25. QUINN
QUINN
The smell of hickory smoke clings to the late afternoon air, mixing with the sweetness of corn roasting on open flames and the tang of barbecue sauce simmering on the grill.
Iron Stallion feels alive in a way I’ve never seen before.
The Morgans really went all out—they threw their gates wide open, and half the county seemed to have shown up in response.
I stand off to the side, soaking it in. It’s surreal.
People who used to cross the street when they saw Beck are now shaking his hand, clapping him on the back, as if the last few years of shame and whispers have been washed away in a tide of brisket and goodwill.
He’s out there, tall and steady, grinning in a way I never thought I’d see. Not forced. Not haunted. Just… happy.
My chest tightens at the sight. Two months ago, I wasn’t sure he’d ever get here. Now I’m watching him laugh with kids who idolize him, neighbors who’ve forgiven him, and friends who trust him again. All I can think is that I’ve never been prouder in my life.
“Miss Atwood.” Hank Morgan’s voice rumbles behind me, warm and approving. “This whole thing’s something else, isn’t it?”
I turn and smile at Beck’s father. “It really is,” I agree softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Beck so at ease.”
Hank nods, his gaze drifting toward his son. “That’s because of you.”
He looks at me the way a man looks at someone who’s brought his son back from the edge. He lingers a bit longer before being swept away by his guests.
Beck glances over, finds me, and lifts his chin in that subtle way that’s just for me. My stomach flips, and suddenly the noise around me fades.
For the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe. This feeling is happiness.
I don’t have long to savor the quiet pride bubbling in my chest before I hear familiar voices cutting through the music and laughter.
“Quinn!”
I turn, and my heart immediately lifts. Landon and Louis are weaving through the crowd, both tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss. My grin comes easily.
“You made it!” I hurry toward them, throwing my arms around Louis first. He lifts me halfway off the ground, his laugh booming in my ear.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, setting me down. “Besides, someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
“And someone has to keep him out of trouble,” Landon adds with a smirk, jerking his chin toward the corral where Beck had been standing earlier.
I glance back instinctively, and sure enough, Beck’s already on his way over. His stride is easy and confident.
“Landon,” Beck calls, his mouth curving into a grin. “You made it.”
“Of course I made it,” Landon shoots back, clapping him into a quick, brotherly hug. “You think I’d let you take all the glory tonight without me around to knock you down a peg?”
Beck laughs, and for once, there’s no edge of defensiveness behind it. “You’ve been knocking me down since we were teenagers. Some things never change.”
“Some things do,” Louis cuts in, giving Beck a once-over before offering his hand. “And for the record, I like this version of you. Quinn’s done you some good.”
Beck takes his hand without hesitation. “She’s done more than that,” he says, his tone softer, heavier with meaning. His eyes flick to me and hold just a little too long.
“God, you two are disgusting already,” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to go through with this engagement stunt.”
“Engagement stunt?” Landon echoes, arching a brow at me, then at Beck. “Pretty sure I saw the way you looked at her just now. Doesn’t look fake to me.”
I feel heat bloom in my cheeks. “Can you two not gang up on me at my boyfriend’s family barbecue?”
“Boyfriend,” Landon repeats with mock surprise. “She said it. Out loud! Someone write that down.”
“You’re impossible,” I grumble, swatting his arm.
“Relax, sis. We’re just happy to see you happy,” Louis says, and for once, the teasing fades from his voice.
Landon nods, clapping Beck’s shoulder again, this time gentler. “Don’t screw it up, man. She deserves the world. Always has.”
“I know,” Beck says simply. His voice doesn’t waver, and when his eyes find mine, I almost forget to breathe.
The moment stretches until someone calls my brothers over to the food table. They wander off, still tossing jokes over their shoulders. I laugh, but the sound falters when I realize they’ve come alone.
Of course, they didn’t come—my parents and older brother Rhett.
I knew they wouldn’t, but hope is a stubborn thing.
A small, foolish part of me had prayed tonight would be different, that they’d see this new chapter of my life, of Beck’s life, and maybe choose to be a part of it.
