Chapter Eight
Beckett
The sound of Wildfire settling in his stall should’ve been calming.
It wasn’t.
I stood in the barn, running my hands over the mustang’s flank, and all I could think about was the look on Libby’s face when I’d snapped at her. The way her shoulders had gone tight when I’d walked out on her this morning.
I’d hurt her.
And I knew exactly why I’d done it.
Because this morning—fuck, this morning had been perfect. Too perfect. Waking up with her in my arms, making love to her slow and deep, watching her smile at me over pancakes. Her hair a mess, my shirt hanging off her, her laughter still in my ears.
And that’s when the panic hit.
She was going to leave.
Maybe not today. Maybe not next week. But eventually, her contract would end and she’d drive away and I’d be right back where I started. Alone. Empty. Nothing but scars and silence.
Everyone left. Everyone always left.
My parents. Dead in a car crash. My team in Afghanistan—half of them blown apart, the other half scattered to the wind once we got stateside. The woman I’d been with before deployment—took one look at me when I came back and couldn’t get away fast enough.
Why would Libby be any different?
She was smart. Talented. Beautiful. She could work anywhere, be with anyone. Why the hell would she stay here with a broken-down grunt who never talked?
So I’d done what I always did when something good got too close.
I pushed it away before it could leave on its own.
“She’s probably packing right now. Getting ready to leave. And it’s my own damn fault.”
Wildfire bumped my shoulder with his nose and I sighed.
“I know. I need to fix it. I just don’t know how.”
The truth was, I didn’t know how to be what she needed. Didn’t know how to let someone in without waiting for them to realize I wasn’t worth the effort. Didn’t know how to trust that something good could actually last.
But I knew I couldn’t let her go without trying.
I gave Wildfire one last pat and headed out of the barn. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and amber, and through the trees I could see her cabin.
The lights were on.
She was still here.
I started walking before I could talk myself out of it, boots crunching on gravel, heart hammering in my chest. When I reached her porch, I could see movement through the window. She was pacing, phone pressed to her ear, and even from here I could see the tension in her shoulders.
I knocked before I lost my nerve.
The pacing stopped. For a long moment, nothing happened, and I thought maybe she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’d tell me to go to hell and I’d deserve it.
Then the door opened.
She stood there in jeans and a shirt, her eyes red-rimmed like she’d been crying, and the sight of it gutted me.
“What do you want, Beckett?” Her voice was flat. Tired.
“To apologize.”
“For what, specifically? Snapping at me? Shutting me out all day? Or for making me feel like last night—this morning—didn’t mean anything?”
Each word cut like a knife. “All of it.”
She crossed her arms. “Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’m a mess, Libby. I’m fucked up in ways I don’t even know how to explain. And the second something good happens, I sabotage it because I’m too scared to believe it could last.”
“So you pushed me away.”
“Yeah.”
“Because you think I’m going to leave.”
I swallowed hard. “Aren’t you?”
She stared at me for a long moment. “Is that what this is about? My contract?”
“Your contract ends eventually. You’ll go back to wherever you came from and—”
“And what, Beckett? You think I’d just leave without talking to you? Without—” She stopped, shaking her head. “God, you really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That I’m falling for you!” The words burst out of her, raw and honest. “That this morning when you held me… That for the first time in years, I feel like I’ve found something real.”
My chest tightened. “Libby—”
“But you’re right about one thing,” she continued, voice breaking. “I can’t stay if you’re going to keep pushing me away every time you get scared. I can’t—I can’t keep doing this dance where we get close and then you retreat. It’s killing me.”
“I know.” The words came out hoarse. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just—everyone leaves. Everyone always leaves, and I thought if I pushed you away first, it would hurt less.”
“Does it?” she asked quietly. “Does it hurt less?”
“No.” I met her eyes. “It hurts like hell.”
She was quiet for a moment, and I could see her fighting some internal battle. Finally, she stepped back. “Come in.”
I followed her inside, closing the door behind me.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Really thinking. No walls, no shutting me out. I need to know what’s going on in your head.”
I took a breath. Let it out slowly. “I’m thinking that I don’t deserve you. That you’re too good, too whole, too everything I’m not. And I’m terrified that one day you’re going to wake up and realize it.”
“And?”
“And I’m thinking that this morning was the best I’ve felt in years. Maybe ever. And the idea of losing that—losing you—scares me more than anything I’ve ever faced.”
Her expression softened slightly. “Beckett—”
“I’m not good at this,” I said roughly. “At talking about feelings or being vulnerable or any of that shit. But I need you to know—what we have, whatever this is—it’s real for me. You’re real for me.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “Do you want me to stay?”
“More than anything.”
“Then you need to let me in. All the way in. No more pushing me away when you get scared. No more shutting down.” She stepped closer. “I can handle your scars, Beckett. Your damage. Your ghosts. But I can’t handle being shut out.”
“I know.”
“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Her voice was firm now. “You’re going to tell me when you’re spiraling. You’re going to talk to me instead of withdrawing. And you’re going to trust that I’m not going anywhere unless you give me a reason to leave.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll talk to you. I’ll trust you.” I reached for her hand. “I’ll try, Libby. I swear to God, I’ll try.”
She looked at our joined hands, then back at my face. “I need you to understand something. I burned my last job to the ground because I cared too much. Because I couldn’t walk away when something mattered to me. And you?” Her voice cracked. “You matter to me. More than any job ever could.”
“Libby—”
“I love you,” she said, the words tumbling out. “I know it’s fast and probably crazy, but I love you. And if you can’t—if you don’t feel the same—”
I didn’t let her finish the sentence. It was all wrong. I loved her too.
I kissed her like she was oxygen, and I’d been drowning. Poured everything I couldn’t say into it—all the fear and want and desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.
When I finally pulled back, her eyes were bright with tears.
“I love you,” I said. “I’m terrified of it, and I’m probably going to screw it up a dozen more times, but I love you. And I want you to stay. Not for the job. Not for Wildfire. For me. For us.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and threw her arms around my neck. I caught her, holding her tight.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured against her hair. “For today. For shutting you out. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know.” She pulled back to look at me. “Just don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try my damnedest not to.”
“Good.” She kissed me softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“Thank God.” My arms tightened around her, the smell of her hair filling my lungs until I could almost believe I’d finally found a place to breathe.
For a long second neither of us moved. I felt the tremor in my hands, the hard knot in my throat. I’d spent years being a man who never asked, never hoped, never held on.
And now here she was. In my arms. The very thing I needed.
I pulled back enough to look at her, to see that stubborn light in her eyes that had undone me from day one. I kissed her again—slow, deep, nothing frantic this time. Just a promise sealed with my mouth on hers.
I’d found home.
It wasn’t the ranch.
It wasn’t the horses.
It was her.