18
Jack
The night started as a family thing.
Stephanie was singing at the Copper Creek bar—a regular gig she'd built since everything that happened, part of her healing, part of reclaiming her voice in every sense. The Blackwoods turned out in force the way they always did. I went with them easily, folded into the group without question.
The bar was the kind of place that only existed in small towns—wood-paneled walls covered in local memorabilia, a jukebox that hadn't been updated since the nineties, and a bartender who knew everyone's name and drink order.
Ivy rode with Wyatt, their easy banter drifting through the open windows. Liam drove Stephanie early for setup. Owen and Louisa took their usual corner table. Hunter propped up the bar and provided running commentary on everything from the song selection to the quality of the draft beer. And Maggie sat in the middle of it all, her ankle finally healed, her smile easier than I'd seen it in weeks.
This was Maggie in her element—surrounded by people who loved her, in a town that knew her name. She was relaxed. Glowing. Joking with her brothers, stealing fries off Hunter'splate, swaying when Stephanie's voice filled the room with something slow and aching.
When I stood close, her hand found mine under the table. The ease of it made my chest ache in the best possible way.
Stephanie's set was beautiful. Raw and honest, the kind of singing that made a room go quiet and stay that way. She sang about love and loss and the courage it took to stay soft in a hard world, and I watched the whole bar fall under her spell.
I watched Liam watch her. The naked devotion on his face, the way his eyes never left her, the complete absence of anything resembling self-consciousness. He didn't care who saw him looking at his girl like she hung the moon.
That's how I look at Maggie.
I knew it was. I'd stopped trying to hide it.
When Stephanie finished her final song, the crowd erupted. The Blackwood table emptied as everyone moved to hug Stephanie, buy drinks, claim space in the celebration. I hung back slightly, giving the family their moment.
Then the moment happened.
An old friend of Maggie's pushed through the crowd—a woman I didn't recognize, blonde and loud, clearly a few drinks into her evening. She spotted Maggie near the stage, shrieked a greeting that carried across the entire bar, and threw her arms around her.
"Maggie Blackwood! Oh my God, I haven't seen you in forever!"
Maggie laughed, returning the hug with genuine warmth. "Georgia! How are you? I heard you moved to Austin."
"Came back last month. Mama's hip surgery, you know how it is." Georgia pulled back, her eyes scanning the group around Maggie. They landed on me and lit up with obvious appreciation. "Who is this?" Georgia’s gaze raked over me in a way that mademe want to take a step back. "You've been holding out on us, girl."
The question hung in the air. I didn't look at her. Didn't want to see her face as she decided. I just waited, heart thudding against my ribs, hoping for something I hadn't realized I needed until this exact moment.
Maggie laughed. It sounded natural. Easy. Not a trace of hesitation.
"Oh, this is Jack. He's our new ranch hand. Daddy hired him a few weeks back."
Ranch hand.
The words landed clean and sharp, like a blade slipped between ribs. I didn't react. My face stayed pleasant, neutral. I shook Georgia’s hand when she offered it. Made appropriate small talk. My voice stayed warm. My smile stayed easy.
Inside, something was bleeding.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jack." Georgia’s attention had already moved on. "Maggie, we need to catch up! Lunch this week?"
"Absolutely. Text me."
I excused myself to get a drink I didn't want.
At the bar, I ordered a beer and didn't taste it. The noise of the celebration washed around me. I stood in the middle of all that warmth and felt absolutely cold.
Ranch hand.
After everything.
