He scales the barricade with grace and strength until his feet are perched on a low rung and his face is before mine. Separated by the metal barricade between us, he holds the rail with one hand and cups my face with the other. He holds my stare, and I can see every ounce of truth in his words. “Ilove you,” he repeats, his fingers combing through my hair until he lightly fists the locks at the back of my head.
Using his hold, he pulls me close and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is fierce, all-consuming, and desperate. He tastes like home. My hands grip his shirt, and my fingers tangle in the cotton. I grip it tightly and pull him closer, trying to erase the weeks of absence in a single heartbeat.
The crowd fades away completely. The rodeo, the cheering, and the horses… all gone. There is only him. Only us. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe again, knowing he’s here, that he came. That he chose me.
We break apart just slightly, breathing hard and hearts thumping, with our lips still nearly touching. His eyes—vulnerable and laid bare—search mine. “I’ll never hurt you like that again,” he whispers with every ounce of truth he’s carried across the country, across weeks of mistakes, and I can’t stop the sob that escapes me. “And I have a lifetime to prove it to you.”
ABOUT ONE YEAR LATER
The coffee’s warmth seeps into my hands as I stand at the kitchen window, looking out over the mountains looming behind the ranch. The peaks are dusted with the last of the winter snow, the valleys glowing soft and green with early spring. I inhale slowly, the scent of earth and pine drifting in from the cracked-open window. I’ve missed this view more than I realized. The past few months on tour—the lights, the shows, and the adoration of fans—none of it ever gave me a moment like this. None of it let me pause and breathe in a sky that feels like peace.
There’s nothing like being home.
I take a slow sip, savoring the view for a few more minutes as my hand brushes the counter absentmindedly. After letting out a contented sigh, I pick Rosie’s journal up and tuck it beneath my arm.
My boots echo softly across the hardwood floors as I walk through the rooms. The house is quiet today, except for the soft sounds of animals outside. I pause, passing the mantle in the living room, and my fingers trail over a photo of Rosie. It isn’t with the same sharp pang of loss anymore.Though I still miss her every day.It’s softer. Grateful. A foster kid who barely knew love as a child gave me everything I needed to know about love, patience, and compassion. I trace the edge of the frame, and a small smile tugs at my lips, letting that gratitude settle in my chest.
Outside, the ranch stretches wide and endless, the kind of view that humbles you, if you let it. I carry my coffee across the porch and sit in the old rocking chair that has been in this family for generations, the journal resting on my knee. The pages feel familiar under my fingers, like they’ve been waiting for me to return. With my cup lifted to my lips, I take a sip of coffee as I flip the journal to a blank page and set my pen to the paper.
Dear Rosie,
Life without you has had some rough days. Months. At least a year of them, if we’re being honest, but I’m not living in that darkness anymore. I still miss you, dreamer. Not a day goes by that I don’t, but I’ve stayed sober and managed to build something amazing. Something you would be so proud of.
The clang of the paddock gate draws my attention, and I pause, my pen hovering above the paper.
I lift my gaze to find Teagan, walking a yearling with an effortless command that always makes my chest tighten. Her shoulders are straight, and her hands confident on the lead. And then she turns toward me, and my breath catches in a way only she can cause. It isn’t just her gorgeous face that affects me. It’s the curve of her stomach. The subtle, but undeniable, gentle swell that promises more than just hope.A family.I sit straighter, a huge grin spreading across my face.
She sees me and smiles back at me, fierce and sure, like she always does.Like she always has.That smile—the one that can light the darkest corner of my mind—is hers and hers alone, and somehow, miraculously, it’s mine to witness for the rest of our lives.
I put the coffee down on the porch railing and press my pen back to the page. It moves with ease, the words coming as if they were waiting inside me for a year to be written.
I’m sure this isn’t news to you, dreamer. But I need you to know… I’m going to be okay.
Holding you in my heart forever,
Easton
I close the journal, the weight of it a comforting tether to my past and a promise to my present. I stand, the rocking chair scraping lightly across the porch as I take a deepbreath. Every inhale feels like reclaiming a piece of myself I didn’t realize I’d lost on the road.
I traverse the steps, and my boots crunch across the gravel. Each stride toward the paddock is a reminder of every mistake, every loss, every heartbreak, and every mile I had to travel to get here. Not just to the ranch. Not just to Teagan. But to this imperfect, bold life we’re carving out together.
I close the distance between us, and when I reach her, I can feel the current of connection and all the moments we’ve survived to reach this one. “Hey,” I whisper, my voice rough. Despite the lump in my throat, a genuine smile spreads across my face as I lace my fingers with hers.
She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering with love, before leaning in and resting her hand on my chest. The warmth of her body is electric, the bump of the tiny, perfect life protected between us. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she says back softly.
I wrap my arms around her, the yearling pausing nearby, sniffing the air curiously, but we don’t move. We just stand there, letting the quiet settle and the sun warm us as I hold her.
I cup her face gently, my thumb brushing beneath her eye, like I’m memorizing the shape of her all over again. “I love you,” I murmur. Her lips meet mine in a kiss that isn’t hurried or desperate, but certain. She tastes like home, and every tomorrow I was too afraid to hope for. When we finally break our kiss, I keep my forehead against hers, breathing her in like a man who knows exactly what it is to lose, and exactly what it means to be given something back.
I once loved in a way that broke me open, and somehow, impossibly, I was loved again in a way that put me back together. Living boldly now—for the one I lost, and for the one still here—carrying both of them forward in every breath I’m lucky enough to take.
