Chapter 24 Quentin
TWENTY-FOUR
QUENTIN
He drove Sadie out to Pryor Mountain for three very logical reasons.
One, it was stupidly beautiful. Two, it stayed open in the winter, which felt important given the whole snow situation.
And three, it had been Delly’s favorite, and if he was honest with himself, that reason was doing most of the heavy lifting.
He hadn’t been out here in years. Not since Delly used to drag him up trails like she was training for a mountain goat Olympics, pointing out ridgelines and swearing she saw wild horses every single time.
He figured if he squinted hard enough, he could almost see her still, hands on her hips, daring him to keep up.
Today, though, he was mostly just trying not to skid off an icy road in front of a woman who had already made it very clear she would judge him forever if he died proving a point.
Montana winters were not to be trifled with.
He knew that. He’d grown up here. Roads like this turned on you without warning.
And yet here he was, white-knuckling the wheel, risking his own life and probably his insurance deductible, all to convince Sadie Murphy that nature was not, in fact, her mortal enemy.
She had a talent for making him do stupid things. Big ones. Weather-related ones.
Sadie sat beside him, her nose practically glued to the window, eyes wide as they scanned the snow-covered peaks and dense evergreens. The late afternoon sun cut through the clouds, throwing light over the frozen reservoir.
For someone who claimed to hate nature, she looked suspiciously enchanted.
Quentin grinned and bit back the urge to say I told you so, because he wanted to live. Instead, he let the silence sit, warm and easy, broken only by the low rumble of the truck and her occasional quiet hum of interest.
Eventually, she muttered, like she’d lost an argument with herself, “Okay. Fine. Maybe this doesn’t completely suck.”
He smiled, smug but controlled. “That’s the enthusiasm I was hoping for.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she warned, pointing a finger at him without looking away from the view.
“Wouldn’t dare.” He lifted one hand in surrender, then reached into the cup holder and pulled out an orange. “Orange?”
She eyed it like it might explode. “Is this a trick?”
“Only if you’re allergic to vitamin C.”
She considered this, then shrugged. “Alright.”
“Peel it?” he asked, flashing her his most shameless smile.
Her eyes narrowed. “You absolutely just wanted me to peel it for you.”
“Correct,” he said easily. “I ruin them. I panic and bite straight through the rind.” He nodded at her hands. “You’ve got the nails. The skill set.”
She sighed dramatically but peeled it anyway, neat spirals of rind dropping into her lap as the citrus smell filled the cab like bottled sunshine. When she handed him half, it was with exaggerated disdain, even as a smile betrayed her.
Quentin took it, brushing her fingers lightly, more of a touch than necessary. “Encontrar su media naranja,” he murmured as he turned a slice over in his hand.
“Pardon?”
“It’s a Spanish phrase,” he said. “Means ‘to find your half orange.’ Like your perfect match. The other half that fits just right. No other piece will do.”
He popped a slice into his mouth, chewing slow.
The words had come out softer than he meant, heavier too, like they'd slipped past the filter between his brain and mouth. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it.
Not when she barely tolerated him most days.
Not when a line like that probably scared the hell out of her, especially with her whole allergic-to-commitment thing.
Sadie looked down at the orange in her hands, turning a piece between her fingers. Her mouth twitched as if she were weighing a dozen responses: sarcasm, deflection, maybe something sharper.
Finally, she snorted. “That’s a very poetic way of saying I just peeled your fruit.”
Quentin smiled, careful now but still chasing the thread between them. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been waiting for someone to peel an orange for me my whole life.”
She rolled her eyes, slower this time. Her fingers curled tighter around the peel.
After a beat, Quentin nodded toward the windshield. “I forgot. You probably didn’t see much snow growing up in San Diego.”
“I’ve seen it on set in Maine and New York. But never like this. It feels… untouched. Like everything is holding its breath.”
He followed her gaze to the evergreens, snow falling thick and silent. In the distance, the mountains stood steady and familiar, half-lost in the swirl of white.
“Montana does that,” he said. “Slows everything down. Makes you hear things you didn’t know were speaking.”
He watched the snow shine in her eyes and then looked back at the mountains, the old constants that had always been there for him.
