Chapter 16
I’m not sure why the party ended so abruptly, but I’m glad it did. Even though it was nice to sit and bond with Lee after thinking for the last week he hated me, the pool party wasn’t my type of scene. I had expected either him or Pace to drive me back home.
What I hadn’t expected was for Colter to approach me, keys jingling in his hand and asking me if I’m ready to go.
The drive back starts out in thick, weighted silence.
Not uncomfortable, but after how weird he acted after confronting Laura for being rude to me, I’m not sure how to act.
Colter’s hand rests easy on the console between us, fingers tapping absently, close enough that the back of my hand picks up the warmth radiating from him.
His profile is sharp in the low glow of the dash, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
I sneak glances at him when I think he won’t notice—his jaw set but not clenched, the faint crease in his brow that always makes him look like he’s thinking ten steps ahead.
Does he regret being the one to drive me home?
Did he have no other choice? Sometimes I feel as if he knows more about me than I’ve told him.
He has this way of subtly acting as if I belong to him when we’ve barely even been in one another’s presence.
“You missing the city yet?” he asks suddenly, voice pitched low, like he’s testing the question because he’s afraid of the answer.
I sit for a beat, then shake my head. “Not really. I mean…sure, there are things I enjoyed. Coffee shops on every corner, places to go when you couldn’t sleep.
But it was mostly too loud and too crowded.
” My voice softens as the ache creeps in.
“And at night, you couldn’t see the stars because of all the city lights drowned them out. ”
My statement earns me a look. Quick. Sharp. He goes back to the road before I can read it. “Stars, huh?”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens at the memory of my mother.
“Before we moved to the city, when I was around six or seven, I can’t really remember.
We used to live in this big RV park out in the desert.
It was small and cramped, but whenever I was feeling boxed in, she would take me outside and lay a blanket down and we would watch the stars light up across the sky.
“I let out a long breath as I hold back the tears. “It was before her addiction really started.” Shaking off the nostalgia, I shrug a shoulder. “You don’t realize how much you miss the stars until they’re gone.
When we moved to the city, it was like the whole sky disappeared.
It became this hazy mess of light. Made me feel—trapped. Like I was living under a lid.”
Colter hums deep in his chest, almost approving, almost thoughtful. Instead of turning left at the ranch gate, he keeps straight, the truck rumbling over gravel.
“Uh… you missed the turn,” I murmur.
“Didn’t miss it,” he says, mouth quirking the faintest bit. “Taking a different one.”
We ride in silence until the fences fade behind us, the land stretching wide and endless.
Finally, he coasts the truck up a gentle slope, the engine easing down as he cuts the headlights.
Darkness swallows us whole. For a heartbeat, the world feels empty—like falling into nothing. Then, slowly, the night unfolds.
The sky is alive.
Stars scatter thick and brilliant overhead, so many that the black looks more silver than dark. They stretch in a way that makes my chest ache, like the world has cracked open to show me something I wasn’t supposed to see.
“Oh.” My voice slips out on a breath, the sound trembling with awe. “God, it’s beautiful.”
Colter doesn’t answer right away. He leans back against the headrest, one arm loose on the steering wheel, his eyes turned toward me more than the heavens. In the faint spill of starlight, I catch the shift of his expression. It’s not hard or guarded. Just open.
“Figured you might like it,” he says finally, like he hadn’t been sure until now.
I can’t look away from the sky. My chest feels tight and light at the same time. “Like it? I love it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen this many. It doesn’t feel real.”
“Gets better out here,” he murmurs. “No streetlights. No horns. Only this. It’s why my family had always fought to protect our land. Our legacy.”
I hug my arms around myself, suddenly aware of the cool night air seeping in through the cracked window. It smells of grass, earth, and the faint tang of sage carried on the breeze. The quiet is profound, almost startling after the steady hum of city life that used to press in from every angle.
“You bring a lot of people here?” The question leaves me softer than I mean it to, maybe betraying more than I want.
His gaze lingers, steady, unflinching. The corners of his mouth twitch into something warmer than his usual reservedness. “No. Just you.”
My breath catches.
The words hang between us, heavy and fragile, stitched into the quiet night like another constellation. I can feel the weight of them settle in my chest, right alongside the stars.
Neither of us speaks again for a long stretch.
