“You were helping with him,” Levi says finally.
I nod once. “I know.”
It takes effort not to turn around. Not to make it easier for him.
If he wants this conversation, he can stand in it.
“I can help from somewhere else,” I say.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I let silence do the talking.
The breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders. Somewhere beyond the paddock, a gate clangs shut.
Levi steps closer. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he says.
My throat tightens. Because there it is.
Not much.
Still more than I expected. Crumb-collecting again. Always been a habit of mine… along with finding men who don’t want to be found.
I turn then, slowly, and look at him.
His face is unreadable if you don’t know where to look. But I do now.
The tension in his jaw. The strain around his eyes. The way he holds himself too rigid when something matters.
“You shouldn’t have said any of it,” I reply.
His gaze drops for a second, then comes back to mine. “I know.”
I study him. “You don’t get to keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Feeling something and then punishing me for it.”
The words land between us, clean and sharp. He doesn’t deny them. It’s answer enough.
I look back toward the horse because it’s easier than looking at Levi when he’s this close and finally, finally honest in the smallest possible ways.
“I’m leaving early,” I say.
The second the words are out, the space changes.
Levi goes still. Not subtle stillness. The kind that happens when a body absorbs impact before the mind catches up.
“Early?” he repeats.
“There’s no reason to drag it out.”
“Because of me.” Not a question.
I don’t bother softening it. “Yes.”
He exhales once, rough and low.
