Chapter 6 #2
Jace straightens slightly, not pulling away from Hadley but shifting just enough to give me his full attention, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he already knows where this is going.
“This isn’t drop-in whenever you feel like it,” I continue, keeping my voice controlled even though there’s a tightness sitting just under it that I can’t quite smooth out. “She doesn’t need someone who shows up when it’s convenient and disappears when it isn’t.”
He doesn’t interrupt, which somehow makes it harder. There’s no easy argument to push against, no reaction I can use to justify digging in deeper, just that steady focus that makes me feel like I actually have to say what I mean.
“I know you didn’t know about her,” I add, that matters whether I like it or not, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. “I’m not blaming you for that. But now you do, and that changes things.”
“It does,” he agrees, simple and direct, and there’s no hesitation in it.
Hadley glances between us again, quieter this time, picking up on the shift even if she doesn’t understand the words behind it, and I lower my voice just enough to keep this from turning into something she feels instead of just hears.
“Then you understand why I’m not going to just hand this over and hope it works out,” I say. “She’s my responsibility. She always has been.”
“And now she’s mine too,” he answers, not raising his voice, not pushing, but there’s something solid in it that doesn’t move when I meet his gaze.
That stops me for half a second.
Not because I agree.
But because he believes it.
“She doesn’t know you,” I counter, holding onto that line because it’s the one that makes the most sense to stand on. “Not really. What she’s reacting to right now is new, it’s exciting, and it’s easy to get caught up in that if you don’t think about what happens after.”
“I am thinking about after,” he says, and there’s a weight to it now that wasn’t there a minute ago. “That’s the whole point.”
I shake my head once, not convinced, not ready to be. “Thinking about it and following through aren’t the same thing.”
“No,” he agrees, and for the first time there’s a hint of something sharper under his tone, not anger, but something close to it. “They’re not. Which is why I’m here.”
That lands harder than I expect. It’s not defensive, it’s not a promise, it’s just a statement of fact. I don’t have an easy way to argue with that without reaching for something that isn’t actually fair.
“I need consistency,” I say instead, grounding myself in the one thing that doesn’t shift no matter how this feels in the moment. “Not just for a week or two, not just when it’s new. Long-term. Predictable. Steady.”
“You’ll have it,” he replies, just as steady.
“You don’t know that yet,” I push back, the edge creeping back in despite my best effort to keep this level. “You don’t know what this looks like when it stops being easy.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t. But I’m not walking away from finding out.”
The words hang there, heavier than they should be, and for a second the only sound is the quiet shift of the horse and Hadley’s soft movements as she keeps brushing, trying to pretend she’s not listening even though she absolutely is.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to step back from the edge of it. Pushing this into a full argument right here, right now, isn’t going to do anything except make it harder for her.
“This doesn’t move faster than I’m comfortable with,” I say finally, setting the line as clearly as I can. “We take it slow. We keep things consistent. And if at any point I feel like that’s not happening, I pull back.”
He holds my gaze for a second longer, then nods once. “Then we take it slow,” he agrees.
No push.
No fight.
Just that same steady acceptance that’s starting to wear at the edges of my certainty in a way I don’t like.
“Okay,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel settled the way I want it to, just… paused.
The argument isn’t over.
It’s just beginning.
And the more he shows up like this…
The harder it’s going to be to hold the line I walked in with.
The quiet that follows isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t sharp either, not like the kind of silence that comes after a fight, and that makes it harder to stand inside of.
It leaves too much room to notice things I’d rather ignore.
Like the way he’s still standing there, close enough that I can feel the shift in the air between us without him touching me, close enough that I’m suddenly aware of things that have nothing to do with horses or boundaries or responsibility. Things I don’t have a clear explanation for.
I move to step around him, intending to put space back where it belongs. The stall is narrower than I accounted for, and for a brief second I’m closer to him than I planned. Close enough to catch the scent of leather, sun and something that feels entirely too familiar for comfort.
He doesn’t move out of the way immediately.
Not blocking me.
Not crowding.
Just… there.
And that hesitation, that fraction of a second where neither of us shifts first, stretches longer than it should.
