A moment ticked by.
“Okay. I hear you. Let’s get you back to the barn.”
After collecting my tool bag and jacket, I pulled myself onto Spirit and together, we made our way through the woods, slow and steady through the cold rain. I focused on the smooth rocking of her steps, an easy rhythm we’d established over the last few weeks, unlike months ago when I would take her on sprints through the fields. We didn’t need directions, we didn’t need light. This was our land and we’d walked it together countless times since “the incident.”
That slow, easy rhythm.
I gripped her reins as she soared over a wooden fence before making our way across the open field. I listened to the sound of the rain, the thump of her heels on the ground, the silence, the stillness around me.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head to the sky, letting the rain slide down my face, feeling each drop, focusing on the sensations that I could feel. I pulled off my T-shirt and tossed it into the air.
Wash it away,I thought.Wash it all away.
I breathed deep, chasing that scent of spring—flowers, rebirth, hope. But there was nothing.
Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was me.
Spring was supposed to mean renewal. New life.
I hoped so.
Because if this was my new reality, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep pretending I was okay.
And that question—the one I couldn’t outrun—returned, heavy as ever.
Who am I now?
9
PHOENIX
An orange light flickered in the loft window as the barn came into view, a massive brown silhouette against the swirling rain.
Home.Mynewhome.
Twenty-four hours after the doctors had released me from the hospital, I knew I couldn’t stay in the family home anymore. My brothers, our staff, the housekeeping, all fussed over my every move. Myevery single move.I couldn’t go to the bathroom without someone monitoring me. Axel followed me around with a bottle of prescription pills in his hands, Gage with a bottle of Johnnie Walker, and Gunner with a therapy schedule thicker than my medical records.
All that was annoying but it was the looks that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. The side-long glances after I’d deny the pills, deny the food and drinks, deny the therapy. The entire house walked on eggshells around me because I was a loose cannon.
So, at two-oh-seven on day two of being home, I packed a bag and snuck out the back door while my brothers gathered in the kitchen to debate my future over a case ofShiner. I walked to the stable, set up shop, and never looked back.
Since then, I’d added a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a cot in the loft. Better than sleeping in hay, which if I’m being honest, I didn’t mind that much. It reminded me of the old days. My glorious military days running specials ops, kicking in doors, living each day like it could be your last.
A life that seemed so long ago.
And it wasn’t like I was roughing it in some broken-down barn. The Steele stable was a showpiece—six horse stalls, a utility room, washroom, office, and an overhead loft with a loading door that overlooked the property. Our dad had renovated it the year before he died, keeping the weathered exterior for character, but transforming the inside into something out of a magazine.
Polished oak covered every inch—floors, walls, ceilings. The stalls were framed in gleaming black iron, and stone pillars lined the walkway, stretching up to iron chandeliers that flickered overhead like we were hosting medieval banquets.
It was ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as the main house just up the hill.
Dad had built what can only be described as a log-cabin mansion—eight thousand square feet of wilderness excess. Staff quarters, elevators, a home theater, indoor and outdoor pools, a gym that rivaled most grocery stores, and an outdoor kitchen big enough to host the U.S. curling team. And that was just the house.
Below it sat basketball and tennis courts, multiple fighting cages, and both indoor and outdoor shooting ranges.
Yes, we had money.
