Chapter 4
Chapter four
Trying to Stay Detached
Riley
The house feels smaller than I remember, or maybe it’s just me carrying too much into it now. The moment I step through the door with Hadley’s hand still tucked in mine, the quiet settles around us in a way that makes everything from the ranch feel louder in comparison.
“Nammy!” Hadley calls out before I can even shut the door, her voice bright and full of energy that hasn’t faded since we left, like the entire drive back she’s been holding it in just long enough to let it explode the second she feels safe again.
My mom appears from the kitchen a second later, drying her hands on a towel, her eyes moving straight to Hadley before they flick up to me, reading everything I’m not saying out loud the way she always does.
“Well, there you are,” she says warmly, dropping the towel onto the counter as she steps forward. “I was starting to think you two ran off and joined the rodeo.”
Hadley giggles and lets go of my hand to run straight into her, wrapping her arms around her waist. “We saw horses,” she says quickly, words tumbling over each other. “And cows, and a lot of dirt, and—”
“And?” Nammy prompts gently, her gaze lifting to meet mine over Hadley’s head.
“And I met him,” Hadley finishes, like it’s the most important part, her voice softening just a little.
The room shifts at that, subtle but immediate, and I feel it in the way my shoulders tighten before I can stop it.
Mom doesn’t react right away, which is exactly why I love her. She doesn’t jump to conclusions or ask questions in front of Hadley that don’t need to be asked yet. Instead, she smooths a hand over Hadley’s hair and smiles like nothing in the world just changed.
“That sounds like quite the day,” she says, her tone easy, steady. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and grab one of those cookies before dinner? I made your favorite.”
Hadley lights up at that, already pulling away. “Nammy, with the chocolate chips?”
“The very same,” Mom confirms.
Hadley doesn’t need anything more than that, darting toward the kitchen like the last hour didn’t just rearrange both our lives, and for a second I just stand there, watching her go, trying to catch up to something that refuses to slow down.
“Alright,” Mom says quietly once Hadley is out of earshot, her attention settling fully on me now. “What happened?”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, setting my keys down on the small table by the door like that simple motion might ground me. “I told him,” I say, keeping my voice low even though there’s no one to overhear us. “I told him about Hadley.”
Mom’s brows lift slightly, but she doesn’t look surprised. “And?”
I shake my head once, more at myself than at her. “He didn’t run,” I admit. That’s the part I can’t quite wrap my head around yet. “He didn’t argue or question it the way I thought he would, and he didn’t look at her like she was a problem.”
I pause, the memory hitting again whether I want it to or not, the way Hadley walked right up to him, the way he didn’t pull back.
“He looked at her like…” I trail off, searching for the right word and not finding one that doesn’t mean more than I’m ready to say out loud.
“Like she mattered,” Mom finishes softly.
I meet her eyes, and there’s no judgment there, no pressure, just quiet understanding that makes it harder to hold onto the walls I walked in with.
“Yeah,” I say after a second. “Like she mattered.”
Mom nods once, taking that in, then gestures toward the kitchen. “Come sit for a minute,” she says. “You look like you’re still standing in that yard.”
I hesitate, part of me is still back there watching everything unfold in a way I couldn’t control, but I follow her anyway, moving into the kitchen and sliding into a chair at the table while she pours two glasses of iced tea without asking.
“I’m not getting ahead of myself,” I say, wrapping my hands around the cool glass like I need something solid to hold onto. “This doesn’t change anything overnight, and I’m not about to assume he’s going to step into this the way he said he would just because it sounded right in the moment.”
Mom sets her glass down and leans back against the counter, watching me carefully. “You don’t trust him.”
It’s not a question.
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know him,” I correct. That feels more honest. “Not the man he is now, and I’m not going to pretend I do just because we shared one night five years ago.”
My gaze drops to the table, tracing the faint lines in the wood. “Hadley deserves more than a maybe,” I add quietly. “She deserves something steady, something that doesn’t disappear the second it gets hard.”
Mom is quiet for a second, letting that sit the way she always does before she speaks. “And what if he doesn’t disappear?” she asks finally.
