46. Maverick
Chapter 46
Maverick
It’s early. That pale, gray-gold kind of dawn that doesn’t give a damn if you’re not ready.
I slam the tailgate shut and rest my palms on the edge of the truck bed, letting the silence settle around me. There’s not much left to pack, just a few last-minute things Callie’s grabbing from inside, but I don’t move. Don’t talk. My chest is too full.
Colt’s next to me, adjusting a ratchet strap. I watch him out of the corner of my eye like he might fall over. Like if I blink, he’ll vanish altogether.
We spent our childhoods here, barefoot summers and bruised-up winters, secrets traded under porch lights and fireflies. It’s quiet now. Different. But in the kind of way that settles into your bones instead of sliding off your back.
Two weeks. That’s all it was. But fuck, it changed something.
Colt nudges me with his shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I lie because I’m not sure how to explain what this place feels like now. Like coming home to a version of myself I didn’t know I missed.
He doesn’t push. Just nods and turns back to the strap.
Behind us, the front door opens. Callie steps out with her hair twisted up and a duffel slung over one shoulder. She looks like summer and heartbreak. Like every good thing I ever thought I couldn’t have.
Colt’s mom meets her at the bottom of the steps and pulls her into a hug so tight it makes my throat close. “This will always be home, you know,” she says, quiet but not casual. Loaded.
Callie doesn’t say anything right away, just hugs her back and nods into her shoulder. When she pulls away, her eyes are a little glassy, but her smile’s easy.
Colt’s dad clasps my hand in that no-bullshit way he always does, then gives me a look like he already knows. Like he’s waiting for me to figure it out too. “Come visit, anytime,” he says, then glances at Colt and Callie like he’s drawing a damn map for me.
I nod, jaw tight. “Thanks.”
Callie tosses her bag into the back seat and slides into the passenger side, her bare foot hanging out the window before the door’s even shut.
I take the driver’s seat, adjust the mirror, and sit there for a second with my hands on the wheel. Gravel crunches under Colt’s boot as he walks around and climbs into the back seat. His hand settles on the console, and she takes it, like it’s second nature, like they’ve done this a hundred times before
I turn the key, and the engine hums to life.
The rearview mirror catches the porch one last time. Colt’s parents stand there like a postcard, his dad with an arm slung around his mom’s shoulders, both of them waving, both of them watching us go like they know something we don’t.
Something in my chest shifts. A slow, hard tug behind my ribs.
We pull away. Tires crunch against the gravel. The house gets smaller, and unwanted memories start to replay.
The hospital.
That stink of bleach and panic.
Callie’s voice cracked as she fought to stay calm speaking with the nurse.
Colt too pale, too still, blood streaked on his brow.
And me…standing there, pretending I wasn’t fucking terrified.
There’s no such thing as easy in this sport. One bad second is all it takes.
I used to live for the rush. Now, it’s the fastest way to lose them both.
The high doesn’t thrill me anymore. It guts me.
Because now I’ve got more to lose than just myself.
Callie glances over at me, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t ask again, just lets go of Colt’s hand and threads hers with mine.
It’s that quiet kind of love, that knowing kind. It hits hard.
The two weeks felt like a piece of heaven. Cold beers. Fireflies blinking lazily in the dusk. No words, just Callie’s head on my shoulder and Colt’s foot nudging mine and that deep, impossible peace.
Everything’s different now. That part of me that chased chaos just to feel something, it’s quiet for once. This place did that. The slow mornings. The way she looks at me. The way he does.
There’s something better than adrenaline. Something steadier.
That’s when it hits me.
I used to think bull riding was everything. That nothing else could match the way it made me feel free, wild, infinite.
But now?
Now I know better.
I don’t want the ride. I want the landing.
I want the after.
The hand on mine. The porch light on. The kind of love that doesn’t burn out the second it gets hard.
The truck hums beneath us, the road wide open ahead.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing the ride.
I’m chasing them.