Page 81 of Lost in the Reins

And then there’s Paisley. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in her eyes—a quiet plea. Not pushing. Just… hoping.

I rub a hand over my face. I hate this. Hate that they’re making sense. Hate that, for the first time in a long time, there’s an option that doesn’t end with me working myself into the ground just to keep our heads above water.

Finally, I blow out a breath. “We’ll talk about it.”

Grant grins like he just won the lottery. “That’s all we ask.”

Colt smirks. “Can’t wait to see Wes’s face on a movie poster.”

Jake grins. “We’re framing it.”

I shake my head, already regretting this.

The house is quiet now. Too quiet.

For the first time all day, there are no producers talking about contracts, no brothers cracking jokes at my expense, no distractions to keep me from facing what’s right in front ofme. Just the sound of crickets in the tall grass, the creak of the old rocking chair as Paisley shifts, and the steady weight of everything I haven’t said pressing against my ribs.

I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting the warmth settle, but it doesn’t do a thing to chase off the cold knot sitting in my chest. Paisley’s next to me, curled into her chair, quiet. Waiting. I can feel it.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s staring at the horizon, mug resting against her knee, the glow from the porch light catching in the strands of her hair. She’s always had a way of making herself at home in places that shouldn’t make sense for her. My ranch. My life.

I exhale, slow and steady, setting my cup down on the rail. “Guess today didn’t turn out how I expected.”

She huffs a soft laugh. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Another silence stretches between us, thick as the summer air. I clear my throat, gripping my knees. “You’re quiet.”

“You are, too.”

I glance at her again. “Don’t have much to say.”

She turns her head then, studying me like she’s waiting for something. When I don’t offer more, she looks away with a small nod, as if she expected it.

That does something to me.

I stare at the darkened pasture, feeling the weight of my own stubborn pride settling deep in my bones. It’s always been easier to keep my head down, to push through things, to survive without asking for much. But I’m starting to realize that’s not enough. Not anymore.

I rub a hand over my face, then drop it back to my knee. “I should’ve listened to you,” I say finally, my voice rougher than I intended. “From the start.”

Paisley doesn’t react right away. Just sits there, watching the night like she’s giving me space to keep going—or maybe waiting to see if I actually will.

I swallow. “You saw something in this place I didn’t. You saw a future here, a way to make it work, and I was too blind—too proud—to see it. I’ve spent so much time fighting to keep things the way they were that I almost let the ranch slip right through my fingers. And worse… I almost let you slip through, too.”

She turns to face me fully now, her expression unreadable. “Wes?—”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Let me get this out.”

She closes her mouth, waiting.

I grip my hands together, my voice low. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking that holding on to something meant keeping it exactly the same. That if I just worked hard enough, fought hard enough, I could stop things from changing. I blow out a breath, shaking my head. “I should’ve trusted you. Trusted us. And I should’ve had more faith that we could find a way to make this work.”

Paisley doesn’t say anything right away.

That silence stretches again, longer this time, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t know where I stand with her. The thought settles like a stone in my gut.

I shift forward, my elbows on my knees, voice quieter now. “Are you gonna go back to Manhattan after the movie’s done?”

She takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes searching mine. “Do you want me to?”

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