Page 152 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I reached out without thinking, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in my world.

“I’m so sorry I left. I was horrible.”

Without hesitation, he reached his good arm around my waist, pulling me in closer. His broken hand stayed at his side, but I didn’t care—I reached for him anyway, helping him as I lifted myself into his lap, straddling him.

“I wish we’d talked about this a long time ago,” he murmured, dipping his forehead until it rested lightly against mine.

My heart pounded as he brushed his lips against my temple, soft and slow.

“We tell each other the truth from now on?”

I nodded, my fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, my nose brushing against his. “I promise.”

“Then I have something to tell you,” he murmured, his lips a breath away from mine.

“Oh yeah?” I tilted my head slightly, curiosity flickering through me—but not enough to drown out the desperation building inside, the need to taste him again.

“I’ll stand beside you while you heal, while you grow. I’ll be patient. I’ll fight for you. I’ll wait for you.” His eyes held mine. “But mostly,” he whispered, “I love you.”

The words sent something warm rushing through me, my pulse racing.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I kissed him softly, pressing against him with every ounce of feeling I had inside me. His arms, including his casted one, wrapped around me. His lips moved against mine like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

When I finally pulled back, breathless, I whispered, “I love you too, Beaudreau.”

“This has been a long-ass night,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Let’s go to bed, baby. You must be exhausted.”

I nodded, and he leaned in a little closer. “Do you need another shower?”

It was such a simple question. Casual, even, but something in the way he asked it hit me square in the chest. I could’ve broken down all over again.

Behind the words, I heard the truth: Do you need help getting out of your head again? Do you need to feel safe in your own skin?

He wasn’t just offering water and soap, he was offering peace. A moment to come back to myself. A moment where I didn’t have to do it alone. He was asking to take care of me again.

God, I’d never realized how much I needed someone who saw the cracks and didn’t flinch.

For a moment, I almost nodded, almost let the routine take over—the hot water, the isolation, the quiet spiral I’d gotten so good at sinking into. Instead, I took a breath. One I felt in my ribs.

“I think I . . . think I need you to stay.”

His expression softened immediately, like something in him had been waiting for that.

For the first time, instead of hiding, instead of rinsing off the mess alone or letting the thoughts devour me, I told the truth. I didn’t need space. I didn’t need silence. I needed him.

I needed comfort, and this time, I let myself ask for it.

56

Fable

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, golden and warm against my skin. I stirred, the slow stretch of my limbs brushing up against a solid chest and a strong arm looped around my waist. For a second, I breathed him in, his scent, the quiet sound of his sleep-heavy breath, the steady rhythm of his heart against my back.

I shifted slightly, and his grip tightened. His lips grazed the back of my shoulder.

“Mornin’, baby,” he murmured, voice gravel-thick and still laced with sleep.