3. Blaze
3
Blaze
Coming home was supposed to help, but so far, it’s just making me want to punch something.
At least Wildfire doesn’t talk back.
The stables are my sanctuary. They always have been. The second I push the creaky wooden door open, the familiar scent of hay and leather wraps around me. I inhale deeply, letting the calm seep into my bones. Inside, the horses stir, some lifting their heads to glance at me, others too busy munching on their feed to care. But there’s only one I’m here for.
“Wildfire,” I call softly, walking down the row of stalls. His ears flicker before he turns his head to look at me, his deep, black coat gleaming in the dim light. He’s grown even more regal over the years, his broad, muscular frame a reminder of the countless hours we’ve spent together.
From the moment he was born, this horse has been mine. We’ve been through everything together—highs, lows, and everything in between.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, stepping into his stall. He nudges my shoulder, a familiar, comforting gesture. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too.”
I grab a brush and run it over his coat. With Wildfire, there’s no judgment. No lectures. Just a quiet understanding. He doesn’t care about my suspension, my mistakes, or the mess I’ve made of my life. He only knows me as the sixteen-year-old kid who spent hours by his side, dreaming of hockey stardom and freedom.
Once he’s saddled, I lead him out of the stable and into the open air. The sky is a soft blue, streaked with clouds, and the fields stretch endlessly ahead. I swing onto his back, the leather creaking under my weight. As soon as I grab the reins, the tension in my chest starts to loosen. This is where I find my clarity.
We take off at a steady pace, Wildfire’s hooves crunching against the dirt trail. The rhythm is hypnotic, each stride carrying me further away from the weight of Blake’s words and the suffocating guilt that’s been chasing me for months.
The ranch opens up before us, endless and wild. The wind rushes past, tugging at my hair and cooling the heat still simmering from the argument. This... this is what I need. No noise, no pressure, just the freedom to let my mind wander.
Riding feels a lot like being on the ice—when I’m in control, when I’m moving, everything else fades away.
But it doesn’t take long for my thoughts to creep back in. Hockey, the one thing I’ve always relied on, is out of my reach for now. And the other distractions I’ve used in the past—casual hookups, reckless nights—aren’t an option here.
Not in Cedar Creek, where everyone knows everyone and the dating pool is filled with either family or old high school acquaintances. Add to that the fact that I’m still not ready to move on from my fiancée... if I even can. It’s a mess.
So, for now, I have this. Wildfire and the open land.
I guide him toward the wooded trails, letting him pick up speed as we weave through the trees. The sun filters through the branches, casting golden patches on the ground. My breathing evens out, my thoughts slowing as I lose myself in the ride. This is the closest I’ve come to peace in a long time.
It’s as we round a bend that I see her.
At first, it’s just a flash of movement—a streak of blonde against the muted greens and browns of the woods. I pull back on the reins, slowing Wildfire to a stop, and narrow my eyes to get a better look.
She’s jogging down the trail, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Her platinum hair catches the sunlight, bouncing with every step, and for a second, I think I’m hallucinating. Margot Robbie? It’s unnerving—the same sharp features, the same effortless elegance, even in a tank top and leggings.
What the hell is she doing out here?
This isn’t a jogging path in Central Park. These trails are full of uneven terrain, snakes, and—on a bad day—cougars. And yet, here she is, running like she doesn’t have a care in the world. My stomach tightens with an unfamiliar mix of irritation and concern. Doesn’t she know how dangerous this is?
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, urging Wildfire forward at a brisk pace to close the distance. The sound of his hooves catches her attention, and she glances over her shoulder. For a split second, her dark eyes meet mine, wide with surprise. Then, her pace falters.
That’s when I see it. Movement in the brush, too close to her for comfort. My gut clenches as I spot the tail—a long, unmistakable tail slithering through the grass.
“Don’t move!” I yell, my voice cutting through the stillness. She freezes mid-step, her head snapping toward me, confusion on her features.
I don’t wait for her to process what I’ve said. Kicking Wildfire into a gallop, I close the gap between us as fast as I can. My heart pounds, adrenaline surging as the tail disappears back into the undergrowth. Whatever it is—snake, cougar, something worse—I’m not taking any chances.
“Stay still!” I shout again, hoping she listens.
Wildfire’s hooves kick up dirt as we approach, and I lean low over the saddle, ready to intervene in whatever way I need to. Margot’s eyes are locked on mine now, wide with fear and a flicker of trust—like she knows I’m here to help.
The world narrows to this moment, the danger in the brush, and the stranger who has no idea what she’s wandered into. I’m not sure what’s about to happen, but one thing’s for damn sure—I’m not letting anything happen to her.
And then, the movement in the brush explodes.