For days afterward, I stared at my phone, willing Dylan to call and tell me he’d chosen the ranch. Beg me to come back. Tell me he was falling for me like I was him. The silence has stung almost as much as the knowledge that he knew about the coaching offer and didn’t tell me.
I think of Flic’s final message, wishing it was that easy. The right choice for me? Or for Mad? And are they one and the same? Because this school really is amazing. Routine. Stability. Exactly what Madison needs. I just wish it didn’t feel like I was struggling to breathe.
I try not to think about how hard the weekends have been for Madison. Her sadness when Grandpa Joe dropped her at my parents’ house instead of the ranch. The way she asked a hundred questions about Oakwood, about the horses, about Dylan—questions I couldn’t answer.
But why can’t we stay there?
Why can’t we go back?
What about Quicksilver?
When can we see Dylan?
I’d forced out words that felt all wrong.I know it’s hard, Mad. One day you’ll understand. Here, we can have a routine. A normal life.I hated how much I sounded like my mom.
We spent last week playing in the park, helping cook dinner, and coloring in Mad’s room while I flicked through the stack of college courses Mom had left so helpfully on my old desk. I smiled for Mad, read her stories at bedtime, told her I loved her, and tried to ignore the suffocating feeling of being back in my parents’ house.
I hoped school starting and seeing her friends would help, but she’s still quiet. Nothing like her usual bubbly self. I thought I was doing the right thing by agreeing to live with my parents, but now I’m not so sure. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still failing her. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to this school tour. And for Hooper to collect Mad from school today. Maybe some time with her dad will lift her spirits.
We round the corner and another class of children passes us. They’re about Madison’s age, each clasping a basketball in their hands. A ball slips and the little girl who dropped it starts to run, chasing it down, but the teacher is quick to stop her, reminding her to walk, not run. The girl nods solemnly before continuing after her ball, slower now.
I try toremember a single moment in Madison’s life when she hasn’t skipped, jumped, or sprinted her way through the day. I try to picture her in this place—standing in a neat line, silent and composed. But the Mad who fills my thoughts is the one in the lake, her high-pitched squeal of delight when Dylan threw her into the air. Wild and free. Happy.
I think of the way her face lights up around the horses, the same way mine does, and a tightness grips my chest. Even before Hooper, trust never came easy to me. I grew up feeling like the odd one out, like the decisions I wanted to make for my life were wrong. It made me doubt myself, not trust my own feelings. Like the feelings now telling me this school and this life aren’t right for Mad or me.
Flic’s right. I have to start trusting my instincts, and right now those instincts are screaming at me to get the hell out of here. Madison doesn’t belong in a world of strictness and structure and being told not to run. She doesn’t belong in a world closed in, away from the land she loves. And neither do I.
My feet slow, the tour group moving on without me. Mom stops too, nudging me forward. I take another step but then stop completely.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her quietly. “But this place isn’t for Mad.”
Sadness flickers across Mom’s face. I feel bad for a moment. Then she purses her lips. “Madison will benefit immensely from a place like this. Your father and I?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “And I’m grateful for the offer, really I am. But you and Dad think if you can squeeze Madison’s bubbly, curious, fun personality into the box this place is offering, she’ll magically become the kind of person who grows up to be a doctor.”
Mom shakes her head. “That’s not what this is, Isobel.”
“It is,” I reply. “And I know that because it’s exactly what you did to me as a child. But I never fit and neither will Mad. This life you’re offering us… I know it’s coming from a place of love. But I can’t keep pretending I belong in a world that makes me feel like I’m failing just for being myself. It isn’t for me. And it sure as hell isn’t for Mad.”
Mom sighs, resignation in her expression. “I told your father this would happen.” She must see the surprise on my face because she raises her brows. “We may not be perfect parents for you, Isobel, but we’ve always wanted what’s best. We want you to have something stable. And we love you. And we love Madison.”
I reach out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know. Thank you.”
The disappointment still lingers in the air. Maybe one day they’ll accept my choices, but I’m not sure they’ll ever be proud. And that stings. But it only makes me more certain that this isn’t the life for Madison. I will always support her choices, always be proud.
“You don’t have to move out,” Mom says then. “Whatever you choose to do, you and Mad can always stay with us.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful she doesn’t try to stop me.
“What will you do?” she asks.
Oakwood Ranch flashes into my mind—sunlight spilling through the barn doors, Quicksilver’s whinny, the sound of hooves hitting the dirt. The foothills rising from the land. The lush green of the spruce trees by the lake. The dewy scent of the air first thing in the morning, like it’s rolled straight off the mountains. I shake the image away. “I… I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out.”
I turn and walk away, cutting across the lawn, grinning at the sign that tells me not to. I feel the wind in my hair, the giddy relief of making a choice that feels right.
HOOPER:Dropped Mad at the ranch. I’ll let you know the next time I’m in town.
I’m in the parking lot of the school when Hooper’s message lands. His words suck the air from the day. What the hell does he mean he dropped Madison at the ranch? He was supposed to take her to my parents’.
