42. Colt
Chapter 42
Colt
The tires crunch over gravel as we roll up the long drive, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can actually breathe.
Porch light’s on. Wind chimes still hang from the rafters, jangling in the breeze.
Same rocking chair. Same busted step.
The house groans like it’s been waiting on me.
I’ve got Callie. I’ve got Mav.
For the first time in years, I want more than just the next ride.
I shift to open the door, but the second my boot hits gravel, Maverick’s already there, a crutch in hand.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter, even though we both know I don’t.
“You’ve got a shattered collarbone and a bruised tibia,” he fires back, already unfolding the crutch. “What you’ve got is a one-way ticket to landing flat on your ass if you try and play hero.”
I glare at him. He doesn’t flinch, just holds it steady.
I hate needing help. Always have.
I let him slide the crutch under my good arm, brace my elbow, and swing my weight forward, climbing down from the truck one stiff, awkward inch at a time.
He doesn’t make a show of it. Doesn’t gloat. Just mutters under his breath, “Stubborn cowboy,” and stays close enough to catch me, like he always has.
It shouldn’t make my chest feel like this.
Tight. Warm. Seen.
We don’t even make it to the front door before it opens and my mom comes barreling down the steps, apron still on, eyes already wet. She wraps me up in a hug like she’s afraid I might vanish if she lets go. I grunt when she squeezes too tight, but I don’t stop her. Not this time.
“You scared the hell out of us,” she mutters into my hair. “You boys never do anything halfway, do you?”
“No, ma’am,” I say, smiling into her shoulder. “We sure don’t.”
Callie gets her own hug a second later, just as fierce.
“And you, young lady, you owed us a visit a long time ago. You didn’t forget about us, did you?” That same tightness I used to hear when I was in trouble, but she didn’t want to yell. She knows what Callie’s absence did to all of us. She wasn’t just a visitor in this house; she grew up in it. My folks didn’t treat her like a guest back then. They treated her like she was a daughter.
“I could never forget you. You still make the best damn peach pie in the state,” Callie says, trying to keep it playful, even as her eyes shine. And just like that, it hits me. I wasn’t the only one who lost something when she left. We all did.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. It’s been way too long,” she says sincerely, squeezing my mom one last time before letting go and stepping straight into one of my dad’s bear hugs.
He wraps her up tight, feet lifting off the ground. “Well, you’re home now.”
Warmth settles in my chest like it belongs there. Like this is how things are supposed to be. I wish I could see Callie’s face to know if she’s feeling it too. She hasn’t said anything about staying.
Still, the way she’s looked at me these last few days… after everything we’ve been through…
I’ve got hope.
Hope that maybe she’s not ready to walk away.
Because I’m sure as hell not ready to let her go.
I can’t lose her again. I won’t.
Maverick trails in behind us, bags over one shoulder, and accepts a kiss on the cheek from my mom. She grabs onto his arms and doesn’t let go.
“And you? What’s your excuse?”
He ducks his head, all sheepish, like he’s fourteen again. “I don’t have one, ma’am. I should’ve come back long ago.”
Those words hit harder than I expect. After everything we said at the hospital, it still guts me. All the time we lost. All the silence we didn’t have to suffer through. But we can’t change the past. And I’m not about to let it mess up our future.
“Leave him be, Ellie,” my dad chimes in, crossing his arms. “We both know our boy’s just as damn stubborn. And just as guilty.”
I expect Maverick to brush it off. Throw out some smart-ass comment to deflect the heat. Instead, He just squares his shoulders and looks my mom in the eye, voice low, steady.
“No. It was me.”
He holds there. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.
Then, almost like he can’t help it, his eyes flick to mine.
“I’m the one that fucked up. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve come back sooner.”
My fingers curl reflexively on the crutch handle.
That’s enough.
My parents share a look, then both turn toward me with matching smirks.
Just how much did they know back then?
Apparently, more than we did.
Maverick grabs our bags, lifting them over both shoulders, and hovers behind me as I take the stairs one at a time. Those four steps nearly do me in. Callie’s on my other side, brows drawn tight with concern. Then she rushes ahead to the door, reaching to open it for me.
I walk in, and the smell of my mom’s homemade cooking hits me like a memory I didn’t know I was starving for. Nostalgia floods in, heavy and warm. Having Maverick and Callie here, too, just makes it clearer how much I’ve missed this.
“Your cooking smells amazing. Thank you for having us over, ma’am,” Callie says, ever the politest out of the three of us.
