Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Jasper
The cold bites against my skin. But the burn doesn’t begin to compare to the feeling in my chest.
Dez snorts beneath me as we crest the low rise past the south pasture, her hooves crunching through the crusted snow.
Steam pours from her nostrils, curls up around my legs, and disappears into the gray-blue air.
I keep one hand light on the reins, the other buried in the pocket of my jacket, fingers curled tight around… nothing.
I didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—too pale against the snow, lashes dark and still, breath so shallow it was almost undetectable.
Every time I blinked, I felt it again—the weight of Ethan’s body, the finality of it, the way twilight swallowed him whole as Lawson and I threw him over Stillwater Ridge.
I don’t regret it.
And that’s the part that scares me.
Atlas moves steadily a few yards ahead of us, her big Dapple Gray frame sure and calm as always. Lawson sits easy in the saddle, shoulders relaxed, posture loose in a way that makes it look like he’s not the slightest bit rattled. But I know better.
Which is why the two of us woke up early to check the north fence line after the heavy snow over the past couple of days. It’s the kind of chore that needs doing, whether you want to or not. Because let’s face it, that’s life on a ranch.
Lawson doesn’t look back at me.
He doesn’t have to.
He knows I’m drowning.
And I know he knows.
That’s the thing about him. He reads the storm before it breaks.
He feels the shift in the air before the thunder hits.
It used to piss me off when I was younger—when the urge to let my temper loose overrode my fear of being like my father.
He’d read my moods before I even understood them myself.
He’d step in steady and solid, when all I wanted to do was self-destruct.
But now?
Now I’m grateful for it in a way I don’t quite have words for.
We ride in silence for a while, only the sounds of the creaking of leather, the soft jingle of tack, and the rhythmic exhale of two horses cutting through the cold, allowing my thoughts to spiral in a fast and vicious circle I can’t seem to break free from.
Abigail’s scream as she fell down the embankment.
Her limp body.
The thought that I’d lost her forever.
The devastation that I might never feel that kind of love ever again.
Love.
The word rocks me to my core.
I love her.
But I don’t have more than a second to think about what that means before Lawson finally speaks once we reach the first stretch of fencing as Atlas leans down to inspect the sagging post. “Is it what happened with Ethan?” he asks carefully.
“No,” I answer immediately.
Lawson straightens before glancing back at me. “No?”
I swallow, jaw tightening as I look out over the pasture, the pale stretch of snow-covered land glowing faintly as dawn creeps closer.
“No. You did what you had to do, and so did I.” I shrug one shoulder.
“If it’s him or us? If it’s him or her?” My grip tightens on Dezzy’s reins.
“I’d do it again. I’d let you do it again. A thousand times over.”
Lawson watches me for a long moment, then nods once. “Me too.”
I let out a sharp breath, tension easing just a fraction. “I—I love her, Lawson.”
The word hangs there.
Lawson doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t smile.
He just exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath too.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
I nod, eyes burning. Dez shifts beneath me, sensing the emotions stirring inside me. “You think… You think Linc and Beau—”
“Feel the same way?” Lawson finishes.
I snort quietly. “Yeah.”
Law huffs a breath that might almost be a laugh. “I’d bet our ranch on it.”
So would I. Lincoln, with his quiet watchfulness, and the way he’d hovered near her bed as often as he could, like even the mere thought of wandering too far had the power to take him out by the knees.
And Beau, with his gentle hands and steady presence, always making space for her, never demanding more than she was ready to give.
It’s clear.
They love her.
The realization settles heavy and right in my chest.
I hesitate again, a little longer this time. “Do you think…” My voice drops, suddenly more afraid of this question than asking if my three best friends are in love with the same woman I am. “Do you think she loves us?”
Lawson’s gaze drifts back to the fence line as he takes his time answering. “I do,” he finally says. “I hope.”
Hope.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? Hope is scarier than certainty. Hope leaves room for loss.
And of that, I’ve had plenty.
Hopping off the horses, the two of us work in silence for a few minutes as we adjust the fence posts, hands busy, minds loud. The sun crests the horizon, painting the snow in pale gold, and for a moment, the world looks almost peaceful. Like nothing bad could ever touch this place.
But it has.
It did.
The juxtaposition causes a sharp and humorless laugh to slip free.
“What?” Lawson asks without looking up.
“I want to burn everything to the ground,” I admit. The words spill out before I can stop them. “I want to kill every single one of them with my bare hands.”
The Bratva. Keller. The Coates brothers. Anyone who ever thought they could touch her. Use her. Threaten what’s ours.
Lawson stills. “I know, Jas. Me too.”
I scrub a hand over my face, frustration clawing up my throat. “Tell me how not to drown in it,” I say, my voice rough. “Tell me how to stay here—with you. With all of you. With her.”
This time, Lawson does look at me. “You don’t kill it,” he says.
“You don’t bury it. You learn to carry it without letting it steer you.
You remember why you’re fighting in the first place.
Why you’re lucky enough to feel such anger in the first place.
Why you feel such a sheer sense of protectiveness. ”
“And if that’s not enough?”
“Then you lean on the people who know who you are at your core,” he says matter-of-factly. “The ones who won’t let it swallow you whole.”
I scoff softly and kick at the snow with my boot. “You mean you.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Among others.” His smile grows wider before he says, “Or I could just call your sister. She’d tell you to breathe. Then she’d tell you to stop being an idiot.”
I freeze.
Really freeze as my heart kicks hard against my ribs.
How did none of us think of this sooner?
“I know who can help us find them,” I rush out.
Lawson’s gaze meets mine, eyes already dark with understanding.
He doesn’t ask me to clarify.
Because he already knows who I’m about to say.
And just like that, the storm inside me shifts.
My focus sharpens.
Purpose settles deep in my bones.
And suddenly, for the first time since we realized Abigail was missing, I feel like I might be able to breathe.