29. Silas
“Not bad, Mr. MVP,” Jenny comments the following Wednesday, the day before she’s due to send my clearance paperwork to the team. Not the ones that get me back on the lineup. Not yet. But the shit that tells them in her “professional opinion,” I’m ready for ice-time. Just not playing time.
Jenny packs up her supplies and clipboard. “Remember, skating only. Straight lines, controlled edges. No contact. No games.”
I run my hand through my hair.
Fuck. I don’t know what’s worse. Staying on the ranch for another few weeks, or getting on the ice without taking a shot. Know one thing for sure, as long as I spend my days with Storm and Max, neither will be so bad.
I nod like my progress doesn’t land somewhere between relief and frustration, slipping my sweater back on. “What do I have to do to play again? To pass whatever tests the team’s planning?”
She grimaces. “Not much beyond what we’re already doing. Your range looks better, and you’re not as sore as last week. Whatever you’re doing outside our sessions—it’s working.”
I scoff. “Thought I might’ve pushed it a few days ago. Tried saddling my old horse. Then ended up riding him.”
She smirks. “Believe it or not, that kind of controlled movement can actually help. As long as you weren’t pulling or jerking with that arm.”
“I wasn’t.” I scratch the scruff along my jaw. “Had a good trainer.”
“Oh, I’ve seen her.” Jenny rolls her eyes. “But no, I wouldn’t worry. You probably did more good than harm. Just don’t push it. Training and testing still come first. And that part could take weeks.”
“Course it will,” I mutter.
“But I’ve got some good news.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t think there’s any reason for you to stay at the ranch. You could probably do just fine back home in Denver. Sure there’s a team therapist who can take over from here.”
A pit forms in my stomach. “Somethin’ I said?” I tease.
She huffs. “Cute. I know you want to get outta here. No offense taken.” She winks and heads back to her car.
Go home.
There’s an idea. Leave Storm—go back to nothing.
Except training, tests, scrutiny, and disappointing everyone around me because of something I’m not good at.
I pull my phone out in the parking lot and send my agent a quick update before I can overthink it. Might as well get his reaction over with.
Silas: Cleared for skating only. No games.
He responds with a thumbs-up and a, We’ll talk later. I take that as code for “hang tight.”
Two weeks ago, I’d have said, Got nothing else to do.
But now I do.
Storm. Max. And everything I want for them.
Things I know damn well she won’t let me do.
Get him a phone so we can always reach him. So he doesn’t feel so left out in a world growing on technology. Sign him up for a sport—any sport.
I want to take Storm out on another date. Maybe a movie. Kid-friendly of course. It’s easy around town, people don’t approach me as much here anymore. But I want to take her out of town too. Places I know she’d love.
Buy her a home. A real home.
I love her.
If the ache in my bones at the thought of ever leaving her behind is any indication—I love her.
Her heart, her commitment, her strength, her as a mother . . . a lover, I love it all. I want it all.
Checking my watch, I head toward the stables. Thursdays are her busiest days, with lessons and training so I know I’ll need to make my visit quick. At the very least tell her about my progress and maybe see what else I can do with my hands.
A familiar horse catches my attention. I stop in my tracks looking up at Tuck’s rider.
“Mornin’, son.” Dad hops off Tucker expertly, patting his head. “Givin’ him some needed exercise,” he tells me.
I draw closer, grabbing the reins. “I don’t mind,” I say with a grin as I stroke his hair, ignoring the way Dad squints at me the way he always does—like he’s measuring something invisible. I sigh, not even pretending I don’t see it. “What is it, Dad?”
“You’re walking a bit stiff—lost in thought?” he asks.
The second he says it I feel the tension in my shoulders. The pit in my stomach at the realization that I’m in love with Storm.
That I’m scared to death of her not choosing me—the way I didn’t choose her all those years ago.
And I don’t know what to do about it. “I’m fine.”
He puffs his chest, sucking in a slow breath. “Dallas says you still owe him those beers.”
“How ’bout I buy him the local bar and get on with it?”
“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been short with your brothers—more so than usual. You’re clearly avoiding me. You think you can fool me with your too-cool-for-school smirks and small talks?”
I cough out a laugh. “Dad. I’m good. I’m not avoiding you.” I throw up my arms. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“’Cause you have to be. You don’t come by the house. Sit with me at The Shack, tell me how you’re doin’, talk about things that are clearly eatin’ you alive.”
“What do you want from me? You want me to tell you I’m scared? That this is all I know and I just spent the last year fucking it all up by hiding the pain? That I really, really don’t want to have to come back here because I’ve never . . . known where I fit?”
His jaw tenses. “Fuck you talkin’ about?”
I shake my head. “Forget it. This is why I don’t sit on a porch with you like I’m some forgotten kid who needs attention. I’m not that kid anymore,” I snap.
He swallows, hurt crossing his features, but it’s short-lived.
“I got everything I needed after leaving. People who gave me a chance and saw me for what I’m good at.”
Dad nods slow. “We saw it too,” he says quietly.
“Saw what?” I nearly snap.
He takes the reins since I’m holding them with my right hand. “We don’t have to sit. Let’s walk.”
I glance in the direction of the barns and release a breath, turning with him as we walk Tucker along the fence line. Mid-fall wind moves through the fields and the quiet stretches until he speaks.
