Page 57 of Simply Yours

JASON

Jason’s eyes shot open, and pain stabbed through his skull. He groaned softly, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead as if that would somehow ease the exhaustion clawing at him. His body felt leaden, his muscles stiff from yesterday’s brutal workload—not just the physical labor but the emotional gut punch that had leveled him.

That darn ring.

Even now, the memory of it sent a fresh wave of something sharp and raw through his chest. It had caught his eye as he dragged the rake through Bluebell’s stall, a glint of metal half-buried in the damp, pungent mess. At first, he’d thought it was just a bit of loose change, maybe a nickel or a dime—something worthless.

But when he reached down and pried it free, his breath had locked in his throat.

His mother’s ring.

The delicate band, once pristine and treasured, was now misshapen, trampled beyond recognition. Time and neglect had done their worst. The metal twisted, the small stone dulled and caked with filth.

It was a gut-wrenching metaphor for his family, for himself.

Once whole. Now… broken.

Jason had stared at it for what felt like an eternity, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been. His mother’s ring—lost for so long—had been here, buried in the filth as if it had been waiting for him to find it.

Luke had been the first to speak, his voice hoarse. “It was just laying there in Bluebell’s crap?” He exhaled sharply. “Isn’t that the biggest load of… well…crap.”

Jason had barely managed a nod before his throat locked up.

Matthew had faltered, then wiped roughly at his eyes. “Screw this,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I’m getting a beer. Anyone else?”

“Beer me,” Jason had mumbled, his gaze never leaving the ruined ring in his palm.

Luke had simply raised a hand. “Same. The stalls can wait. This calls for a mental break.”

Jason had agreed, but even as they’d retreated from the barn, he hadn’t been able to let go of the thought running through his mind—the question that gnawed at him with quiet, relentless intensity.

What did it mean?

Was it just a coincidence? A sign from above? Or was it some kind of cruel reminder that no matter how hard he tried to move forward, he was always going to be knee-deep in the past, stuck in the filth of things that should’ve been left buried?

Luke had tried to reassure him. “Maybe you can get it repaired…you know, for Caitlin.”

Jason had shaken his head. “Things aren’t like that…”yet, he’d protested tacking on the last word mentally, but even to his own ears, the words had sounded weak.

Because maybe… just maybe… they were.

Maybe some things could be restored.

Maybe some things weren’t as lost as they seemed.

And now—waking up with a weight pinning his arm—he sucked in a sharp breath as a new realization, a new sensation hit him.

Caitlin.

She stayed.

The coral-colored bathrobe was the first thing he saw—an eyesore against the muted morning light, but one that had never looked softer than it did now, draped around the woman who had held him through the night.

She was curled up beside him, her body a warm presence against his, her hand resting lightly over his chest.

Jason barely breathed, unwilling to shatter the moment.

He had always seen Caitlin as strong, fiercely independent, someone who kept herself carefully guarded, but here—like this—she looked so achingly soft. Her face was peaceful, the delicate rise and fall of her chest the only movement as she slept. Her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her entire being wrapped in quiet vulnerability.

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