Page 77 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“You’re not ordinary. You’re our match,” Cash says over my shoulder. “I’ve spent my whole damn life feeling like something was missing, and then you showed up and the world stopped spinning sideways.”
Walker nods slowly. “I looked for years. Thought maybe it wasn’t meant to happen for me. That I wasn’t meant to have a scent match. But then you walked in, glaring at all of us, and suddenly everything made sense.”
“It’s a lot,” I whisper. “The way you look at me. The way it all feels. It’s too much, too fast.”
Walker presses his forehead to mine. “Then we slow down. No pressure. Just time.”
I nod, not because I’m sure, but because I want to believe him.
They don’t push. Just stay close as I breathe through the chaos in my chest.
Eventually, we gather ourselves, and Cash starts to drive us home.
Walker holds my hand while Cash drives, his thumb brushing soft, absent-minded circles againstmy palm like he’s memorizing every inch of me. The silence isn’t awkward, yet it’s full of everything we’re still too raw to say out loud.
When we pull up to the guesthouse, they both get out and walk me to the door. I pause on the porch, not quite ready to let go of the quiet cocoon we’ve built around us tonight.
“Thank you,” I say, voice low. “For tonight. For not pushing. For letting me fall apart and not making me feel broken.”
“You’re healing. There’s a difference,” Walker says without hesitation.
Cash nods beside him. “And we’re not going anywhere. You set the pace; we’ll match it.”
They leave me with a kiss to each cheek, then one to my forehead so soft it steals my breath. I don’t move until their footsteps fade back into the dark.
Inside, three cats launch a coordinated guilt-trip ambush.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, stepping out of my sandals and grabbing their dinner. “I’m late. Sue me.”
Chonkarella gives me a withering glare and headbutts the cabinet for emphasis.
I feed them on autopilot, my thoughts miles away, back in the truck, back in the arena, back with those two cowboys who look at me like I’m worth waiting for.
Two scent matches. Two men who hold space forme instead of trying to fill it. Two hearts wide open, even knowing mine is still covered in cracks.
And somewhere in the big house, a third cowboy nursing something deeper than physical scars. One who doesn’t look at me like I’m a miracle, but like I’m a threat to the protective barriers he’s built.
“Why is it that every time I make a plan, I immediately do the opposite?” I ask the cats.
One of the kittens meows like she’s just as baffled. Chonkarella dives face-first into her food. The second kitten yawns.
“Tomorrow,” I promise, though it feels weak even as I say it. “Tomorrow I’ll be smart. I’ll keep some distance, take it easier, and let myself deal with a scent match. I’ll get a grip before I run away, terrified I’m rushing things.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I know I’m lying.
Because what I want isn’t distance.
It’s them.
All of them.
And that might be the bravest, or dumbest, thing I’ve ever admitted.
15
SOPHIA
Confessions of a City Omega
