Chapter 43
Fable
I hadn’t seen Beau all day. I’d gone to work, and he’d usually come by once he was done with his workout or practices, but it was already five and I’d seen nothing of him. I even double-checked my phone to confirm.
We were both leaving for Dallas in a couple days, which was easy because it meant no plane traveling was required, but because Beau was sitting at the top of the standings, he’d been putting in extra hours to maintain his spot.
“Wanna grab a beer?” Harleigh asked, but I shook my head.
I walked over, giving her a quick hug. “Sorry I’ve been such a crappy friend lately. I feel like I’ve been bailing on you so much.”
Harleigh pulled back, her black hair swinging behind her shoulders. “Absolutely not. Don’t apologize. I love seeing you happy.”
I sighed, squeezing her tighter. “I haven’t seen him all day, so I think I’ll stop by to check in.”
“It’s nice to see you happy, Fabs. I hope you know that.”
I did recognize it.
I recognized it when I didn’t count “Happy Birthday” in my head while washing my hands. I recognized it when I sat on the paddock fence without caring that it was covered in dirt. I didn’t mind that Beau was always dirty from the ranch or riding bulls. It was freeing.
Beau didn’t fix me, and all my fears weren’t magically erased just by being with him. It was something more profound than that—something about being seen, wanted, and wrapped in warmth when I needed it most.
Loneliness was a hard feeling to shake. In Chicago, I had no family.
My friendship with Harleigh had begun to bloom, but because of Mike, I hadn’t been able to nurture it the way I wanted.
I’d been in a relationship, yet somehow, I’d never felt more alone.
Being with Mike was like standing beside someone who couldn’t see me—someone who made me feel invisible even when I was right there.
With Beau, loneliness didn’t weigh me down the same way. His presence didn’t erase my anxiety, but it softened the edges. Being wanted, cared for, and loved—it made all the difference.
I grabbed my things after Harleigh left and made my way out of the barn. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows over the fields, and the evening breeze rustled through the grass.
Past the barn, the practice arena stood with a few bulls still grazing nearby, their low grunts and the clink of fencing the only sounds breaking the silence. The only person I saw was Dalton, his blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight as he adjusted the latch on a chute.
“Hey, Dalt.”
My pulse kicked up a notch, my palms damp against the strap of my bag.
Be cool. Don’t panic.
Dalton glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Have, uh, Do—” My throat closed, and I swallowed hard. “Do you know where Beau is?”
A brick sat on my chest—a feeling I couldn’t quite shake off.
Nothing happened to him. He’s fine.
If something had happened, Dalton would tell me.
Yet, something about the way Dalton’s expression shifted sent a ripple of unease through me. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he adjusted his gloves. “Uh, yeah. Think he’s back.”
Back . . .?
“Back?” My voice wavered.
Dalton shifted his boots against the dirt, kicking up a small cloud. “Yeah . . . from bein’ with his dad. Pretty sure he’s at the house now.”
Something was wrong, but I forced a tight smile. “Thanks.”
I turned on my heel, heading to my car parked beyond the barn. The house was only across the field, but my pulse was hammering—I needed to get there faster. I fumbled with the keys as I slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel as I started the engine.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones.
I sped down the dirt road faster than I should have. My hands trembled as I shifted the car into park and glanced toward the porch.
There he was.
Sitting in one of the rocking chairs, his hat resting beside him, elbows on his knees as he stared out at the horizon. From the car, I could tell something wasn’t right. Beau wasn’t the kind of person to sit around. He was never idle—always moving, always doing.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I opened the car door, the sound echoing against the quiet evening. Beau didn’t move. He didn’t even glance my way.
The ground crunched as I made my way toward him. Even when I stood beside him, he didn’t acknowledge me. His gaze remained fixed on the distant line where the sun was slowly dipping below the fields.
This was how I felt when I was overwhelmed—flooded with emotion, stuck in my own head. As much as my first instinct was to press him for answers, I did what Beau would’ve done for me.
I pulled the other rocking chair up beside him and sat down, my hands folding in my lap as I gazed out at the horizon.
We sat there in silence.
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the grass. The soft sounds of the ranch surrounded us—the distant neighs of the horses, the faint rustling of leaves, the hum of crickets beginning to wake as the sky faded from orange to dusky purple.
The stars began to prick through the deepening blue, one by one. Still, we didn’t speak.
I stayed. Because sometimes, words weren’t what you needed.
We sat like that for a long time, neither of us speaking until, finally, Beau shifted beside me.
“I,uh, it’s my mom’s anniversary,” he murmured.
My heart sank.
I knew that feeling.
April 21.
Every single year, it crept up on me. I remembered it more than my own birthday. Some dates carved themselves into your bones, impossible to forget.
Beau didn’t need my pity. I needed to feel his touch, to offer him something—anything—that might ease the ache sitting heavy in his chest.
I reached across the small space between our chairs and laid my hand out, palm up, open, waiting.
For a heartbeat, I wasn’t sure if he’d take it.
