Page 147 of When Hearts Collide

A small flash of yellow flutters in my peripheral vision, and my attention snares on the unmistakable bright chest—the color of the daffodils she loves—with a stripe of black feathers in the middle.

The western meadowlark perches on the railing and scrutinizes me, much like that day long ago before everything began. It opens its beak and sings a beautiful, heartrending melody, one that snakes its way into the newly beating organ inside my chest.

His name is Ryland…and I think…he’s my whirlwind.

This time, I’m the fighter, and I’ll fight for us.

An hour later, I trek on the grass, my rifle slung over my shoulder as torrents of thoughts muddle my mind.

Regret is such a useless emotion.

Sweat drips down my forehead from exertion and I follow the set of tracks before me, belonging to the beast I know very well and have tried to conquer time and time again. I’ve found clarity when I hunted in the past, and I hope to do the same once more.

How can I make myself deserving of her again?

A twig snaps in the distance and leaves gently rustle in the breeze, which carries the fragrant scent of wildflowers blooming in spring. Clusters of orange poppies dot the grasses, swaying to the wind like dancers twirling on stage. In the distance, I see shadows sifting through the trees, most likely deer and other wildlife scattering away as they sense me in the midst.

The tracks on the ground are deeper and fresher now, and I slow my strides and crouch low, sensing the animal nearby. A rustle of the bushes pierces the calm, and for a moment, everything falls eerily silent.

Seconds later, an animal darts out into the open.

I freeze, my muscles coiled in tension, and time slows to a crawl when I see the imposing black shape of the beast.

The wild boar.

I slide the rifle down my shoulder and take aim.

For a brief millisecond, time freezes, the seconds suspended in an alternate dimension, and my heart seizes, my breath lodging in my throat as goosebumps prickle my forearms.

My finger perches on the trigger, but for some reason, I hesitate.

The boar munches on something on the ground before he stills, as if aware his life is hanging precariously by a thread. He shifts his legs and charges toward me before stopping a few feet away, his beady, black eyes staring into the barrel of my rifle.

And so, the hunter and prey square off once more, but this time, when I look into his eyes, I realize one thing with startling clarity.

The need to conquer the boar isn’t there anymore. It belongs in the past…to a past version of me, someone who was much too hard on himself.

My heart slams itself against my rib cage, the prey inside me struggling to break free. My shoulders tighten before I expel the breath trapped in my throat, my rifle shaking in my unsteady hands.

As I stare at the boar mere feet away from me, a reflection of myself, I realize one thing.

It’s time to let go. Let bygones be bygones.

The hammering of my pulse roars in my ears and slowly, I lower my rifle to the ground.

The boar kicks and digs its foreleg into the grass. It emits a loud grunt, then turns around and darts back into the thick bushes, disappearing from view.

I slowly stand up, my vision finally clearing, my surroundings coming into sharp focus. I finally feel the warmth of the sunlight hitting my skin, the comforting breeze wrapping me in a gentle embrace. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, letting the air seep into the deepest crevices in my lungs.

The smell of true freedom.

To conquer or be conquered.

This time, I know, not only am I still standing, I’m also free.

And I know what to do next.

Chapter 53

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