Chapter 21 ELLA
ELLA
The morning of Aria’s competition feels like electricity under my skin.
Not the painful kind—more like the crackling hum before a storm breaks—charged, alive, and impossible to ignore.
I’ve been up since sunrise, double-checking tack, brushing down the horses, running Aria and Daisy through last-minute stretch drills even though they know the routine better than I do at this point.
Aria is buzzing with excitement; Daisy is too, while I’m pretending to be the exact opposite.
“Miss Ella,” Aria calls out as she tightens her helmet strap, “are you nervous?”
“No,” I lie. “Just excited.”
She squints at me. “Your excited voice sounds a lot like Mr. Beck when he’s pretending not to cry.”
I groan. “He cried once—“
“He cried at my spelling bee, and my recital, when we watched Frozen 2, and when Luella said her first word,” Daisy adds cheerfully from behind me.
I point at both of them. “Okay, okay, I get it. Beck is a crier. Not another word of this. We don’t want word getting back to him.”
They giggle and race off toward the warm-up ring, their horses trotting behind them on lead ropes carried by Cole and Jace.
The entire Morgan family has taken up what looks like a whole section of the arena stands.
Ava is bouncing Luella on her hip, Beck is feeding Oliver something that definitely looks like contraband candy, Quinn is trying—and failing—to pretend she doesn’t see it.
Zane is giving unsolicited advice to every passing rider like he’s been appointed unofficial rodeo president.
And then there’s Flora.
She’s sitting gracefully on a foldable chair she brought from home, sunhat positioned perfectly, hands folded over her lap in that polite, controlled way she carries herself. But her eyes—deep, soft brown—are laser-locked on her granddaughter with protective tension simmering beneath every breath.
She catches me looking and gives me a warm nod. “She looks ready.”
My chest warms. “She is. She’s been working so hard.”
“I know,” Flora says softly, a quiet pride in her tone. “Thank you for giving her something good to hold onto.”
I don’t know how to respond, not without getting emotional, so I smile and squeeze her hand before hurrying to join Cole near the arena fence.
He’s got one hand on Aria’s reins, the other on his hip, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. He’s wearing his competition-day look: jeans, boots, clean button-up, jaw set like he’s personally responsible for the ground staying under Aria’s horse.
It’s been a month since Calista’s slap, a month since she and Toby skulked around our peace, and he’s still watching the world like they might come back through the crowd any second.
I stop beside him, close enough that our arms brush. Not enough to look suspicious, but enough to feel him.
“She’s going to do great,” I assure him.
He exhales. “I know. I’m proud of her. And…” His eyes flick to mine.
He’s proud of me, too. I see it in the way he looks at Aria’s form, her posture, the way she handles the reins. He sees my handprints all over her progress, and the knowledge makes my chest ache in a warm, fragile way.
The announcer calls for the junior warm-ups. Aria swings into the saddle with that little spark in her eye she gets when she feels brave. Daisy climbs onto her horse too, determined as ever, Tessa giving her a proud pat on the leg.
Cole’s hand finds the small of my back, just briefly—a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ground me.
Everything is perfect. Everything is exactly where it should be.
Until it isn’t.
I hear it before I see them. That sharp, sneering voice that coils like barbed wire. “Well, isn’t this adorable?”
Cole goes rigid beside me.
I turn slowly, and there they are—Calista and Toby, walking through the crowd like they own it. Calista looks pristine—hair curled, lips glossed, wearing white like she’s desperate to look pure. Toby is in his usual too-tight shirt, wearing sunglasses like he’s some sort of VIP.
My stomach drops. Please, not here, not today of all days.
Calista’s eyes sweep over the arena like she’s offended by the dirt itself. Then they land on Aria, and then on me. Her smile turns sharp. “Looks like someone’s playing mommy again.”
Cole moves before I can think. One second, he’s beside me; the next, he’s storming toward them like a bull breaking from the chute.
“Cole,” I hiss, sprinting after him, but he doesn’t slow down.
Toby opens his mouth—probably to say something stupid—but Cole’s fist lands on him before the words leave his throat. Toby goes down hard, hitting the ground with a grunt that echoes.
Gasps ripple across the stands. Flora rises from her seat so smoothly it’s chilling, hands tightening on her purse like she’s holding herself back from joining in.
Calista shrieks. “Are you insane?!”
Cole turns on her, eyes burning. “You’re lucky I didn’t come after you the second you laid a hand on Ella.”
Oh God.
Calista flinches, hand flying to her cheek even though he hasn’t touched her. “I didn’t—“
“You slapped her,” Cole snarls. “In front of my daughter. You terrorized Aria for years, cheated on me with this scumbag, stole from me, lied to me, dragged us through hell…” His voice breaks, just barely.
