"Take the rest of the day." His voice was gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. He straightened slightly, the vulnerability disappearing behind his usual calm authority, but his eyes remained soft. "Go see Bella and Hope. Get some rest. Tomorrow's a new day."
"But the hay—" My voice was weak, the protest half-hearted at best.
"Will still be there tomorrow." A ghost of a smile crossed his weathered face, softening the hard lines, crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. The expression transformed him, made him look almost gentle. "The ranch won't fall apart because you took an afternoon off, Aster. I promise."
I stood there for a long moment, my hands still trembling, my heart still racing. Part of me wanted to argue, to insist on finishing the job, to prove I wasn't as weak as I felt. But the larger part—the part that was so tired, so raw, so desperately in need of the safety Reid was offering—couldn't find the words.
"Okay." It came out barely above a whisper, rough and uncertain, my voice cracking on the single word. "Okay."
Reid nodded, that same small dip of his chin I was starting to recognize—the gesture that seemed to carry more weight than a simple nod should. He stepped back, giving me a clear path to the door, his body language open and non-threatening.
"And Aster?" His voice stopped me as I reached the doorway, warm and low, carrying across the dusty space between us. Iturned back to look at him, silhouetted against the dusty light of the storage barn, his broad shoulders haloed by floating dust motes, his dark eyes catching the light.
"Yeah?" My voice was still rough, still shaky.
"What happened today doesn't change anything." His dark eyes held mine, steady and certain, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. He stood tall, solid, unmovable—a mountain of a man making a vow. "Not for me. Not for anyone here. You're still welcome here. You're still wanted here." A pause, heavy with meaning. "Don't forget that."
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe around the tightness in my chest. So I just nodded, once, and walked out of the barn on legs that felt like they might give out at any moment.
The afternoon sun was warm on my face, the air crisp with the smell of hay and horses and dust. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone I passed, my shoulders hunched against the weight of their stares.
I was halfway to the stable when footsteps fell into stride beside me. I tensed, ready to snap, but the scent that reached me was familiar—sun-baked grass and wind, something wild and free.
Sawyer.
He didn't say anything. Didn't try to touch me or talk to me or ask if I was okay. He just walked beside me, matching my pace, his presence solid and silent and somehow comforting. His auburn hair caught the sunlight, gleaming copper and rust, and his pale blue eyes stared straight ahead, giving me the gift of not being watched.
We walked like that all the way to the stable, not speaking, not touching, just... together.
At the stable door, Sawyer stopped. I stopped too, turning to look at him. His pale blue eyes met mine, sharp and clear as a winter sky, and something passed between us—understanding,maybe. Recognition. The acknowledgment of one feral creature to another.
"It gets easier." His voice was low, rough, barely above a murmur—like gravel tumbling over river stones. His pale eyes held mine, steady and knowing, his weathered face giving nothing away except quiet understanding. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. "The fighting instinct. Learning when you're safe." He paused, his jaw working slightly like he was chewing on the words before letting them out, his auburn stubble catching the light. "Took me two years before I stopped reaching for a weapon every time someone walked up behind me."
I stared at him, my throat too tight to speak.
Sawyer nodded once, that short, sharp gesture I was starting to recognize—a dip of his chin that carried understanding and dismissal and solidarity all at once. Then he turned and walked away without another word, his boots crunching on the gravel. His auburn hair caught the afternoon light, gleaming copper and rust, and I watched him until he disappeared around the corner of the barn.
Two years. He'd been like me once. Fighting, feral, unable to trust that he was safe. Now he was here. Part of something. Part of them. I went inside the stable, to Bella and Hope, to the one place on this ranch where I felt like I could breathe.
Hope was sleeping when I arrived, curled up in the straw with her impossibly long legs folded beneath her. Bella stood over her, watchful, protective—a mother guarding her child. She nickered softly when I entered the stall, her big brown eyes warm with recognition.
I sank down into the straw beside the sleeping filly, my back against the rough wooden wall, my knees pulled up to my chest. The familiar smells of hay and horse and warm animal wrapped around me, and I finally let myself fall apart. The tears camehard and fast, silent sobs that shook my whole body. I cried for the girl who'd learned to bare her teeth before she learned to trust. For the years of running, of hiding, of being too broken for anyone to want. For the terrifying, impossible hope that maybe—maybe—this time could be different.
Bella lowered her head and nuzzled my hair, her breath warm against my scalp, her soft nose brushing against my temple. Hope stirred in her sleep, one ear flicking toward me, then settled again with a soft sigh. I sat there until the tears ran dry, until the shaking stopped, until the afternoon light slanting through the stable windows turned golden with approaching sunset.
Reid's words kept echoing in my head.You're not broken. You're wounded. Wounds heal.
I wanted to believe him. Wanted it so badly it hurt.
For the first time in nine years, I let myself try.
CHAPTER NINE
SAWYER
I knew something was wrong before anyone told me.
I was out in the east pasture checking fence lines when the feeling hit—a crawling sensation at the back of my neck, the kind of instinct that had kept me alive through things I didn't talk about anymore. Something's wrong. Something's happened.