I lean my head back against the seat, eyes tracing the vast sweep of sky, and for the first time in years, the cage around me doesn’t feel so tight.
Out here, I can breathe. The cab stays filled with silence, but it isn’t heavy anymore.
It feels… suspended, like the whole world’s holding its breath with us.
I keep my gaze on the stars, though I can feel his on me, warm and steady, like he’s trying to read more from my face than I want to give.
The quiet stretches until it almost feels like its own language. The only sounds are the cooling tick of the engine and the faint whisper of wind against the windows.
I pull in a slow breath, let it out even slower.
“It’s strange,” I murmur, almost to myself.
“I thought coming out here and living with John would feel like running backward. Like giving something up. But out here…” My throat tightens.
“Out here I don’t feel small. I feel—” I cut myself off, because the word which comes to mind feels too raw. Free.
Colter doesn’t push me to finish. He watches, still and patient, like the silence says more than anything I could try to explain.
After a long pause, he shifts, draping his arm over the back of my seat. Not touching, not pulling me in, but close enough I can feel the nearness of him. It’s grounding.
I tilt my head slightly toward him. “You knew I’d like this,” I say quietly.
“Yeah,” he admits. No arrogance in it, no self-satisfaction. Only fact. “I knew.”
My lips part like I might ask him why, but I don’t. Because the answer’s already written in the way he looks at me. It’s not rushed or demanding, but steady. Waiting.
I let my gaze slip back to the stars, and for a moment, it’s enough. There is only the vastness above us, the steady thrum of his presence beside me.
The spell doesn’t break all at once. It lingers, clinging to the cab as I finally lean back into my seat. My hands rest loose in my lap, though my pulse hasn’t slowed, not really.
Colter starts the engine again, headlights spilling over the gravel like liquid light. The stars dim against it, but the weight of them stays inside me, like I’ve tucked the sky away to keep for later.
Neither of us speaks as he guides the truck back down the winding road. The hum of the tires against dirt is steady, hypnotic. Outside, the landscape slips past in shades of shadow, trees pressed black against the horizon, the occasional fencepost catching a flash of light before vanishing again.
I steal a glance at him. His profile is carved in contrast—sharp lines, quiet control. One hand loose on the wheel, the other resting easy on his thigh. He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to. His presence fills the cab as surely as the silence does.
“Thank you,” I hear myself say, voice softer than I meant.
His fingers tighten once against the leather of the wheel. “For what?”
“For… showing me,” I answer. My gaze shifts back to the window, embarrassed by the weight in my chest. “For knowing I’d like it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, enough to catch in the glow of the dash. “I know you better than you think.”
Something flutters low in my stomach, but I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to—but because I’m not sure what to do with the truth of it.
The drive stretches, a rhythm of silence and headlights, until the ranch finally comes into view. The dark sprawl of the house, the muted glow of the porch light. Familiar now, though it still feels a little like stepping into another world.
He eases the truck into the drive and cuts the engine, and the sudden silence hums louder than the truck ever did. The porch light flickers faint against the dark, casting more shadow than glow.
I should move. Open the door, step out, break whatever this is hanging between us. But I sit there, fingers tangled in my hoodie, watching the way his hands rest on the steering wheel even after everything’s gone still.
When he finally lets go, it’s slow. Deliberate. He turns toward me, eyes steady, green catching what little light there is.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something. Something which might anchor this strange weightless feeling that’s been trailing us since the stars. But instead, he studies me, gaze flicking over my face like he’s memorizing the parts I don’t know how to hide.
“C’mon,” he says at last, voice quiet, rougher than before. “It’s late.”
I nod, though my chest feels tight, and push my door open. The night air folds around me, cooler now, carrying the faint scents of earth and hay. My boots crunch against gravel as I step down.
He falls into stride beside me, not touching, not saying a word. His presence is a steady pulse in the dark.
At the porch, he reaches the steps first, pulling the door open for me.
We stand on the porch for a breath too long, silence draped heavy between us. I tuck my hair behind my ear, eyes darting anywhere but his.
“Goodnight, Peyton,” he says, low, final.
I swallow, forcing my voice steady. “Goodnight, Colter.”
And then I walk into the house before I can look at him again, before I can ask for something I don’t know how to name.
The stars stay with me, though, burning behind my ribs, refusing to fade.
And a question remains on my tongue…who am I to Colter Shaw?