I let out a small breath. That’s the part I don’t have an answer for yet.
“Then we take it one step at a time,” I say, echoing the words he used earlier without meaning to, and the realization of that settles in deeper than I’d like.
Whether I trust him or not…
I can’t ignore what I saw and I still don't know if I even like him.
And that makes everything a whole lot more complicated.
The next morning comes too fast, like I never really slept so much as closed my eyes long enough to pretend everything might make more sense when I opened them again. It doesn’t, and the weight of yesterday follows me all the way into the school parking lot.
I sit in my car for a second longer than I need to, watching kids spill out of minivans and SUVs, backpacks bouncing, voices loud and carefree in a way that feels like a different world from the one I stepped into yesterday, and I let out a slow breath before grabbing my bag and heading inside.
Routine.
I need routine.
The hallway greets me with the usual chaos, teachers calling out reminders, lockers slamming, a group of second graders arguing over whose turn it is to hold the class guinea pig, and even though I’m still new enough here that I don’t know half their names yet and still double-check which classroom belongs to which teacher, something in my chest loosens just a fraction.
This, at least, I’m learning to understand.
“Riley!” a voice calls, and I barely have time to turn before Piper Lane, who I’ve known since we were kids running around River Bend but haven’t seen in years.
Now somehow working the front office and knowing everyone’s business before they do is right in front of me, coffee in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.
Her eyes already scanning my face like she’s about to pull a full emotional report whether I volunteer it or not.
“You look like you either had a life-changing moment or forgot to drink coffee,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m hoping for coffee. The other one usually comes with a story and I am not caffeinated enough yet.”
Despite everything, a small laugh slips out before I can stop it, and I shake my head slightly. “Do you always interrogate people before they’ve had caffeine, or am I just lucky?”
“Only with people I like,” she shoots back without missing a beat. “And since we’ve technically met several times, I’m counting you.”
I shift my bag on my shoulder, already feeling the instinct to deflect, to keep this contained and manageable. Once I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for in the middle of a school hallway.
“Let’s go with I forgot coffee and walked straight into a personality test,” I say, it’s easier and at least halfway true.
Piper snorts. “Liar,” she says cheerfully. “But fine, I’ll let you pretend for about… an hour.” She glances at her watch. “After that, I expect details, drama, and possibly snacks.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite to it. I can already tell she’s not the kind of person who’s going to let something go just because I’d like her to.
She leans in just slightly, lowering her voice. “You okay?”
The question lands softer than everything else she’s said, and for a second I consider brushing it off again, but something about yesterday still sits too close to the surface.
“I went out to the ranch,” I admit quietly.
Piper’s eyes light up immediately. “Oh, this is already better than coffee,” she says. “Continue.”
I shake my head, already regretting opening that door. “It’s not like that.”
“Everything is like that,” she says, completely serious. “You don’t just casually go to a ranch full of extremely attractive cowboys and come back normal.”
I blink at her. “That’s not—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t ruin this for me. I have a vision.”
I let out a breath that turns into another quiet laugh, and for a second it feels good, normal, like I’m just another person with a mildly chaotic life instead of someone who just introduced her daughter to her father after five years.
“It’s complicated,” I say finally.
Piper grins. “Even better.”
I glance down the hallway, watching a teacher try to separate two kids who are definitely about to wrestle. I latch onto that moment like it’s safer than the conversation waiting for me.
“I have a session in five,” I say, backing up a step. “We’ll talk later.”
Piper points at me with her coffee cup. “You’re not escaping me,” she warns. “I will find you.”
“I know,” I say, she always does.
As I turn and head toward my office, the noise of the school wrapping around me again.
I try to settle back into the version of myself I’m still building here.
The one who is supposed to have answers, who helps other people sort through their messes without letting it bleed too much into her own.
Even if I still feel like I’m figuring out where everything fits.
But this time it’s harder.
No matter how much I focus on schedules and sessions and keeping everything running the way it should…
Part of me is still back at that ranch.
And I have a feeling it’s not done with me yet.