The weight of it settles then—how much has been slipping away while I've been gone, how much has been held together with nothing but grit and stubbornness.
I don't see Eli again all afternoon. The absence gnaws at me more than I want to admit.
By the time the sun begins to dip, we're loading tools back into the barn when the sound reaches us—the rhythmic thud of hooves from the east, growing louder as dust kicks up along the road.
Chace shades his eyes, squinting. "That'll be Addie."
The horse pulls up beside the barn in a cloud of dust, moving fast enough to make a point. Addie swings down in one smooth motion, boots hitting the ground with purpose. No greeting, no wave. Just a sharp sweep of the yard that lands on me and sticks for a beat too long.
“Have you seen my brother?" she asks, and her voice is different than I remember—lower, more assured, like she's used to being listened to.
The last time I saw Addie Dawson, she was fresh out of high school, all sharp edges and big opinions. Now she's grown into someone else entirely—hair dark and loose down her back, chin up, shoulders back. She moves like she's used to being the best rider in any arena and knows it. Beautiful, but in a way that dares you to say something about it.
She barely glances at me, but I catch the assessment. Quick, thorough, dismissive.
Fair enough. I left.
"Have you seen Eli?" she asks again, this time directed at both of us.
Chace grins wide. "Wow. Not even a 'hey Chace, you're looking sexy as fuck today.'"
She doesn't even look at him. "Have you seen Eli?"
"I'm great, thanks for asking," Chace continues, unbothered. "Had a real productive day. Fixed some fence, hauled some feed—"
"Chace." Her voice is flat, but there's a warning in it.
Addie finally turns to face him fully, and I catch the exact moment her patience snaps. "Do you ever stop talking? Like, genuinely. Is it a choice, or is it some kind of medical condition?"
"Little of both," Chace says cheerfully.
I bite back a smile, watching them. The tension is obvious—the way he needles her just to get a rise, the way she bristles even as she stays put. She's fighting not to crack, and he knows it.
"Haven't seen Eli since this morning," Chace supplies. "Man's been making himself scarce."
Addie mutters something under her breath that sounds distinctly uncomplimentary.
Chace's grin widens. "What was that?"
"Nothing you need to hear."
"Come on, you can tell me." He takes a step closer. "We're friends, right?"
"We’re absolutely not friends."
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “You’re really doing a number on my self-esteem today.”
"Your self-esteem could survive a nuclear blast," Addie shoots back, but there's something in her voice now—not quite amusement, but close.
Chace catches it too. "Was that almost a joke, Addie? Are we bonding?"
"No."
"Pretty sure we are."
She opens her mouth—probably to say something cutting—but the sound of hooves interrupts. Both of them turn, and I catch the brief flicker of relief on Addie's face before she schools it back to neutral.
Eli rides in from the low pasture without any sense of urgency, dust rising in his wake as he slows near the barn. He swings down in one fluid motion, reins loose in one hand, and his eyes lift immediately to his sister.