There had been a time when he barely noticed them, when the wide open space felt empty instead of endless, when the quiet seemed suffocating instead of calm, and when the people felt more like background than home.
Back then, all he wanted was to leave, to see what waited past the edges of this vast, quiet place.
Los Angeles had promised everything. Bright lights, packed rooms, applause on cue. And somehow, he had never felt more alone than he did standing in crowds that only loved the idea of him. Alone from the people who’d loved him before he was anyone. Alone from his family. From Delly.
God, Delly. He had traded time for hope, thinking success could somehow save her.
He told himself that if he made enough money, booked the role, landed the deal, he could buy her more time, better doctors, maybe even a miracle.
But it hadn’t mattered. She was gone, and no amount of fame or money would ever bring her back.
He pulled the truck over, the tires crunching against the snow-packed road.
The world outside was quiet, blanketed in white, the kind of stillness that pressed against his chest. They sat for a while and his eyes searched the horizon.
And that’s when he saw it. Sadie followed his gaze as he nodded toward the open field.
A lone horse, dark against the snow, stood near the tree line, its breath curling in the cold air. Its coat was a deep, smoky gray, dusted with snow. Its breath curled in the cold, mane tangled by wind, body taut—half wild, half wind. Something in Quentin’s chest pulled tight and didn’t let go.
Delly had loved this place. She used to beg him to drive out here, swearing it was magic. She wasn’t wrong. This was one of the last stretches where the land still decided for itself. Where wild horses ran because no one had figured out how to stop them.
Sadie inhaled sharply beside him. “Holy shit.”
His mouth tipped, barely. The ache stayed put. “Nothing compares.”
She just watched, wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen something so wild, so free. For once, she didn’t crack a joke or make some sarcastic remark. She just took it in.
The mustang exhaled, steam curling from its nostrils before it took off, hooves kicking up snow, its dark shape cutting through the white landscape like a shadow in motion. It raced across the plain like it had no destination. Just motion for the sheer, reckless pleasure of it.
Quentin watched it disappear over the ridge, his heart thudding hard against his ribs. Something about it stuck with him. The rawness, the freedom, the way it never once looked back.
Sadie was watching as the last traces of the mustang melted into the horizon.
She looked almost spellbound, her breath fogging against the window, her fingers curled lightly against her lap like she wanted to reach out and touch something untouchable.
It wasn’t often he saw her like this. So unguarded and open.
Quentin forced himself to look away from her, to pretend like the way she looked right now didn’t knock the air out of him.
“They’re not as common as they used to be,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little rougher than before. “But some still roam free.”
“I didn’t even know wild horses were still out here,” she murmured, her voice soft, like she was afraid speaking too loudly might break the spell. “That was… incredible.”
He glanced at Sadie, her profile illuminated by the soft, shifting light of the snow outside.
In some quiet, inexplicable way, the horse reminded him of her.
Always running. Always chasing something just beyond reach.
Always wary of standing still too long, like stopping might turn into settling and settling might turn into losing herself.
She didn’t seem to realize that sometimes staying could be a choice, not a cage. That maybe finding the right person didn’t mean losing yourself. It just meant finding someone who could run beside you. Someone who didn’t hold you back but kept pace with you, step for step, breath for breath.
The words rose, lingered, and quietly faded. Too much, too soon. So instead, he just held her gaze a second longer than he meant to, that unspoken thought lodging itself somewhere deep, stubborn and quiet.
The wind whispered against the truck, the wild horse was long gone over the ridge. Quentin tapped the steering wheel, but his thoughts stayed close. They always did.
In the quiet, the ghosts came. And, as always, they led him to Delly. She used to sit right there, eyes bright, pointing out every wild horse like it was the first miracle she had ever seen.
Beside him, Sadie turned. Tilted her head as her eyes flicked over his face.
“I thought you loved this place,” she said softly. “Why do you look like someone just punted your puppy?”
“I would riot if someone kicked Rocco,” he said, nose wrinkling at the very thought.
Sadie lifted an eyebrow. “Rocco?”
“Our family dog. Completely spoiled. Lives better than I do. If reincarnation is real, I wanna come back as him.”
She snorted. “What, does he have his own house?”