“Not too high,” I reply. “We don’t want you landing on the moon.”
“Dylan!” She huffs, rolling her eyes and looking so much like Izzy in that moment I laugh. “That can’t happen.”
“Even so, sounds like we have ourselves a plan. I’m going to need your help getting it all set up. You game?”
She gives a fierce nod, wiping away the last of her tears. “I’ll get my notebook. We need to make a list!” She whirls around and disappears into the trailer, and I move to stand as Izzy brushes the dirt from her knees.
“Hey,” I say quietly. My fingers brush the bare skin of her arm, and damn if I don’t feel the way she tenses—like she’s caught between wanting to step back and move close.
The air shifts, charged with something unspoken between us again. Her eyes flicker to my mouth, and mine drop to hers. It would take nothing—nothing—to lean in. But she blinks, and it’s like we both remember where we are and who’s watching.
“You OK?” I ask, still not moving my hand.
Her nod is tight. “It’s not me Hooper has let down. But thanks for cheering Mad up. You really don’t have to do a big barbeque thing. It’s a lot.”
“And you don’t have to tell me what I don’t need to be doing all the time, Brooks,” I reply. “Mad deserves a fun night. Everyone’s here for the weekend anyway. It’s perfect.”
Izzy makes a face, smacking a hand to her forehead. “My parents! They’re coming tonight.” Before I can reply, she continues, “I’ll cancel on them.”
“Why?” I shrug. “My family’s here too. Might be easier with more people?”
“Easier?”
“Your poker face is terrible, Brooks,” I reply. “It’s obvious you’re dreading seeing them.”
Before she can reply, Madison reappears in the doorway of the trailer, wielding a fluffy pink notebook and matching pencil.
“Ready?” I ask.
She gives a firm nod, and before I can say another word, she takes a running jump from the trailer steps, throwing herself at me as Izzy cries a horrified, “MAD!”
I catch her mid-air, her little arms wrapping around my neck like a spider monkey. For a moment, I pretend to stumble, making her shriek a giggle.
“Do you know who’s the best at making lists?” I ask, shifting her weight easily in my arm.
“Who?” Madison asks.
“Mama,” I reply. “Let’s go find her, monkey.”
“Monkey,” she says, giggling against my shoulder, and a glow of warmth hits my chest again. Madison deserves only laughter and sunshine and fun, and it feels good to be the one to give her that.
As we make our way back to the ranch house, I throw a glance over my shoulder to Izzy. “Stop worrying, Brooks,” I call at her. “I’ll bring her right back.”
“Yeah, Brooks.” Mad grins before Izzy gets the chance to reply.
There’s something in Izzy’s expression—the way she’s fighting back a smile and no doubt a sarcastic retort—that feels different. Like maybe we’re done fighting. I don’t know what this is, but like this ranch and these horses, it feels like it might be real.
And yeah, that thought terrifies me right now. Yesterday I told Izzy I was all in. I meant it. Or I thought I did. But now, with Mama’s words still echoing in my head—a future with the Stormhawks—I feel that certainty waver.
Because even as Izzy looks at me like I might be worth believing in, there’s a small, treacherous part of me whispering,What if?
TWENTY-NINE
IZZY
FLIC:Is Dylan still alive? You left the bar pretty angry yesterday.
IZZY:He is! In fact, he’s throwing a barbeque tonight. Can you get the night off?