My mom gives her a warm smile, welcoming her without words. “Well, I’d ask you for help, but everybody here knows how that would turn out.”
She’s not wrong. Callie’s an awful cook. Her ability to burn rice has been a favorite story of mine. Still, she didn’t need to be so harsh about it.
Callie just laughs, knowing it’s all in fun, and turns to look up when Maverick wraps an arm around her back, resting it on her shoulder. His eyes are hooded, gazing at her. I’m sure he’d like to do more, but none of us is sure how to explain it to my parents, so we all agreed to be on our best behavior.
“I’ll help you, Mrs. Lawson,” Maverick offers, making his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves, revealing his thick arms. And I have to force myself to look away before I start drooling.
“That’s right,” Mom says. “You’re all grown up now.”
There’s a sadness in her voice that sneaks in at the edges, like she feels the weight of all the years we lost.
My dad claps his hands together, breaking the moment, and looks at Callie and me. “Alright, you two. You may be awful at cooking, but you sure can set that table.”
“Yes, sir,” Callie says with a nod and a smile, heading off after my mom and Maverick.
He holds me back with a firm hand on my arm, his gaze searching mine. “I’m happy for you, son.”
I startle a little, caught off guard, not sure how he’s read the situation, but he lets me go, giving me a firm push on the shoulder. I stumble forward, crutch snagging on the ground, and he catches me before I tumble.
“Oh, right,” my dad says, like he’s just now remembering I’m here to recover from my injuries. “Go sit down—but don’t think you’ll be able to use this as an excuse for everything.” His words are rough, but his tone is warm. He’s always been a softie underneath the bark.
It’s not long before the long wooden table is filled with dishes that smell so good my mouth waters—pot roast, homemade bread, pie in the oven.
I go to dig in, but Maverick, sitting to my right, slaps my hand and raises a single brow.
Ah, fuck. I forgot. We may not pray in this family, but there’s still a rule. Nobody eats until we give thanks.
Looking between Maverick and Callie, sitting on either side of me, I try to pour the truth into my words, quiet but clear, meant just for them.
“I’m grateful to have found what I lost. To feel that hollowed-out part of me finally filled.”
My voice cracks, but I push through.
“I’ve been walking in the dark for a long time… and it finally feels like the sun’s coming up.”
I take a long, steadying breath and hope they hear what I can’t say out loud. Not yet. Not here.
“I’m grateful to be surrounded by the people who matter most. That feeling of invincibility that I can do anything, so long as they’re beside me, is finally back.”
Maverick doesn’t look at me, but his hand finds my thigh under the table, wrapping around it tight. The tremble in his grip travels straight through me.
He’s saying everything without a single word.
Callie’s hazel eyes are locked on mine, wide and shining. A soft pink blooms across her cheeks, and her chest rises a little too fast.
God, I’d give anything to pull her into my arms and never let her go.
Across the table, I catch the look on my mom’s face.
She’s already picturing holiday dinners and baby showers and probably sewing a damn quilt.
“Let’s dig in before it gets cold and all your mom’s hard work goes to waste,” Dad says, scooping up a big spoonful of mashed potatoes.
Callie covers her mouth as she chews, eyes bright. “I’d never let her cooking go to waste. I’m pretty sure I dreamed about this.”
Conversation picks up fast, everyone talking over each other. Laughter echoes through the room, the kind that settles in your bones and stays there. A warm, easy buzz hums around the table.
Then my parents share a look.
Dad clears his throat. “We’ve been thinking about selling the farm.”
The words hit harder than a kick to the ribs. I choke on nothing, fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
“It’s a hard decision,” he says gently. “We’re getting older. It’s just… too much work now.”
Callie and Maverick both go still. Their faces say it all, like they’re losing something that belongs to them too. But they stay quiet.
This land runs through me. Dirt under my nails, sweat in the wood beams and floorboards.
No way in hell I let someone bulldoze it for condos or strip malls.
The pot roast on my plate turns to ash in my mouth.
“May I be excused?” I ask, already pushing back from the table. I can’t sit here and act like this is just news.
Like it doesn’t feel like the floor just dropped out from under me.
My dad doesn’t lift his eyes, just gives me a silent nod.
I push back from my chair and head for the door, doing my best not to stomp or let the mess of feelings inside me show.
I know they wouldn’t bring this up unless they had to.
And I know they’re not trying to hurt me.
But still… fuck.
The night air hits like a slap, cool against my overheated skin. I suck in a breath, lungs filling with the scent of hay, dirt, and worn leather. The smell of my childhood.
