Creed.
He slows as soon as he spots me, breath puffing in white clouds in the cool air. His hair is pulled back, the edges damp with sweat at his temples. There’s that same focused sharpness in his eyes that he gets behind a drum kit, but softened a little by the woods and the sunlight.
“Rivers,” he says, a small nod doubling as a greeting.
“Hunter,” I reply, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. “Are you… running away from something or toward it?”
His mouth pulls into the faintest smile. “Maintenance.”
“On your legs or your sanity?”
“Both.”
Fair.
He slows to a walk, matching my pace without comment, like it was always the plan. I shift slightly to the side of the path to give him room, but he stays close without crowding, his presence a solid, quiet line at my shoulder.
“How is life without touring?” I say after a few steps.
“Brilliant.” He laughs. “Ilovethe forest calibration.”
My lips twitch. “Wow. What happened to the bad boy of rock and roll?”
He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not me anymore.”
“HowisSloane?”
“Loud,” he says immediately. “Happy. Tired. She and Ezra are at Meadow Creek wrangling a bridge between a chorus and Roman’s ego.”
“That’s a lot of structural work,” I say solemnly.
“Whole team of engineers.”
We fall into an easy rhythm, boots and running shoes crunching over gravel and needles. It takes me back in time to when I used to work with Wild Reverie. Back when they were far more… wild.
“So what about you?” he asks eventually, glancing sideways. “How’s ranch life treating you?”
I consider lying.
Fine. Great. Completely normal. No existential crises here, no sir.
Instead, I hear myself say, “It’s… a lot.”
His eyebrow kicks up the barest fraction. “Good a lot or bad a lot?”
“Yes.”
He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh.
The trail steepens again, forcing us to put more effort into our steps. I focus on the rhythm,left, right, left, right, trying to line my thoughts up with it.
“I like it,” I say finally. “The work. The quiet. The way the day actually starts and ends, instead of blending into one endless service. Sadie… she’s…” My throat tightens at her name in a way that surprises me. “She’s kind of my favorite person.”
“She’s a good kid,” Creed agrees. “Boone’s raising her right.”
The mention of Boone sends an electric little jolt through my stomach. I stare harder at the trail.
“And the ranch?” Creed presses.
