him. His profile is carved in contrast—sharp lines, quiet control. One hand loose on the wheel, the other resting easy on his thigh. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to. His presence fills the cab as surely as the silence does.
“Thank you,” I hear myself say, voice softer than I meant.
His fingers tighten once against the leather of the wheel. “For what?”
“For… showing me,” I answer. My gaze shifts back to the window, embarrassed by the weight in my chest. “For knowing I’d like it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, enough to catch in the glow of the dash. “I know you better than you think.”
Something flutters low in my stomach, but I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to—but because I’m not sure what to do with the truth of it.
The drive stretches, a rhythm of silence and headlights, until the ranch finally comes into view. The dark sprawl of the house,the muted glow of the porch light. Familiar now, though it still feels a little like stepping into another world.
He eases the truck into the drive and cuts the engine, and the sudden silence hums louder than the truck ever did. The porch light flickers faint against the dark, casting more shadow than glow.
I should move. Open the door, step out, break whatever this is hanging between us. But I sit there, fingers tangled in my hoodie, watching the way his hands rest on the steering wheel even after everything’s gone still.
When he finally lets go, it’s slow. Deliberate. He turns toward me, eyes steady, green catching what little light there is.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something. Something which might anchor this strange weightless feeling that’s been trailing us since the stars. But instead, he studies me, gaze flicking over my face like he’s memorizing the parts I don’t know how to hide.
“C’mon,” he says at last, voice quiet, rougher than before. “It’s late.”
I nod, though my chest feels tight, and push my door open. The night air folds around me, cooler now, carrying the faint scents of earth and hay. My boots crunch against gravel as I step down.
He falls into stride beside me, not touching, not saying a word. His presence is a steady pulse in the dark.
At the porch, he reaches the steps first, pulling the door open for me.
We stand on the porch for a breath too long, silence draped heavy between us. I tuck my hair behind my ear, eyes darting anywhere but his.
“Goodnight, Peyton,” he says, low, final.