“Surely you don’t think your mother and I thought any less of you than your brothers. Or that we didn’t think you’d be just as capable. Take a look around,” he says, lifting his eyes to our surroundings. “This really what you want?”
“Not now. But it could’ve been.”
His chuckle is light. Glancing at my feet, he stops at a nearby pit of dirt. “Dig your shoe into the dirt.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I asked.”
I roll my eyes, getting his point, but not willing to cause any unnecessary damage to my sneakers. “You’re missing my point, Dad. They were trained from the time they could walk. You taught them everything. Horses. Fencing. Rotations. All of it. I didn’t get that the same way.”
He grunts and keeps walking, head down like he’s weighing his words. I step in stride with him, not expecting a response at all.
“I don’t ignore things right in front of me, Silas.
” He lifts his head. “It’s a big ranch. I built and know every part of it.
Even as it changes and grows every year.
” He takes a breath. “But I pay attention to my kids more. I dragged your brothers up at five a.m. every morning, even on school days, to tend to morning chores. Part of me hated it. They were growing boys, they needed sleep. Got calls from teachers about them falling asleep in class. Coaches throwin’ them off teams because they might have the strength, but not the stamina after school.
” Dad’s mouth tightens. “It’s all they knew.
They didn’t have a chance to want anything else.
I didn’t give ’em one.” He scrubs a hand over his face.
“And until about a year or so before your mother died, it was our plan for you too.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him.
“This ranch,” he continues, gesturing around us, “it’s a lot.
Responsibility. Pressure. Expectations. I didn’t always know where the line was.
That’s why having you an equal part of it was never a question.
” He looks at me. “Until you were old enough. And by then . . . maybe you’re right.
Maybe I was tired. But not tired of training.
Tired of shoving the lifestyle down your throats.
Especially after your mom and I started coming to your games.
You were good out there. You had friends, sportsmanship, something you loved—not something expected of you. ”
I swallow. Something in my chest releasing even as all this still settles in.
“I know you felt like . . . you showed up late to your own family. But you didn’t.
You remember chasing horses and chickens and the responsibilities like you wanted it.
But you weren’t. You were chasing your brothers.
A reason to hang out with them. Because I didn’t give them a chance to be kids when they needed to be. ”
My shoulders fall with a breath. “Dad.”
“I took a little more convincing to slow down with you, but your mother saw a different future for you instantly. Told me to lay off the kid.” He looks out toward the pasture for a long moment before continuing.
“Made me remember a promise we made to each other after Wilder was born. If any of you boys found something you loved outside this ranch, we wouldn’t be the reason you stayed.
Ranch life isn’t for everyone. It was so long ago, never crossed our minds with Dallas and Wilder.
” There’s a beat before he glances over at me.
“You were the only one who looked like you might fly somewhere else.” He clears his throat.
“Guess she didn’t want me . . . clipping your wings or whatnot before you even tried.
” He chuckles lightly. “You were our last chance at getting this parenting thing right. Wanted to watch you chase something that was just yours.”
“So you didn’t train me because . . .”
“Because we didn’t want it for you,” he says simply. “Sure, you showed up for it, but it was for all the wrong reasons. So your mother kept teaching you to ride. Spent time with you because she never got much of a chance with your brothers.” He glances down. “Always envied that about her.”
I swallow hard, suddenly missing Mom that much more.
“Dallas and Wilder are my biggest pride as a rancher, and a parent. You’re my biggest pride and success as a dad.”
The sincerity settles heavy in my chest. And I’m quiet for a long moment. I’ve spent years thinking his distance meant I was a disappointment. Turns out, it was a choice. A thoughtful one.
My silence seems to stretch too long. Dad lets out a sigh. “Now I’m startin’ to think I went about it all wrong.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t. I mean, givin’ me some sort of clue might’ve helped, but . . . I get it.”
He scoffs. “Damn right you get it. You didn’t suffer for it either. You think I don’t know how much those shoes cost? That you got more money in the bank than these fools probably do?” He points back toward the Saddle Room.
“That’s because they don’t know how to manage their money.”
“And you do?”
“What? You think my major was hockey in college?”
He shrugs. “Wasn’t it?”
I laugh. “I took finance, Dad. Sports isn’t a major.”
“Then why don’t you go teach ’em somethin’ instead of sneakin’ in time with your girlfriend while she’s workin’?” He perks his brows at me.
I glare at him like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t you have like bingo or chess dates or whatever retired ranchers do?”
“Course not,” he smirks. “I’mma go sneak in some time with my girlfriend while she’s workin’.”
I laugh and shove him playfully.
For a moment, neither of us speaks as we walk along the river. “Don’t be scared. It’ll all work out.”
“I’m not scared,” I tell him. “I’m just not ready for this to be where it ends.”
“You’re twenty-nine. Practically a kid. You’ll heal fast.”
He’s not wrong, if I were five years older with the same injury—scrutiny would be harsher.
“I don’t know who I am without it,” I mutter out loud for some reason.
“I do.” He nods his head back. “She does.”
I scoff. “Suppose she does. Even if she does call me hotshot every chance she gets.”
He chuckles, slapping my back. “That’s just a little reminder she set for herself.”
It takes me a minute to get the meaning. And I pause walking. “You mean that I’m leaving?”
He nods.
“How do you know?”
“Why do you think we tease you as much as we do? It’s how we deal with it. You’re a hotshot. This is your home and you’re always welcome. But you don’t belong here.”