22. Live. Laugh. Ride #2
The sun tracks lower as we ride, painting longer shadows that race alongside us. My thighs burn from gripping, my lungs work harder than they have in months, but I feel more alive than I have since—since before.
Before the fire.
Before Iron Ridge.
Before I learned to make myself small enough to swallow.
"Up here!" River points toward a hill that rises above the others, its crest catching the last direct rays of sun. "Best view in the county!"
We slow to a walk for the climb, giving the horses a chance to catch their breath.
My heart still pounds, but it's the good kind of racing—exertion and exhilaration rather than panic.
As we ascend, the view expands exponentially.
The town of Sweetwater Falls spreads below us like a miniature, complete with toy cars and dollhouse buildings.
Beyond it, mountains rise in layers of blue and purple, their peaks already touched with snow.
"Oh," I breathe when we reach the summit.
The inadequacy of words in the face of this vista makes my chest tight.
River dismounts first, then moves to help me down. His hands find my waist, and even through fabric, even with careful control, the contact sparks.
He lowers me slowly, making sure my legs are steady before letting go. We stand side by side, horses ground-tied behind us, watching the sun begin its descent toward the mountain peaks.
The silence wraps around us, comfortable as an old quilt.
Minutes pass.
The sky starts its evening performance—blue fading to purple at the edges, orange and pink beginning their dance across the clouds. It's the kind of beauty that makes you feel small but not insignificant.
Part of something larger. Bigger than my mind dares to envision for myself.
"I almost died watching a sunset," I say, the words sliding out without permission.
River doesn't startle, doesn't rush to respond. He just shifts slightly closer, near enough that I can feel his warmth without touching. An invitation to continue if I want. A promise to listen if I need.
"The fire started at dusk." My voice sounds strange to my own ears, detached like I'm narrating someone else's story. "Blake—my ex—he knew I loved watching the sun set from our bedroom window. Said he had a surprise for me."
My hands clench involuntarily, nails digging crescents into my palms. River notices—of course he does—but doesn't reach for me. He knows I need to get this out without the distraction of comfort.
"The surprise was accelerant. And matches. And a deadbolt on the outside of the door I didn't know he'd installed." The words taste like ash. "They wanted it to look like an accident. Omega gets careless with candles, old house goes up quick. Tragic but not suspicious."
"They?" River's voice is carefully neutral, but I hear the steel underneath.
"The whole pack. Iron Ridge." I laugh, but it's bitter as burnt coffee.
"See, the thing nobody talks about is how financially lucrative a dead Omega can be.
Life insurance, sure, but also the sympathy factor.
The grieving Alpha pack who lost their beloved mate?
Donations pour in. Business partnerships solidify. Other packs rally around to support."
The sun sinks lower, painting everything in shades of blood and gold. How's that for poetic irony.
"But you survived." Not a question. River knows this part, has probably pieced together more than I've said.
"Barely. Neighbor saw the smoke, called it in faster than they expected. Fire department actually gave a damn about saving an Omega." I touch my throat, remembering how it felt to breathe superheated air. "Though sometimes I wonder if I actually did survive, or if this is just what comes after."
"This is real," River says firmly. "You're real. You're here."
"Here." I test the word, let it settle on my tongue. "Yeah. But getting here meant leaving everything. Not that there was much left to leave."
The confession builds momentum now, words tumbling over each other like water over stones.
"The divorce happened while I was still in the hospital.
They were so eager to cut ties, they didn't bother fighting for assets.
Walked away with three-quarters of everything, calling it generous that they left me anything at all. "
"Generous." River's repetition drips with disgust.
"The thing is—" My voice cracks, and I have to pause, swallow hard.
"The thing that kills me is I built that wealth.
Every penny. They were drowning when I joined the pack, hemorrhaging money on bad investments and pride projects.
I restructured everything. Negotiated contracts, managed budgets, turned their joke of a construction company into something actually profitable. "
My hands gesture wildly now, trying to shape three years of financial slavery into something River can understand.
"Fourteen-hour days balancing books. Teaching myself tax law because they were too cheap to hire an accountant.
