"Do you?" Eli's hands curl into fists at his sides. "Because you're standing here right now talking about building something back up, and you can't even tell me if you're staying long enough to see it through."
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple." He steps back, the distance between us suddenly a chasm. "Are you staying or not?"
The question hangs in the air, waiting.
I open my mouth. Close it. The answer should be easy. Yes or no. But my throat closes around the words, and nothing comes out.
"That's what I thought," Eli says quietly.
"I have a life in Denver," I say finally, the words scraping out. "A job. A career I worked for. I can't just—"
"I'm not asking you to throw your life away." His voice is tired now, the anger draining into something worse. Something that looks like resignation. "I'm asking if you want to be here. If this place matters enough to fight for it."
"Of course it matters—"
"Then prove it." He holds my gaze. "Don't talk about training programs and Fall Classics and building reputations if you're just going to leave again when it gets hard."
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair, Hazel." Eli's jaw works, like he's holding back more than he's saying. "I'm not saying you staying would've changed everything. But it would've made the burden easier to carry."
The truth in that sits between us, impossible to argue with.
Before I can find a response that doesn't sound like defense, before I can explain the leaving or the fear or the way I hadn't known how to stay without breaking, Eli turns and walks away. His boots crunch against the dirt as he heads toward the far side of the barn, shoulders tight, back rigid.
I stay where I am.
The colt shifts softly behind me, hay rustling. Dust settles around my boots. The quiet stretches, broken only by the sound of Eli's truck starting outside, gravel crunching as he drives away.
My hands grip the rail, knuckles white.
I still don't have an answer to his question.
Chapter sixteen
Eli
Ishouldn't have just walked away like that.
The thought hits me for the hundredth time as the shovel drives into hard earth. I reset my grip, muscles protesting, and thrust again. The post along the west wall has been shifting for months, ground too soft from last week's weather. Should've fixed it sooner.
Temporary fixes. That's how everything's been run lately.
I wipe sweat from my forehead, jaw tight. The barn looms behind me, empty and quiet. I've been working alone since yesterday.
Since the fight.
Two days since Cole made his offer in town. One day since Hazel proposed rebuilding the training program and I asked the question she couldn't answer.
And now this.
You're not the only one who lost your dad.
I'd watched her face when I said it. Watched the words land like a physical blow. And I'd meant them—every one of them. The way her expression crumpled before she locked it down made something in my chest twist sideways.
She'd stood there, mouth opening and closing, trying to find a response. And then I'd walked away like a coward.