Instead, all I have is the hollow ache of their absence and the quiet reminder that in their eyes, nothing is settled until the deal is signed.
I square my shoulders and paste the smile back on my face. They’ll come around, I tell myself. Once the contract is official and I’ve proven myself, they’ll have no choice but to see me, and Beck, with new eyes.
Until then, I cling to what I do have: Beck’s hand brushing against mine, the warmth of his family folded in with my own, and this redeeming night.
The yard keeps buzzing with activity as more people arrive.
“Good to see you back on your feet, son,” an older rancher says, shaking Beck’s hand firmly.
“Proud of you, Beck,” another claps him on the back.
Each greeting chips away at the invisible wall that used to stand between him and the rest of the world. I see the gratitude in his eyes, the way he swallows hard as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with so much kindness.
I lean closer, my voice soft. “Told you they’d come around.”
He smirks faintly, though his throat works with emotion. “Miracles do happen.”
My heart swells, watching him like this—accepted, forgiven, seen. It’s everything I’ve wanted for him.
The band strikes up a tune, but halfway through, Ava joins them, whispering to the musicians. A murmur runs through the crowd as she takes the microphone, her smile luminous under the lights.
“This one’s for family,” she says, her voice carrying easily. “For second chances.”
And then she sings.
Her voice is clear and soulful, weaving through the night air, drawing everyone closer. Couples sway, some stand with arms folded tight against their chests, others clap along softly. I glance at Beck, and he’s not watching Ava at all—he’s watching me.
The song builds, full of promise and light, and something in me aches with how far we’ve both come. I can’t look away from him, from the raw emotion in his eyes. It’s too much and not nearly enough.
When the last note fades, the crowd erupts in cheers. Ava laughs, blowing a kiss, and the music picks up again, lively and bright. People are quick to return to dancing, eating, laughing, as if the night itself has been cleansed of old grudges.
Beck exhales, his shoulders finally loose. “Guess I’m officially forgiven.”
“Guess you are,” I whisper, slipping my hand into his. And for once, I don’t care who sees.
The band swings into a lively number, and people spill onto the makeshift dance floor—just the open stretch of grass beneath the string lights. Laughter echoes, boots scuff against the earth, skirts twirl.
Beck tugs me closer with a mischievous tilt of his head. “Dance with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, he’s already leading me into the crowd. His hand settles low on my back, his other wrapping around my fingers, and suddenly the world shrinks to just us—his steady warmth, the scent of smoke and cedar clinging to his shirt, the soft rasp of his breath near my temple.
We move together, swaying more than dancing, but it doesn’t matter. The night hums around us.
“You look happy,” Beck murmurs, searching my face as if he’s memorizing every curve of my smile.
“I am,” I admit, my heart thudding. “Tonight feels right.”
His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him. “It’s more than right. Quinn, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not letting go.”
The words cut straight through me. His voice is low, fierce with honesty. My throat burns. I want to tell him, spill it all—that I love him, that it’s not just a game anymore, not a deal or a ruse.
Instead, I lift on my toes and kiss him.
It starts slow, a brush of lips that’s supposed to be light, careful.
But then he deepens it, his hand sliding to cradle the back of my neck, and suddenly it’s fire.
The music fades, the laughter blurs, and all I know is him—his mouth claiming mine, his chest solid against me, his heart pounding in sync with my own.
“Quinn,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re everything.”
The kiss burns through me, every second stretching, every heartbeat louder than the band’s fiddle. His hands tighten at my waist, urging me closer, and heat coils low in my stomach.
“Beck…” I murmur, breathless, but he doesn’t let me go.
His forehead presses against mine, his voice ragged. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t argue. My fingers lace with his, and we slip through the crowd, ducking past groups of neighbors and cousins, the bonfire and laughter. No one stops us—they’re too caught up in the music and food. My pulse thrums with anticipation, need, and hunger.
He pulls me into the barn, and the door bangs shut behind us.
The air is thick with hay, leather, and horses—earthy and raw, grounding even as my pulse races out of control.
Light spills in soft threads through the gaps in the wood, dust drifting lazily as though this whole place is holding its breath, waiting for us.