He stood for a moment, taking in the ranch like it was the last place on earth he ever thought he’d see again. I could see his chest rise and fall, shallow at first, then steadying. He shut the door, hands trembling, and adjusted the bag over his shoulder.
Even from fifty yards away, I could tell something was off, but my brain wouldn’t process the data.
Burke let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck me sideways. Didn’t think the city boy would make it back before frost.”
I set the feed bag down, missing the edge of the bin and dropping it to the ground with a dull thud. “Watch it,” I snapped, though my voice was hoarse. I brushed past him, feet dragging me forward before my head could catch up.
Rawley must’ve heard the car, too, because he barreled out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, his face pinched with confusion. He froze halfway across the yard, staring at Carter like he was a ghost or a debt collector.
No one spoke.
We just stood there, the three of us caught in a standoff.
Carter broke first. He walked toward us, boots sinking into the soft dirt, face set in this blank, unreadable expression. He looked up at Rawley, then at me, and for a split second, something like hope flickered in his eyes.
“Hey,” he said, voice small.
Burke snorted and spat, then stage-whispered, “Awkward,” before heading back to the truck.
Rawley didn’t budge, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob like he was trying to swallow his own confusion. “What are you doinghere?” Rawley managed, tone flat but not hostile. “I thought you weren’t planning on coming back.”
Carter shrugged, shifted the bag higher on his shoulder. “Just needed to see the place.” He cut a glance at me, then away, like he was afraid of what he’d find.
I stepped closer, barely breathing. Up close, I could see the changes: the slight puffiness under Carter’s eyes, the paler skin, the new angles of his jaw. I looked for bruises, for injuries, for anything that might explain why he’d been gone so long and come back looking like this.
That’s when I saw it. The shape under the sweater, rounded and new, the faint curve of his belly outlined in the afternoon light. My brain blanked, then filled with white noise.
“You’re—” I started, but the words stuck.
Carter’s mouth twisted into a half-smile, brittle and exhausted. “Yeah, I am.”
The silence that followed was nuclear.
I wanted to reach for him, to close the gap and touch him just to prove he was real. But my feet stayed rooted, useless.
He looked at me, eyes rimmed red, and for a second I saw everything he’d been carrying. Every ounce of fear and pride and shame. “I don’t need anything from you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just—I wanted to tell you before—”
Rawley started to say something, but I cut him off with a look. He held up both hands, surrendering, then turned and went back to the barn.
That left just the two of us.
We stood in the empty yard, neither willing to close the gap. The wind picked up, tugging hair loose from Carter’s ponytail, sending a curl across his cheek.
“You look tired,” I said, and immediately regretted it.
He huffed a laugh. “You try puking every morning for three months, see how fresh you look.” His hand hovered over his belly, unconsciously protective.
I nodded, throat closing up. “Is it—” I didn’t finish the sentence.
I couldn’t.
“It’s yours,” he said. “And yes, I’m sure.”
The bite in his tone surprised me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you stay?” He shot back, eyes blazing. “Why did you run?”
