Chapter 2
Walker
I hit the dirt on the mound and knew before the pain fully bloomed that something was wrong.
My pitching arm wouldn’t extend. Heat radiated through my elbow, swelling tight beneath my skin, and the stadium noise blurred into a distant roar.
A circle formed above me—Coach Parks, Coach Turner, Everett, a couple of my teammates—faces tight with the kind of sympathy that makes you want to disappear.
Line drive. Straight off my curveball. Right to the elbow of my throwing arm.
We were only a couple of months into the season, and I was done. I felt it in my bones. The coaches knew it. The guys knew it. Our year—the year—was right in front of us, and I’d just watched it shatter in the dirt.
When I finally managed to stand, the crowd rose for a standing ovation that tasted like pity. Everett, the team’s head athletic trainer, kept a grip on my good side as he walked me off the field and straight back into the bowels of the stadium.
After X-rays and more prodding, I waited. A quiet conversation was had between Everett and Dr. Bennett that I tried not to read too much into.
Then the verdict: a fracture. No surgery, thank God, but I’d be in a cast for weeks and out for the season… maybe longer. The kind of longer no one wanted to say out loud.
By the time I got back to my place in Austin, reporters were already camped outside the building, hungry for a quote and a close-up. I slipped in through the service entrance and rode the elevator alone to the penthouse, my head tipped back against the wall.
What a fucking day.
My phone lit up. I hit the ignore button for what felt like the fifteenth time because I didn’t have the energy to be the version of myself that made everyone else feel better.
Four missed calls from Addison. Two from Ava. Three from Weston. And two from my parents.
I shouldn't have been all that surprised, though, considering the game was televised, and the entire country got to see me drop to the ground from the hit.
The original plan had been to drive to Primrose Hill after the game to celebrate my sister Addison’s engagement with the family. That wasn’t happening now. But if I didn’t answer soon, there was a very real chance my entire family would show up at my door.
After the misery of changing clothes one-handed, I sank onto my bed, grabbed my phone, and called my parents first.
My mom picked up on the first ring. “Walker—oh my God. Are you okay? We saw everything. Please tell me you’re okay.”
Guilt washed over me for not answering her calls. “I’m okay, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. Today’s just been… a lot.”
I reached over to grab the glass of water I’d placed on my nightstand and the bottle of pain meds Dr. Bennett had given me. I popped one of the pills into my mouth and took a swig of water.
"Sweetheart, you don't need to apologize. I'm just happy you called and that you’re okay. So, what did Dr. Bennett say?"
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration sparking again. "I fractured my elbow, no surgery though. I'm in a cast for four to six weeks. It'll take about three months for it to heal, and then it could take up to a year before I'm back."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son, but glad to hear no surgery," my dad replied, making it clear my mom had put me on speaker.
I exhaled hard, pain medicine bitter on my tongue. “I’m out for the season. We were supposed to go all the way, and now it’s gone… I was planning to retire after this season anyway, maybe I should just—”
“Stop.” My dad didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “You got injured a few hours ago. You’re not retiring today. Come home. Rest here. Get away from the noise. When it’s time for PT, you can see Dr. Howard.”
My chest tightened, the anxiety I’d been holding back curling through my ribs. My dad always got like this in a crisis—took control, made a plan. And right now, I needed someone else to hold the wheel.
“Okay,” I said, even though my throat felt thick. “I can do that.”
“Good. Call us when you’re on your way,” he said. “And get some sleep.”
My mom jumped back in, softer. “We love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too.”
When I hung up, I stared at my phone until the screen dimmed.
Then I opened the James sibling group chat and started typing.
Me: Sorry it took so long to get back to y'all. Long story short, I fractured my elbow, I'm in a cast, and I'm coming home tomorrow for the foreseeable future…
Addison: Thank God you’re okay! That scared the hell out of us. Happy you’ll be back home. Text me when you get in so I can come by.
Weston: Roger that. Glad you're okay brother. We’ll see you tomorrow.
Ava: We love you, Walk. See you tomorrow!
Me: Love y'all too. And congratulations Adds. Sorry I missed the engagement.
Addison: Don't worry about me, worry about getting better! But if you miss my wedding, you will be dead to me.
I laughed for the first time today, and it felt good. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease up a bit; my siblings always knew how to lift my spirits.
My dad was right.
Primrose Hill was where I needed to be right now.
Farrah crossed my mind before I could stop it. Going back home meant her.
I shoved the thought away. I’d dealt with enough for one day.
After punching in the code to my gate, I drove down the long, winding driveway toward my house, and immediately felt more relaxed than I had in the city.
Reporters had still been set up outside my building in Austin when I’d left, forcing me to sneak out the back door to my truck like some kind of criminal.
Home was different.
All limestone and steel, my house sat tucked into the hills, tall windows pulling in sweeping views of rolling land and wildflowers.
The matching guesthouse was nestled beneath old oaks and cypress trees, and just beyond it, off to the left, stood the barn.
It was built from the same pale stone and accented with a dark green roof.
As soon as I parked in the garage, I climbed out and headed straight there.
The barn always came first.
“Hey, Theo,” I called down the aisle, spotting my barn manager tossing hay into Tex’s stall.
“Hey, Walker. Welcome home, man,” he said, walking over to shake my hand before pulling me into a careful hug, mindful of my cast. Theo had worked for me for years, and felt more like family than staff.
“Thanks. How are the boys doing?” I asked, glancing toward my two horses, Tex and Ranger.
