Because somewhere along the way, I stopped holding anything at all. And maybe that’s why she’s slipping through my fingers now. A gust of wind picks up, brushing her hair across her face, and still she doesn't move. That stubborn jaw set, those arms like armor.
I want to reach for her. Tell her she’s wrong. That it was never just a list, not with her. But the truth is, I don't know how to undo a reputation that's been carved into the walls of this town.
"Avery," I try again, softer this time. "You really believe that about me? That I’d drag you into something just to toss you aside?"
She exhales through her nose, sharp and tired. "I believe you’re a man who’s used to not needing anyone. And that makes it easy to forget when someone else does."
It guts me. Because she’s not wrong. I’ve spent years keeping people at arm’s length. Now that someone’s reached back, I don’t know how to hold on without hurting them.
So I let the silence speak for me.
And when she climbs down off that fence and walks away, I stay behind.
Because for the first time, my silence might say more than my words ever could.
The sun’s dipping low, staining the sky a bitter shade of orange, and I’m still standing in that same damn pasture like a fool. The post I’m leaning on might as well be a confession booth, except I don’t know what sins to start with, only that Avery’s face is burned behind my eyes like afterimages from staring too long at the sun.
When I finally head back toward the barn, every step feels heavier. Dust clings to my boots. Regret clings tighter.
Levi’s waiting by the trough, tossing feed like it insulted his mother. He gives me a look, one of those unreadable ones he’s perfected over the years. Not judgment. Just… knowing.
“You look like someone kicked your dog,” he says.
“More like watched someone kick it and couldn’t do a damn thing.”
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to.
After a minute, he says, “She’s a firecracker, that one. Got more grit than most men I’ve worked with.”
“I know.”
“And you care. Which is your problem.”
I give him a sideways glance. “How’s that a problem?”
“Because it makes you stupid. Stupid for letting this town get to you over and over.”
I let out a humorless laugh, and he shrugs like he didn’t just gut me with a truth I didn’t want to hear.
Later, when I head up to the loft, everything about it feels different, like it remembers what happened here better than I do. The air is thick with old hay and something too close to longing.
I sit on the edge of the platform, staring down at the empty space below.
This should’ve been simple. One year of her proving herself, one year of me staying out of the way. But then she walked in wearing those damn boots like she was born in them, and everything shifted.
And now the town’s got its claws in us. Whispering. Twisting.
I scrub a hand down my face.
I didn’t expect to fall.
And I sure as hell didn’t expect to care this much that I might’ve already blown it.
Because in the quiet of the hayloft, with no one around to hear the truth, I finally admit it to myself, I hate what my name has become. Casanova Cash. The punchline. The warning label mothers whisper to daughters. I earned every bit of it, sure.
Thought it made me invincible. Thought I didn’t need anyone to see past it.
But deep down, I want to be more than the sum of my screwups. I want to be the man Avery looks at like he’s worth trusting.