I rest my hands on the porch railing and stare out into the dark. The fields are shadowed now, barely visible. The barn looms in the distance, still standing. Still mine. That was my kingdom once. I used to sneak up into the rafters and nap for hours, sunlight on my face, nothing but time to kill.
So many summers lost to harmless trouble and wild dreams.
The door creaks behind me, and I half expect Callie. Or Mav.
“I told them to stay back,” my mom says softly, stepping up beside me. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”
She’s a freaking mind reader, always has been, never been able to get away with shit. “Your father and I have mulled this over for years. We wouldn’t have told you if we didn’t know this was the best decision. I know it’ll be hard to let this place go, but with no one else to run it, this is the only way your father and I can settle down.”
“I’m not letting this go. I’ll figure it out. Loans, sponsors. Whatever it takes.”
She hums low in her throat, not acceptance or denial, then asks the thing I knew she would.
“So Callie’s back.” She’s not one to tiptoe around something. So this is proof. She knows how delicate this topic is.
“She told me she’s just here for the summer. But I’m not letting her walk away. Not this time,” I say.
“Good. She’s always been what’s best for you. They both have.” My mom places a warm hand on my shoulder, then walks back inside, leaving me out here with my thoughts. Her words ring in my ears, confirming what I already know.
She’s always been it for me. Even when I didn’t have the words for it.
And Maverick… he’s always been part of that too.
It’s not just her. It’s them .
They’re the ones who make me feel whole.
And I think—no, I know —we could be everything if I can just prove we’re worth staying for.
By the time I come back inside, dinner’s long over, and the dishes are already washed and put away. I find Callie in her room two doors down from mine, and she greets me with that quiet smile that’s been undoing me since we were kids.
She wraps her arms around my waist and leans in, her cheek pressed to my chest like she can hear every storm still raging inside me.
And somehow, just standing here with her makes it a little quieter.
Losing the farm feels like losing the last piece of who I was before everything broke. But holding her like this? It reminds me that some things can still be mine.
“You smell good. Like outside. Like memories and trouble.” She nuzzles her nose into my chest, squeezing a little bit harder. Her own sadness shows in the way she holds me tight.
“Hm… not as good as you,” I say truthfully. She still smells like citrus and pomegranates, soft, warm, like she’s already curled herself into this house without meaning to.
I make a mental note to steal the name of whatever soap she’s using. The only thing better would be her smelling like me .
“Stop sniffing me,” she grumbles, giving me a shove, but there’s no force behind it.
I don’t let go. My hands settle on her hips, firm and steady, keeping her close as I lean back enough to look into her eyes.
“You’re one to talk. You had your face buried in my shirt a second ago.”
She shrugs, trying for casual, but her voice betrays her.
“Yeah… but that’s ’cause you smell like home.”
The words hit like a strike to the chest, instant, deep, permanent.
A ripple shoots through me, all the way down to my heels. The way she says home like she means it, like she wants it sets something warm and dangerous spinning in my gut.
Lately, I’ve started to think maybe knowing what she wants isn’t the problem.
Maybe it’s just giving her a reason to believe she could have it.
This time, I let her go when she pulls away and take a seat on her bed. I watch her run a brush through her long copper hair, the strands glowing in the dim lamplight, each stroke making it shine a little more. There’s peace in the mundane.
I can picture it so clearly, sitting like this every night. Her in my room. Us getting ready for bed.
Slowly, a pink flush takes over the skin at the nape of her neck, not immune to my attention. My gaze doesn’t stray.
She huffs and turns, waving the brush at me. “Why are you staring at me?”
I shrug, a loose smile tugging at my lips. “Just makin’ sure this isn’t a dream.”
She crosses the room and leans in. Her kiss is soft, reverent, and I sink into it like something I’ve needed for years. She pulls back but just barely. Her breath brushes my skin.
“It’s not.”
Barely a whisper, but it still runs straight down my spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
Does she know?
That I’m already picturing a life she doesn’t believe we can have?
Her in this house. Our kids running wild. Maverick fixing fences while I wrangle horses.
It’s the sweetest goddamn dream I’ve ever had.
I already know I’m not strong enough to let it go.
The part that guts me most?
She might be strong enough to leave it behind.
She kisses me again, deeper, needier. My arms go around her, anchoring her to me. Her mouth moves against mine, and I swear I feel her shaking. A low groan escapes me, unfiltered.
Then she pulls back.
Something flickers in her eyes, something distant.
Like she’s already slipping out of it.
Already pulling away from the fantasy.