Making their meetings run smooth, their presentations shine.
And they looked at all that and saw... a tool.
Something to use up and throw away when a better opportunity came along. "
"You weren't a tool," River says quietly. "You were the foundation."
"Foundations can be replaced." The bitterness is back, coating my throat.
"Especially when burning the old one down nets you sympathy points with the territorial Alpha council.
Poor Iron Ridge pack, losing their Omega in such a tragic accident.
Let's fast-track their expansion permits. Let's approve those loans they wanted."
The sun touches the mountain peaks now, setting them ablaze. Beautiful and terrible, like most true things.
"I found out later— one of the nurses let it slip —they'd already been planning my replacement.
Had their eye on some young Omega from a traditional family.
Seventeen and sheltered and wouldn't know financial exploitation if it bit her.
" My laugh sounds like breaking glass. "Probably would have been grateful for the chance to serve such successful Alphas. "
"Willa—"
"I did everything right." The words explode out of me, years of suppressed rage finally finding voice.
"Submitted when they wanted submission. Worked when they wanted a business partner.
Cooked their meals and balanced their books and warmed their beds and never once complained when they scent-marked me so heavy I couldn't smell anything else for days.
I ignored every red flag, every warning sign, every instinct that screamed 'run' because I thought—I thought?—"
"You thought love meant enduring," River finishes when I can't.
The sob that escapes me sounds wounded, animal.
But I don't cry. Not yet. There's more poison to purge first.
"They paid someone to kill me, River, and since that failed, they decided they could just do it themselves.
Looked at everything I'd done, everything I'd built for them, and decided burning me alive was worth the insurance payout. Worth all I’d sacrificed as the best ‘thank you for your service as our Omega’.
" My voice drops to a whisper. "And the worst part?
Sometimes I catch myself thinking they were right.
That I was too much trouble. Too opinionated. Too...me."
The sun's lower edge kisses the horizon now, and the temperature drops like a stone.
I shiver, suddenly aware of how exposed I am up here—not just physically but emotionally.
Laid bare as the hills surrounding us.
"And now I'm here, surrounded by another pack of Alphas who look at me like—" I stop, unable to finish. Like I'm precious. Like I matter. Like they'd move heaven and earth to keep me safe. The comparison to Iron Ridge is so stark it makes my chest ache.
"That's what scares me most," I admit, wrapping my arms around myself as the evening chill seeps through thin fabric. "Not the fire dreams or the panic attacks or these fucking ruined lungs that wheeze when the pressure drops. It's that I can feel myself starting to trust again. Starting to hope."
River remains silent, letting me spill this poison that's been eating me alive for two years.
"What happens when you all realize I'm too much work?
When the novelty wears off and you see what Iron Ridge saw—an Omega who can't just submit prettily, who has opinions and ambitions and a brain that won't shut off?
" My voice rises, cracking on the edge of hysteria.
"What happens when you offer me the world, and I believe you, and then?—"
"Then what?" His voice is so gentle it hurts.
"Then you take it away." The words come out small, defeated. "Because that's what Alphas do. They give you just enough to make you dependent, then pull it away to remind you who holds the power."
The silence stretches between us, filled with the whisper of wind through grass and the distant call of a nighthawk.
The sun continues its descent, unhurried by my emotional breakdown.
"You want to know something?" I continue, surprising myself. "I almost didn't come back here. Even with nowhere else to go, even with Grandpa leaving me everything. I sat in that lawyer's office in Bozeman for three hours, staring at the deed, paralyzed."
"Why?" No judgment in the question, just quiet curiosity.
"Because Cactus Rose was sacred." My voice drops to barely above a whisper. "It was my sanctuary. Where I ran when Mom's expectations got too heavy or Dad's disappointment too sharp. Where I could just... exist. Be messy and imperfect and wild."
Memories flood in— hiding in the hayloft with a book and an apple, crying into Buttercup's mane after my first heartbreak, helping Grandpa mend fences while he listened to my teenage dreams without mockery.
This place had held all my unformed self, kept it safe when the world demanded I compress into acceptable shapes.