Page 105 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
She’s quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t the first time he rejected me. Just the last.”
My chest aches with the need to pull her into my arms. To protect, to soothe, to erase every cruel second that bastard carved into her. If he weren’t already six feet under, I’d find a way to make him hurt. Slowly. Quietly. Permanently.
But right now? That doesn’t matter.
She does.
“You’ve been so strong for so long, Sophia,” Ridgesays quietly, and it’s the tenderness in his voice that nearly undoes me. Not the rough edge, not the grit. Just the gentle way he says her name like it matters. Likeshematters. Like he’s finally gotten over his damn brooding.
His hand finds hers. Large, calloused, careful. He doesn’t grip; he cradles. Like she’s something fragile.
“There’s nothing weak about letting your guard down,” he continues. “Nothing wrong with letting someone else carry the weight now.”
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. But her fingers curl into his.
Cash shifts beside them, slower than usual, all that easy charm stripped back to something steady. Intentional. He places his hand over both of theirs, anchoring the moment with quiet strength.
“Let us carry the load for you,” he says. “So you don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine if you don’t want to. So you never feel forgotten again. Never feel less than the absolute treasure you are.”
Her breath hitches.
And just like that, the cracks show.
Her jaw trembles first. Then her lips press tight like she’s trying to fight it, but her eyes betray her. Glimmering, glassy, one blink away from shattering.
And then… she does.
A single tear slips free, trailing slowly down her cheek.
I feel it like a punch.
Because this isn’t a woman trying to manipulate or perform. She’s been carrying too much for too long and doesn’t remember what it feels like to be held.
I rise from the coffee table and kneel in front of her, one hand resting on her knee, grounding her. We’ve surrounded her without planning to, like instinct. Like gravity.
“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” I tell her. “Let us be the walls around you. So nothing ever hurts you again.”
A soft sob breaks from her lips. Then another. No gasping, no theatrics. Just silent tears falling one after the other, her entire body folding in as if she’s finally safe enough to unravel.
Cash moves first, pulling her gently against his chest, arms wrapping around her like she’s precious. Ridge leans in from her other side, pressing his forehead to her temple, hand still wrapped tightly in hers.
I stay where I am, on my knees in front of her, both hands now holding her legs as if to remind her that I’m here too. We all are. We’re not going anywhere.
And she fits, so perfectly, in the center of us. Like she was carved from the space between us. Like every inch of her was meant to be held like this.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers eventually, hiccuping through the tears. “I don’t usually get like this. It’s… embarrassing.”
Ridge shakes his head, lips near her hairline. “You don’t have to apologize for being human.”
Cash rubs slow circles into her back. “You’ve been holding too much. This was bound to spill.”
“You don’t need to pretend around us,” I add. “We’ll figure it out. All of us. Together.”
She nods, but her shoulders tense—just a little. That subtle pullback. Her body trying to rebuild walls even as we hold her.
We’ve pushed her hard. Too fast. She let go for a moment, but she’s clearly afraid of what it means tostayopen.
I gently squeeze her knee. “Hey,” I say, voice quiet. “It’s okay. We’re not rushing anything. We’re not going anywhere. You take all the time you need.”
