Page 64 of Saddle and Scent
The same love, just buried deeper now, protected by walls that are supposed to keep us safe but mostly just keep us lonely.
I'm still the girl who falls asleep in the sun and needs rescuing…
They're still the boys who can't stand to see me hurt.
And somewhere in that continuity, in that stubborn persistence of feeling, might be the key to everything we lost.
Everything we might still be able to find again, if we're brave enough to look.
If we're brave enough to admit that some things are worth the risk of getting burned.
Some things are worth staying in the sun for, even when you know it might hurt.
Worth the vulnerability of letting someone else apply the aloe vera.
Worthy of saying out loud, even when your voice cracks and the words come out smaller than you intended.
Even if the echo they leave behind, the way it changes the shape of everything that comes after.
Some things are worth remembering, even when the memory stings worse than any sunburn.
Guess I’m finally realizing…
I really did miss my boys.
12
THE WEIGHT OF REGRET
~CALLUM~
The truck's engine growls through the heat like a beast that's seen better days, kicking up dust and gravel as we roll down the familiar road toward the Bell Ranch.
The steering wheel is hot enough to brand skin under my hands, and despite the windows being down, the cab feels like a furnace. The air conditioning gave up the ghost somewhere around 2003, leaving us to rely on the mercy of whatever breeze we can catch through the open windows.
It's hot as Satan's armpit today.
Behind me, I can hear the steady rhythm of hoofbeats as Wes and Beckett keep pace on horseback, their mounts breathing hard in the oppressive heat. We'd started this little expedition with the intention of surprising Juniper with help she didn't ask for—tools, supplies, and three Alphas determined to prove we could be useful instead of just ornamental.
Beckett’s Dad's brilliant idea, of course.
"Go fix your girl's sanctuary and her heart," he'd said, like it was that simple.
Like ten years of fucking up could be undone with a toolbox and good intentions.
"Jesus Christ, it's hot as fuck today!" Wes's voice carries over the sound of the engine, punctuated by the jingle of tack and the heavy breathing of his mare. "I'm sweating through my shirt, and we've only been riding for twenty minutes."
"I'm glad I got to leave the bakery," Beckett calls back, his voice steady despite the heat. "It would be like an oven by now with how hot it suddenly got. The industrial ovens were already making the place unbearable before this heat wave hit."
I grumble under my breath, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
"Your Dad didn't have to send us on this errand adventure. Could've waited until evening when the temperature drops below the surface of the fucking sun."
But that's not really what's bothering me.
What's bothering me is the way Dad looked at me this morning, like he could see straight through all my bullshit to the coward underneath.
What's bothering me is that he's right, and I hate being called out on my failures.
