Page 216 of Beautiful Collide

Whenever I’m in Redville, I get lost in the frenzy of my life, and it’s easy to forget this place.

This feeling.

My life is always so crazy that I can barely remember my own name, let alone anything else.

But the moment I walk back onto this property, the feeling of comfort that only this place can bring comes rushing back.

That’s one of the reasons I want to help my parents so badly.

Sure, it’s because I know that they need help, but a part of me, a bigger part than I want to admit, wants to help for selfish reasons.

Knowing that no matter how crazy my life gets, I’ll always have the farm, has me desperate to help.

This place is such a huge part of my life. I don’t want them to lose it. Why do they have to be so stubborn?

I’m practically begging them to take my money, but . . .no. They won’t have it.

It’s frustrating as all fuck.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

The smell of the barn hits my nostrils. To be specific, it’s the fragrance of hay. This place always grounds me and reminds me how simple life can be.

Sure, I love being on the ice, and the rush of skating, but the farm brings a level of calm I can’t get anywhere else.

But today isn’t about me. It’s about Molly.

And trying to help her see there is more to life than being afraid.

Behind me, I hear her boots crunching against the dirt.

She’s almost to where I’m standing beside Gracie, our gentlest horse. Which makes her perfect for the task at hand.

She’s steady and calm and exactly what Molly needs right now.

Shit, I just hope this goes well.

It should, though.

After the way she opened on the ice, I have a feeling like this will be the same.

There is also an ulterior motive for wanting her to do this.

I want her to love the farm.

I want her to see that she belongs here, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

“This is Gracie.” I run my hand over the horse’s smooth coat.

Gracie leans into my touch. “She’s the best. And even better, she’s perfect for you.”

Molly stops a few feet away, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Her fingers grip her jacket.

She’s hesitant.

She’s nervous.

Of course, she is.

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