Too much has been done to me. Too much has been taken from me. Even at the hands of those who have “loved” me.
And yet, with her… it keeps whispering anyway.
Joe’s voice drifts through my head, uninvited and relentless, the way it always has when she’s right about something.
She’s not a prize you compete over. She’s a person who gets to choose that life. Every. Day.
I swallow hard.
I want this. Her. Them. Mornings that start like this and nights that end without anyone saying goodbye. I want to choose her every day and not feel like I’m waiting for the ground to drop out from under me.
And with my best friends at my side… withher…It’s a little easier to not be so afraid.
Carefully, I brush my knuckles along her cheek. “Hey,” I murmur, barely louder than a breath.
She stirs, nose scrunching first, then a soft, sleepy sound leaves her throat. It’s a simple noise, but one that punches straight through me. Her eyes blink open, slowly, and then they find me.
The way her face changes when she spots me, like she’s relieved to see me, is something I want woven into every dream.
“Morning,” she whispers, voice rough with sleep.
I lean in before I can overthink it and kiss her gently. No rush. No hunger. Just warmth and intention and the quiet promise of me being here. She hums against my mouth, one hand sliding up to curl around the back of my neck. When I pull away, she follows for a second before flopping back against the mattress. I grin before swinging my legs out of bed.
“Hey,” she whines, dragging the word out in a way that’s half protest, half smile. “Where are you going so early?”
I grab my jeans off the pile of clothes I set out before we crawled into bed last night, tugging them on. “Gotta get moving.”
Her eyes narrow. “Any particular reason the horses need to be fed before the sun is barely up today?”
I glance back at her, at the way she’s propped up on her elbows, wild hair, my sheets tangled around her waist, red marks on her chest from my stubble. The sight makes me want to rethink tradition and crawl back under the covers.
“Got some other plans for the day.”
She groans, flopping back onto the pillow. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Exactly.” I pull on a thermal shirt, followed by a thick flannel, then my wool socks. “Which is why we’re going for a ride.” A grin spreads across my face, slow and wide, as she lifts her headback up. “Christmas Eve tradition when the weather’s decent enough.”
Her lips curve despite herself. “A ride, huh?”
I wiggle my brows. “You wanna go for a ride, Red?”
She laughs, bright and real, and it feels like something sacred—like a song I want etched into my soul—before she nods and pushes herself upright. “You’re ridiculous.”
“True.” But she’s already swinging her legs out of bed and reaching her hands in the air on a stretch. This—this—is the thing I didn’t know I was missing. Not just her body. Not just the way she called out my name in the dead of night. Not just the way she looks in the morning light. But the way she just fits. And she does it without even trying.
Smiling and fully dressed, I head for the door, but she reaches out and hooks her fingers into my belt loop, stopping me. “Jas?” she says quietly.
I turn back.
“Thank you. For… just…thank you.”
I don’t ask what she means. I just bend and press my forehead to hers. “Anytime, Abbie Girl,” I say.
And I mean it in every way that matters.
Dezzy lifts her head the second she hears my boots, ears flicking forward, excited to see me. Rubbing a hand down her neck, I feel the solid warmth beneath her winter coat. “Mornin’, pretty girl,” I murmur, grabbing the curry comb.
The rhythm of it calms me. Long strokes over her shoulder and down her back. I check her legs, one by one, brushing away driedmud, my hands moving on muscle memory. Saddle pad first—straightened and smoothed. Saddle next, settled gently into place, before running the cinch through my fingers, snugging it up slow so she doesn’t fuss.