But his hand found mine. Warm and rough and steady. His thumb brushed slowly over my knuckles.
“I know,” I whispered, curling my fingers around his.
“Every year, Dad and I go out to her grave,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. “We clean the headstone, leave flowers . . . sit for a while.” He paused, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “But this year . . . this year was different. I told him I was done.”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right. “Done with the circuit?”
He nodded. His fingers tightened around mine as if bracing himself. “I want this land to be ours. I don’t want to be like him—gone all the time, missing things, not showing up when it matters.”
“But you wouldn’t be,” I whispered. “Just because you’re gone every weekend doesn’t mean we can’t work. We’re stronger than that. I don’t want to be the reason you give up your dreams.”
He turned then, amber eyes locking onto mine, holding me steady with the weight of his gaze.
“I’m tired, Fable. I loved bull riding so much, but .
. .” He swallowed thickly. “I’ve had a good run.
I’ve won enough buckles. I want to give the rope to someone like Dalton, someone who still loves it.
I want something different now. Something more. ”
I nodded slowly, the ache in his words pulling at something deep within me. “I know what it feels like to want a change,” I murmured, my gaze drifting out toward the fields that stretched beneath the darkening sky. The distant sound of horses echoed softly in the air. “That’s why I’m here.”
“To get away from your ex?”
I nodded again, my throat tightening as the memories stirred beneath my ribs. He didn’t know everything—the engagement, the heartbreak, the way Mike hurt me emotionally. This wasn’t the time to explain.
“Yeah.” The word caught in my throat.
Beau said nothing for a moment, just looked out at the fields with a gaze that seemed to see more than grass and fences. Finally, he exhaled.
“How’d your dad take it?” I asked gently.
Beau’s lips pressed together as if weighing the memory before speaking. “Better than I thought he would. I think . . . I think he understood more than I expected. Told me he was proud of me. For the first time in a long time, it felt like we saw eye to eye.”
My heart swelled at the quiet emotion laced in his voice. “I’m proud of you too, Beau,” I whispered.
He sighed, eyes locked on the horizon, where the stars were fully out and twinkling.
“When I was about six, Mom used to take me to this little creek behind the house. Just the two of us.” His lips twitched into a faint smile.
“I’d run through the water while she sat on this big rock with her feet in the stream.
She’d laugh—God, that laugh . . . like it could make the whole world stop and listen.
” His grip on my hand tightened slightly.
“One time, I caught this tiny fish with my bare hands. It was flopping all over, and I was so damn proud. I showed her, and instead of telling me to let it go right away, she knelt down, cupped her hands over mine, and said, ‘You’ve got to be gentle, baby. Even when you’re proud, you’ve still got to be kind.
’ ” Beau chuckled quietly. “I let that fish go, and she kissed my cheek and told me that kindness would always matter more than strength. I didn’t get it then, but . . . I do now.”
Without thinking, I stood and moved toward him, stepping between his knees and lowering myself into his lap. He wrapped his arms around me instantly, pulling me in like I was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
As he held me, his breath was ragged against my shoulder and his chest began to shake. The hot drop of a tear hit my neck, then another. His hands fisted the fabric of my shirt as if afraid I might disappear if he let go.
“I miss her so damn much,” he choked out, his voice cracking beneath the weight of all the years he’d carried this alone.
“I know,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I know, baby.”
I held him as he broke, as years of grief and loneliness poured out in silent sobs. I didn’t try to fix it, didn’t offer empty words of comfort. I simply held him the way I’d wished someone had held me when my world had shattered.
Because this was what love looked like. Not grand gestures or perfect words, but holding each other in the moments that hurt the most.
The thought struck me so suddenly that it stole the air from my lungs.
Love.
God, I might be in love with him.
Falling in love meant risking everything—my heart, my peace, my carefully built walls. But as Beau held onto me like I was his only safe place in the world, I realized I wasn’t afraid.
Not with him.
“I’m so embarrassed.” He pulled away slowly, but I cupped his cheeks and searched his gaze.
“Never be embarrassed about showing your emotions to me,” I whispered. “Come on,” I murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded, his grip tightening briefly around my waist. For the times when he’d been my strength, it was my turn to take care of him.
Sliding off his lap, I stood and offered my hand. He took it without hesitation, his calloused fingers rough but familiar against mine. We moved through the house in silence, the creak of the stairs beneath our feet the only sound.
Upstairs, I led him into the room, the faint moonlight filtering through the window casting shadows across the walls. Without a word, I pulled back the covers and helped him sit on the edge of the bed.
Kneeling before him, I untied his boots and slipped them off, my fingers grazing his calves as I set them aside. His jeans followed next, and I stood to help him out of his shirt.
When he was down to his boxers, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. He slid his arms around me, holding me tightly.
“Come here,” he whispered.
I toed off my shoes first, then reached for the hem of my shirt, peeling it over my head in one quick tug. My jeans followed, shoved down and kicked away without ceremony.
I crawled into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over us as he tucked me close, our legs tangling beneath the sheets. His hand found my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth as his gaze searched mine in the dim light.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Always.”