“They’re good. They’ll be happy you’re home for a bit,” he said, his gaze dropping to my cast. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “I’m alright. Pain’s not too bad. The whole situation just sucks.” I tilted my head toward the pasture. “How are the little dudes?” Referring to my two mini-donkeys.
Theo chuckled. “Troublemakers lately. They keep trying to break into Tex and Ranger’s pasture.”
I laughed. “Little shits.”
Tex popped his head out of his stall, and I walked over, rubbing my hand along his face. “I’m going to take the guys out for a walk.”
“Sounds good,” Theo said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I grabbed Tex’s halter, slipped it over his head, and led him outside to graze. Horses had always been my safe place. When I was a kid, I used to sneak into the barn and sit in the stalls whenever I’d had a rough day. They were calm. Steady. Honest.
My whole family rode. Horses were woven into our lives. Addison and Ava rode hunter/jumper, while Weston and I preferred western. It was just… home.
I patted Tex’s neck, his deep onyx coat gleaming in the sun. “I’m going to be around a lot more, buddy,” I murmured.
After walking him for a while and giving him a good grooming, I grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge in the tack room before heading for Ranger’s stall. He nickered softly when he saw me, immediately digging his nose into my pockets.
“Dude,” I laughed, slipping the halter over his head. “There’s nothing in there. Chill.”
I led him outside to graze, enjoying the quiet until Ranger suddenly lifted his head, ears pricked toward the driveway.
Moments later, Addison’s SUV pulled in. She and Dean climbed out and headed straight toward me.
Addison walked up to me and pulled me into a hug. “Welcome home, big brother. You doing okay?”
I stepped out of her embrace and shrugged. “I’m alright. Just taking the boys out for a walk.”
Addison reached up to pat Ranger’s neck, all easy confidence and quiet authority—the kind you earn over years with hard work and horsemanship.
She’d built Mountain Laurel Farm from the ground up and made a name for herself in the hunter/jumper world, training horses and riders with the same intensity she brought to everything else in her life.
Dean stepped up beside her, shaking my hand before pulling me into a brief hug.
He was a veterinarian, calm and unflappable.
Exactly the kind of man my sister needed.
The two of them fit in a way that made sense.
After everything Addison had poured into her career, she’d found someone who matched her stride instead of asking her to slow down.
Watching them together made it obvious they’d already survived their share of hard things and come out stronger for it.
“Sorry about everything, man,” Dean said, his eyes full of genuine empathy as he squeezed my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said. “It is what it is.”
I’d only been home a couple of hours and was already exhausted from the sympathy and concern. I just wanted to be alone with my horses—but then another car pulled up.
Ava hopped out of the car and nearly ran me over, flinging herself into my arms and narrowly avoiding my bad arm.
“Walk! I’m so happy you’re home, and you’re okay,” she said, squeezing me tight.
I laughed as I worked my way out of her embrace.
Ava had always moved through the world with unapologetic confidence. Bold, magnetic, and entirely unashamed of taking up space. Where Addison was steadiness and quiet awareness, Ava was instinct and ease, saying exactly what she wanted and expecting the world to adjust accordingly.
She was a lawyer—sharp, strategic, and impossible to corner—and she carried that same precision into every part of her life. Fiercely independent and brutally honest about her boundaries, Ava didn’t cling or overexplain. She decided.
“Easy, Avs,” I laughed, trying to breathe. “I don’t need you breaking a rib too.”
She winced. “Oops. Sorry.”
We hung out in the barn for a bit while I groomed Ranger. Well, they talked, and I groomed Ranger. Socializing wasn’t really in me right now, but I knew it made them feel better. Dean eventually caught on and suggested iced coffee.
Smart man.
Once they left, I exhaled.
Finally.
I called my parents, swearing I would be at the winery tomorrow to see them. I just didn't have the energy for them today. Weston texted me later in the day, saying he was coming by with a pizza from Primrose Slice and beer for dinner.
I could deal with my big brother.
Honestly, in times like these, when I was pissed off and in a bad headspace, Weston was probably the only person I actually wanted to be around.
He just knew how to handle me when I was like this, always had.
I didn't show this side to many people —I was always the easygoing, fun-loving brother.
That was what was expected. When this side came out, people never knew what to do with me.
But Weston did.
He walked in, dropped the pizza on the counter, popped two beers open, and handed me one.
“You look like shit, little brother.”
I scoffed. “Thanks.”
“It’s okay not to be okay,” he said bluntly. “You’re allowed to be pissed. This fucking sucks. Stop pretending everything’s fine so everyone else feels better.”
Well. Shit.
He wasn’t wrong.
I sighed. “I am pissed. This was supposed to be our year. And I don’t even know if I’ll come back from this. All I want to do is hide out here until I’m healed. My head’s a mess, man.”
Weston sat down on one of the barstools, resting his massive forearms against the counter.
My older brother was huge. We were close in height—I was six-foot-four, he stood closer to six-foot-five and never let me forget it—but that was where the similarities ended.
I was in peak athletic shape, a professional pitcher at the top of my game, but Weston was built differently.
Thicker. Harder. Like his body had been forged for endurance instead of performance.
He was a Navy SEAL, and it showed in everything from the tattoos covering his arms to the controlled, deliberate way he moved through the world.
Most people found him intimidating as hell, quiet and unreadable.
But I knew better. Weston didn’t waste words.
When he showed up, it meant something. Weston was fiercely loyal and deeply protective.
“You’ll be back,” he said, steady and certain. “You’re a fighter. This isn’t the end. Not even close.”
I clinked my beer against his. “Thanks for coming over, West.”
We spent the rest of the night eating pizza, drinking beer, watching sports—and not talking about my injury.
And that was exactly what I needed.