Then Wyatt was there. In the split second, my brain refused to believe it. The way the world snapped back into colour when I saw him standing there, real and furious and steady.
The way I’d run into him like I’d been falling for days.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to look down at him again.
His head was still there, heavy against my knees, like my body was a place he’d chosen to rest.
I lay there for a long time, listening to the house breathe around us. The soft tick of cooling pipes. The faint hum of the fridge. The occasional creak of old wood settling. My own pulse beating too loud in my ears.
Eventually, the urge under my skin got too sharp to ignore.
I needed air. Because if I stayed still one more minute, I was going to start shaking hard enough to wake them all, and I didn’t want anyone’s eyes on me yet. Not Maddy’s. Not Dani’s.
And not Wyatt’s.
I moved carefully. I slid my leg a fraction, testing whether his head would follow. It didn’t. It shifted slightly, then settled back against the couch cushion, his jaw relaxing, his breath deepening like he’d fallen right back into it.
My knees ached where his weight had been. The sensation lingered anyway, like my skin remembered him even when he wasn’t touching me.
I eased myself upright, bracing one hand against the couch. My back protested, stiff and sore. My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. The blanket slid off my shoulders and pooled at my hips.
For a second, I just sat there, hovering in the quiet, staring at the three of them like I couldn’t quite believe they were real.
My bare feet touched the floor, and the cold shot up my legs, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. I waited, heart hammering, but nobody moved.
I stepped around Wyatt carefully. His boots were off. His socks were dirty at the heels. There was something almost stupidly intimate about that.
I moved to the front door. A restless pull, like if I didn’t get outside I might start crawling out of myself. I eased the door open and stepped onto the porch, letting the cool morning air wash over me.
I breathed in slowly, tasting dew and dirt and the faint bite of autumn creeping closer. The sky was pale and wide, the sun still low enough that the world looked gentler than it had any right to.
The ranch stretched out in front of me, bathed in soft light. The grass glistened faintly. The fence line cut a familiar path toward the south pasture, posts leaning here and there, rails weathered and worn. The barn stood solid and patient, like it always had, red paint faded but stubborn.
I stepped down into the yard, bare feet sinking into cool dirt. The ground felt real under me. Solid. I welcomed the sensation, let it anchor me.
Every step felt deliberate. Measured. Like if I moved too quickly, the decision waiting for me might lunge out of the dark and demand an answer I didn’t have yet.
I reached the fence and rested my hands on the top rail. The wood was rough under my palms, splintered in places, familiar enough that my hands knew where to settle without thinking.
This land had shaped me. It raised me. It had bruised me. It taught me how to stand back up when everything hurt. It had also taken from me in ways I hadn’t been ready for.
Ray. The debts. The silence he left behind. The weight of a legacy I wasn’t sure I could carry without breaking.
I could leave.
The thought slid through me smooth and tempting. The city waited with its clean lines and predictable systems. No fences to mend. No machinery held together by stubbornness and hope. No memories lurking in every corner. And Wyatt would buy it.
I didn’t let myself dwell on that too long, but the thought lingered anyway. The ease of it. The relief. The constant tightness in my chest might finally loosen if I handed this responsibility over to someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
My hands tightened on the rail until my knuckles ached.
I hated how much sense that made. I hated even more that part of me trusted him with it.
A sound broke the morning quiet behind me. The front door jerked open hard enough that the hinges complained. Footsteps hit the porch, fast. Heavy. Barely controlled.
I flinched instinctively and turned.
Wyatt was in the doorway, shirt rumpled, hair flattened on one side, eyes wide and sharp with the kind of fear that didn’t belong on him. He scanned the yard like he expected to find emptiness. Like he expected to find proof, I vanished again.