A hush falls so thick the air itself seems to hold its breath.
Calista’s eyes dart around at the staring crowd. She hates witnesses. “Cole, you’re being dramatic—“
“No,” he snaps, stepping closer. “I’m being honest. You’re a horrible mother. You don’t deserve that title. Not with how you treated her. Not with how you walked away.”
Calista’s face crumples, but it’s all performance. All vanity and no remorse.
“And if Aria wasn’t watching,” Cole adds, “I’d tell you everything I really think about you.”
She rears back, offended. “You wouldn’t dare hit me.”
His jaw flexes, hands fisting by his side. He might. He absolutely might.
I rush in, grabbing his arm. “Cole. Hey—stop. Aria is watching.”
He freezes, breath ragged, eyes locked on mine. That’s all it takes for him to pull back—barely, but enough.
Behind him, Toby groans on the ground. Jace pushes his wheelchair forward like he’s ready to run the man over.
“That was a long time coming,” Jace mutters, staring down at Toby like he’s dirt needing composting.
Beck appears next, hands curled into fists. “You want round two?” he asks Toby.
Toby whimpers, curling into himself.
Calista snaps, “Touch him and I’ll—!”
“You’ll what?” Beck asks, stepping into her space. “Lie? Manipulate? Abandon a child again? Hit our sister?”
Calista looks personally victimized. “She hit me too!”
“After you slapped her,” Beck fires back.
Dad chooses this moment to step in, the way he always does when things reach the line of criminal activity. He doesn’t shout—he just stands there, a mountain of a man with years of authority carved into his posture.
“That’s enough,” he says quietly.
The entire rodeo seems to exhale.
He points at Toby first. “Get up.”
Toby scrambles upright like someone lit a fire under him. Then he points at Calista. “You’re both leaving. Now.”
“You can’t—“ Calista starts.
“I can,” Dad says, hands sliding into his pockets. “And I will. This rodeo is on Morgan property. Every inch of the grounds. And you two are hereby banned from all future events.”
A ripple of whispers moves through the crowd.
Calista’s face distorts. “This isn’t over.”
“Oh yes it is. Now leave my property before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
She looks ready to fight some more but something makes her change her mind at the last minute. She turns sharply on her heel, grabbing Toby by the wrist. They storm toward the parking lot, Toby stumbling as he nurses his jaw.
Before they disappear, Calista shouts over her shoulder, “You’ll regret this! All of you!”
No one reacts, not even the kids.
Zane lets out a long breath. “Well. That’s done.”
Beck wipes imaginary dust off his palms. “I feel refreshed.”
Jace snorts. “Breakfast and a show.”
“Luella’s first rodeo drama. I’ll write this in her baby book,” Ava murmurs, making me chuckle.
Flora sets her purse down, smoothing her dress. “If either of you would like dessert later,” she says calmly, “I brought lemon bars.”
Everyone melts a little at that, but Cole is still next to me, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a war inside his ribcage.
I step closer. “Hey.”
His eyes flick down to mine, still burning, still dark.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
“No,” he admits, voice low.
“I know,” I say, touching his arm gently. “But it’s over. Dad handled it.”
He looks at me for a beat too long, like he’s searching for something he can believe.
“You kept me from doing something stupid,” he breathes.
“I know. I kept you from doing something dumb in front of your daughter. She’s been through enough without seeing her Dad hit her mother, entitled or not.”
His throat works. “I didn’t even care what anyone else saw. I just—seeing her here—after what she did to you—“
I squeeze his hand. “You protected me, and you protected Aria. That’s all that matters.”
For a moment, everything else blurs—the dusty air, murmuring crowd, and horses trotting in the warm-up pen. It’s just him and me, standing too close, sharing a quiet we shouldn’t have in public.
Then the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “Riders in the nine-to-twelve category will be up in fifteen minutes! Please report to the warm-up ring!”
I inhale sharply. “That’s Aria.”
Cole nods, pulling himself together. “Go check on her. Make sure she’s okay.”
“You sure you’re good?” I ask.
He gives a small, tired exhale. “Now that they’re gone? Yeah. I’m good.”
I touch his arm one more time—soft enough no one would notice, firm enough he feels it. “I’ll bring her back focused.”
He nods. “I trust you.”
And just like that, something warm and solid settles between us again.
I turn toward the warm-up pen, heart steadying, steps quickening, ready to gather my girl and make sure her head, and her heart, are right where they need to be.
Time to get her ready to fly.