And yet when we’re together, it somehow works. His calm balances out my chaos like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he steadies the storms inside me without either of us having to say a word about it. And realizing how much I want that is the part that terrifies me the most. Because wanting things in this life has never worked out well for me.
Every time I’ve let myself believe something might last, it eventually disappeared. People leave. Situations change. Life finds a way to remind you that the good moments are temporary if you hold onto them too tightly.
Cole lives in a world full of violence and loyalty and danger that has nothing to do with this farm. Even if he stayed longer than he planned, even if he keeps looking at me like something here matters to him, the truth is that the world will always call him back eventually.
And when it does…I’d be the one left standing on this porch wondering why I ever thought it could be different. So yeah. I ended it before that could happen.
I draw in a slow breath and take another sip of coffee, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue while I watch the barn doors sway slightly in the breeze.
Outside, Sheriff lets out another loud crow like he’s announcing the start of the day whether anyone asked for it or not. I close my eyes for a second and tell myself the same thing again. I did the right thing.
Even if the quiet biker who’s been sleeping in my bed for the past week just became the thing I want most in the world. And the thing I just pushed away.
I stand at the kitchen sink longer than I need to, staring out the window like there’s something important happening in the pasture that requires my full attention. The mug of coffee in my hands has already started to cool, the warmth fading slowly against my fingers, but I don’t move. Outside, the farm looks exactly the way it always does in the early morning. The barn door creaks softly when the breeze catches it. A couple ofchickens wander across the yard like they own the place. Moose is stretched out near the fence line in the lazy sprawl he falls into after breakfast. Everything about the view in front of me says the day is normal.
It doesn’t feel normal.
The back door opens behind me, and the sound hits my spine like a quiet jolt. I don’t turn around. I don’t even shift my shoulders. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on the pasture like I’m deeply invested in watching a chicken peck at something in the dirt. I can feel him the moment he steps inside the kitchen though, the way his presence fills the space without him needing to say a word. Cole moves across the floor behind me, his boots heavier than usual against the wood, each step deliberate enough that the sound echoes through the room.
He stops somewhere behind me.
The silence that follows stretches longer than it should. It sits there between us like something neither of us wants to touch first. My grip tightens slightly around the mug, but I don’t turn. If I look at him right now, if I see the expression on his face after the things I said outside, I’m not sure I’ll stick to the decision I just forced myself to make.
Then I hear the stairs.
His boots hit the first step hard, the sound echoing up through the house as he climbs toward the bedroom. He doesn’t try to be quiet about it either. Each step lands with the kind of weight that makes it clear he’s angry, even if he hasn’t said the word out loud. The sound carries through the house until it ends with the bedroom door slamming hard enough that the dishes in the cabinet rattle.
I close my eyes for a second.
“Good,” I mutter quietly under my breath.
Anger is easier. Angry means this ends clean. Angry means he won’t linger here trying to talk me out of what I already decided needed to happen.
I lift the mug and take a sip of coffee even though it’s gone lukewarm now. My eyes drift back to the barn door swaying in the breeze, and I focus on that simple, familiar motion while the silence upstairs settles into something heavier.
Ten minutes pass. Maybe less. Maybe more.
I lose track of time standing there with my back to the room, pretending the world outside the window is more interesting than the storm moving around somewhere above my head.
Then the stairs creak again. The footsteps coming down are slower this time. Heavier in a different way, like every step carries a decision with it. I feel the shift in the air before I hear the soft thud of something being set down on the floor behind me.
I already know what I’d see if I turned around. His cut. The worn leather vest with the Iron Reapers patch that marks exactly where he belongs. The bag he packed the second day he stayed here, because men like Cole don’t unpack when they plan to leave eventually.
My fingers tighten around the mug again.
Behind me he exhales slowly. “Rae.” My name comes out rough and low, the sound of it dragging across something sharp on its way out of his throat.
I keep my eyes on the pasture. “What?” The word comes out flatter than I expect, like it belongs to someone else standing here instead of me.
There’s a small shift behind me, the faint creak of leather as he moves. “I’m heading out.” Of course he is.
I nod once even though he probably can’t see it from where he’s standing. “Okay.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before it. The farm sounds drift through the open window behind the sink. A goat knocks something over in the barn with a dull clatter. Sheriff crows again like the sunrise personally offended him.
Finally Cole speaks again. “You’re not even gonna look at me?”
I stare harder at the fence line like that might somehow steady the tight ache building in my chest. “There’s no point.”
