And that’s when I saw it.
The pie dish.
Still on the counter.
Still fucking there like none of this ever happened.
I walked over. Picked it up.
And without thinking, I threw it across the kitchen.
It shattered into the cabinets.
Crust, glaze, broken ceramic everywhere.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
High, panicked.
The kind that cuts through bone.
The dogs next door went ballistic. Snapping, barking, losing their damn minds.
“What the hell…” I muttered. “Why are the dogs—”
They only do that for one thing.
But no.
No way.
I stumbled toward the window, leaned both hands on the frame, and squinted out into the dark.
What the fuck.
Why the hell is Hope here?
And why is she hanging sideways off her own damn saddle?
The screaming didn’t stop.
Another voice now—closer, louder, female and furious.
“Jamie, calm down! Put me down! Stop—stop, please—I said please, goddammit!”
I blinked.
No. No way. I’m drunk, but notthatdrunk.
But there it was.
Hope’s horse.
And Willa.
Willa in the saddle. Or… halfway falling out of it.
