Page 58 of Saddle and Scent
Finally, I sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat.
"That fierce, bold sweetpea is now a closed-off defender whose eyes shine with hope but shadow up with uncertainty." The words come out quieter than I intended, heavy with all the things I've been trying not to feel. "She's... different. Harder.Like she's built walls so high I'd need a fucking ladder just to see over them."
Dad's expression softens, and when he speaks, his voice carries the weight of experience and hard-won wisdom.
"Can you blame her? Y'all fucked up, Beckett. Badly."
"Thanks, Dad. Really helping here." I turn back to the wedding cake, poking at the frosting with unnecessary aggression. "I came here to bake away my feelings, not get a lecture about my failures."
"What happened?" he asks, ignoring my sarcasm. "What happened that made you three chickens push her away to the point where she actually left?"
The question I've been avoiding for ten years.
The conversation we've never had, not fully, not honestly.
I sit down on the stool across from him, suddenly feeling every one of my twenty-eight years. The kitchen smells like sugar and butter and all the comfort foods I've been stress-making, but underneath it all is the lingering scent of regret.
How do I explain something I'm not sure I understand myself?
"It's complicated, Dad."
He leans back, crossing his arms in that patient way that means he's settling in for the long haul.
"Life is complicated, son. But without it being so damn tribulating, you're never going to grow and learn that relationships are precious pieces of a puzzle." His voice takes on that philosophical tone he gets when he's dispensing life advice. "You lose one piece, and guess what? It can never be completed, can it?"
I shake my head, thinking about the way we used to fit together—me, Callum, Wes, and Juniper.
Four corners of something that felt inevitable, natural, like we were meant to orbit each other for the rest of our lives.
Until we fucked it up so badly she ran.
Dad stands, moving around the work table until he's close enough to pat my shoulder. His hand is warm and steady, grounding me in the moment.
"Stop stress-baking and make an effort to start over."
"Start over?" I frown, looking up at him. "What do you mean by start over? We can't just pretend the last ten years didn't happen."
"I'm not talking about pretending anything didn't happen." He squeezes my shoulder, then moves to lean against the counter. "I'm talking about accepting that you're not going to be able to fix what broke back then. You were teenagers, Beckett. There's nothing wrong with that—teenagers are supposed to make mistakes. But now you're adults, and you have to explore who you are now."
The idea settles in my chest like a seed, foreign but potentially hopeful.
"You've all changed, whether you want to admit it or not," he continues. "So it's time to explore the new you—both as individuals and as a pack, with your sweetpea in the center of it all."
I think about it, turning the concept over in my mind. It makes sense, in that terrifying way that good advice often does. We're not the same people we were at eighteen. I'm not the same fumbling kid who couldn't figure out how to tell a girl he loved her without making it weird. Callum's not the same angry young man who thought pushing people away was the same as protecting them. Wes isn't the same class clown who used humor to deflect every serious conversation.
And Juniper... Juniper's not the same wild, fearless girl who thought she could take on the world with nothing but determination and a bad attitude.
"It makes sense," I admit, but even as I say it, I feel a tightness in my chest. "But it feels... nerve-wracking. What if we're not the people she needs anymore? What if too much has changed?"
Dad's smile is gentle, understanding.
"You're not looking for perfection, son. You're building a foundation for a new beginning that's going to require trust, dates, and opportunities to apologize and grow." He pauses, letting that sink in. "She needs to realize that you all still love her—not the her from the past, because that girl's gone, but the woman she is now."
The woman she is now.
Stubborn and defensive and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her.
Carrying scars I can't see but can feel in the careful way she holds herself, the walls she's built, the way she flinches from touch like she's forgotten how good it can feel to be wanted.
