It isn’t a request. It’s a demand.
I should tell her I can’t promise that. That my life is built on violence and consequences, and that danger doesn’t stop because I want it to. But Julian sighs softly against my chest, hisbody warm and trusting, and Kate is standing close enough that I can feel her shaking.
So I don’t give her the truth. I give her what she needs. “I’m here now.”
She closes her eyes like the words physically steady her, then she leans in—but not to kiss me, just to press her forehead briefly against my shoulder, careful of my injuries. I hold her there, Julian between us.
Danger still lurks outside these walls, but I’ve kept them safe once, and I’ll do so again, until they are forever safe.
25
KATHERINE
For as far as my eyes can see, Iron Stallion stretches out in every direction—grass rolls in soft waves beneath the Texas sun, horses graze in the distance with lazy dignity, and fences cut clean lines through land that looks too vast to belong to anyone, and yet it does. All this belongs to the Morgan family.
A week ago, this place was just a name to me. A family ranch I’d written about once or twice in connection with Ava Noa’s fairytale marriage. It was a headline, a piece of gossip wrapped in glossy wealth. Now it’s where my son is being passed from arm to arm like a crown prince, where Ryder is healing, and where I’m trying my best to feel like I belong.
I rest my hands on the top rail of the fence, staring out at the valley below, letting the wind cool my face. It smells like earth, horses, bulls, and hay. Behind me, I hear footsteps, and I know who they belong to without turning.Ryder.
He asked me out for a ride this morning, and I said yes too quickly, because I’m incapable of telling him no, but the whole time we’ve been riding, I’ve felt this quiet gravity pulling us toward something inevitable.
Ryder doesn’t invite people to places, so if he asked me to come out here, it’s because he wants to talk, and Ryder Morgan does not talk unless it matters.
I turn my head slightly as he comes up beside me, his horse’s reins loose in his hand. He’s still healing, still stiff in ways he refuses to admit, but out here he looks like he belongs in a way he never did in the city. The cowboy is in his blood, even if the ghosts of his past tried to erase it.
He stops at the fence with me, gaze fixed forward, but he doesn’t say a word. The wind moves between us, tugging at my hair, his jacket, and the space he never quite knows how to close first.
“We need to talk about Julian,” he finally starts.
Just the name of our son on his lips pulls my attention immediately. “Yes?”
His jaw works, tension flickering along the line of it. He looks like a man stepping toward a cliff edge without knowing if there’s ground on the other side.
The next words out of his mouth rattle me to the bone. “I’d like him to have my last name.”
My breath catches, and for a second, all I can see is Julian as an infant in my arms in the NICU—tiny and wired, fighting for breath while the world spun on without his father. All I can hear is my own voice whispering James into the paperwork because it was the only thing I had. And now Ryder is standing here, asking for the rest of it.
“Ryder…” I start, voice trembling.
His expression tightens instantly, misreading. “You don’t have to.”
“No.” I shake my head hard, stepping closer. “No, that’s not—“
I exhale shakily, forcing myself to meet his eyes fully. “I want that… I wanted that before I even knew your last name.”
Ryder stills, and I continue, because if I stop, I might cry.
“Before I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t think you were real. You were like a story I couldn’t prove. Then those lines popped up, and it proved that what we shared actually happened, and I realized one thing: no matter how horribly we left thingsbetween us, Julian deserved to be tied to you somehow. Even if you never came back.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
“So I gave him James, because it was all I had. But now that you’re here, he can have your name. Of course he can.”
Ryder’s shoulders sag the smallest fraction, like he’s been holding something up for far too long and has finally set it down.
“Morgan,” he murmurs, tasting it.
“Julian James Morgan,” I whisper softly, and the name feels right in my mouth.