“Careful,” he says quietly, one hand coming up just enough to steady the stall door as I pass, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the intention of it anyway.
I glance up at him without meaning to, and for a second the rest of the barn fades out.
The sounds, the movement, even Hadley’s quiet humming as she keeps brushing.
All of it pulling back until it’s just that look, steady and focused in a way that has nothing to do with the conversation we just had.
It would be easier if he pushed.
If he argued.
If he gave me something solid to push against.
But he doesn’t.
And that leaves me standing here, trying to ignore the fact that there’s something else threading through all of this, something quieter and far more dangerous than anything we’ve said out loud.
I break eye contact first. I have to, stepping past him and putting that space back between us like it belongs there. Like it’s the only thing keeping everything else from slipping into something I’m not ready to deal with.
“Hadley,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “we’re not staying all afternoon.”
She looks up at me, brushing slowing just a little. “Okay,” she says, but there’s a hint of reluctance there that wasn’t there yesterday, and I notice that too.
Everything feels sharper now.
I turn back toward the open side of the barn. Letting the light hit my face as I take a breath that doesn’t quite settle anything. I can feel him behind me, not close, not pushing, just present in a way that doesn’t fade the second I look away.
And that’s the problem.
Not the tension.
Not even the arguments.
But the fact that underneath all of it…
There’s something building that I don’t have control over.
And if I’m not careful…
That’s the part that’s going to change everything.
I don’t let the moment stretch any further. The longer I stand here, the easier it is to forget why I came with boundaries in the first place. I turn back toward them with a decision already set in place, even if it doesn’t feel as solid as it did when I walked in.
“We should head out,” I say, keeping my tone even, like it’s just part of the plan and not something I’m forcing back into control. “She’s got school in the morning, and I don’t want her to be overly tired.”
Hadley’s brush slows, then stops, and she looks up at me with that same open expression that makes everything harder than it needs to be. “Already?” she asks, the disappointment soft but unmistakable.
“Already,” I confirm, gentler this time, stepping closer so she can see I mean it without it feeling like a punishment. “We can come back another day.”
She hesitates, her gaze drifting back to Jace like she’s weighing whether that’s a promise she trusts yet. I feel that shift all over again, the way her attention splits between us in a way it never has before.
Jace doesn’t step in right away, doesn’t override me or try to redirect her. For a second I think he’s going to let it go exactly the way I set it, which should make this easier.
It doesn’t.
Part of me is already bracing for the other shoe to drop, for him to push or argue or try to negotiate something that gives me a reason to tighten the line again. When it doesn’t happen, I’m left with a different kind of tension that sits deeper than I expected.
“Hey,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry past us, and when I look at him, there’s something measured in the way he holds my gaze, something that tells me this isn’t casual. “Before you go… can I have a few minutes with her?”
The question lands between us, simple on the surface but heavier underneath. I feel my instinct kick in immediately, sharp and protective, ready to shut it down before I’ve even thought it through.
“No,” sits right there on the edge of my tongue.
So does yes.
Letting him show up instead of assuming he won’t.
Hadley looks between us again, quieter now, like she understands this part matters even if she doesn’t know why. The weight of that settles squarely on my shoulders.
I don’t like this.
Not the decision.
Not the way it feels like something is shifting whether I’m ready for it or not.
But I also don’t like what it says if I refuse him every time he asks for something reasonable.
“Five minutes,” I say finally, the words coming out steady even if they don’t feel that way inside. “Right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief doesn’t flash across his face, which I half expected, just that same steady acknowledgment like he understands exactly what I’m giving him and what I’m not.
“That’s all I’m asking for,” he says.
I nod once, stepping back enough to give them space without leaving the barn, my arms folding loosely again like I need something to hold onto while I watch this play out.
Hadley shifts closer to him, already leaning into whatever this is becoming, and he lowers himself again, bringing his focus fully to her like nothing else exists for those few minutes.
And as I stand there, telling myself I’m still in control of this, still setting the pace, still deciding what comes next…
It doesn’t feel that simple anymore.
For the first time since I walked into this situation…
I’m not sure I’m the only one making the rules.