Chapter 26
COLE
It’s been three days since Ella lit into her brothers, three days since her voice cracked through the air like thunder, three days since I stood out on their patio listening to every raw, painful confession she threw at them.
I didn’t mean to listen. I’d come by the house to consult Hank about the project, but the moment I heard her voice—strained, shaking, and nothing like the bright girl everyone thinks she is—I froze.
I shouldn’t have stayed. I should’ve walked away, given them privacy, but something kept my boots planted to the ground as her words spilled, each one slicing through me.
She’s been carrying everything since she was seventeen—guilt over things that were never her fault, pain her brothers should’ve helped her shoulder instead of letting her bury it.
I knew she hid her pain well, but I didn’t know she hid it that well.
It’s haunted me ever since.
I can’t get the sound of her voice out of my head—angry, hurting, exhausted. And beneath it all, the truth I missed: she’s strong, but she’s been strong alone for far too long.
Aria slides onto the porch beside me, kicking her heels against the step. She has her helmet under one arm and her riding gloves on. She looks at me expectantly, then at the corral in the distance where Daisy is trotting slow circles.
“Daddy?” she calls softly. “Um… is Miss Ella coming to train me today?”
The question carries more weight than she understands. My chest tightens before I can answer.
“She’s… taking some time,” I tell her gently, resting a hand on her back. “She’s okay, but she’s resting.”
Aria bites her lip. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, baby.” I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her hair. “This is grown-up stuff. Not your fault.”
She nods slowly, but her shoulders slump. “Miss Ella makes training fun, and she likes it when I get better. She smiles real big.”
“I know she does,” I whisper.
She peers at me, expression small. “Do you think she’s still gonna train me?”
My throat goes tight because I don’t know the answer. After the way we ended things, after how much pain she’s in… I can’t promise anything.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say. “For now, how about you practice warmups on your own? The way she showed you.”
Aria nods again, but it’s halfhearted. “Okay.”
She jogs down the steps and heads toward the barn. I stay sitting, watching her go, feeling like the biggest coward alive. The little girl deserves stability. Ella deserves love. Instead they’ve both been stuck dealing with the fallout of my fear.
I stand and start walking, not consciously choosing a direction, just moving because sitting still makes everything worse. I end up near the far fence line overlooking the training corral, the same spot where I’ve found myself more than once these last few days.
I’m surprised to find Ella here. I didn’t expect her to be. She’s been hiding since our own blowout, so this is unexpected.
She’s opposite the girls, leaning against the rail as Aria trots a slow circle.
Her posture gives her away immediately. Shoulders slightly hunched, arms folded like she’s holding herself together from the inside. The fire she carried before is quieter now—not gone but dimmed. Even the way she corrects Daisy’s posture sounds softer than usual.
I watch her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the bruise on her cheek from Calista long gone, but its shadow still lingering in my mind.
I screwed up the day I pushed her away. I know that now more than ever.
And listening to her fall apart in front of her brothers only carved that truth deeper.
She’s hurting from everything in her past—her accident, Zane’s accident, the break-in—and then I added to the pile.
I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her, tell her she doesn’t have to hide with me, that if she needs to break down, I’ll hold every shattered piece. But I stay where I am because I’m not sure I have the right anymore.
Hank appears beside me without a sound, the way older cowboys do when they’ve spent decades moving quietly around livestock. I glance at him, but he keeps his gaze on Ella.
“She hasn’t looked like that since she was seventeen,” he notes quietly.
My stomach drops. “Since the accident?”
He nods. “That broke her in ways she never let on. But she didn’t want Beck to drown any deeper, so she hid it. Same way she hid the fear after the break-in, and how much Zane’s accident hurt her.” Hank sighs, long and heavy. “That girl’s been smiling through hell for years.”
I swallow hard. “And I made it worse.”
Hank turns his head just enough to look at me. “You didn’t cause it. You just happened to be the last straw.”
It doesn’t make me feel better.
“You care for her,” he comments, not asking.
I nod. “More than I meant to. More than I deserve to.”
Hank lets out a short breath, almost a laugh. “Son, deserving’s got nothing to do with this. My daughter loves big. When she chooses someone, she chooses with her whole damn heart. She chose you, and you hurt her, yes, but you’re also the only man she’d let help her climb out of this.”
My chest pulls tight. “She asked for space from everyone.”
“She’s had three days. Any more and she’ll think you don’t want her back.”
I look at Ella again. She’s helping Daisy adjust her stirrups, her voice gentle, smile paper-thin. Something inside me cracks.
Hank claps a hand on my shoulder. “Go talk to her, fix this, before she convinces herself she’s better off alone.”
I hesitate. “Hank—“
“I’m her daddy,” he cuts in. “I know when someone belongs with my kid. And you do. Now go.”
He walks off, leaving me with no more excuses. If that ain’t him giving me his blessing, I don’t know what is.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and head toward her. She spots me when I’m still twenty feet away. Her spine goes straight, then stiffens. She murmurs something to Daisy and Aria, pats both horses, and sends the girls toward the barn.
By the time I reach her, the only thing between us is a few feet and all the hurt I caused.
“Ella.”
She tilts her head a little, not cold but guarded. “Cole.”
The name is soft on her lips, but the distance is unmistakable.
“I’m… sorry,” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“Walk with me?” she says instead.
I nod, relief loosening my chest a fraction. We fall into step side-by-side, heading toward the path that wraps behind the barns, towards the construction site. It’s awkward at first—two people who’ve kissed, fought, loved, hurt each other, and now don’t know what the hell they’re allowed to be.
She tucks her hands into her pockets. I keep mine at my sides so I don’t reach for her.
“So,” she starts, glancing at the dirt road ahead, “you heard my little… meltdown.”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I did. Everyone did.”
She groans, covering her face. “Kill me now.”
“Ella.” I slow my steps, and she reluctantly slows too. “I didn’t hear all of it. Just enough to know you’ve been carrying more than anyone realized.”
She peeks at me between her fingers. “It was humiliating.”
“It wasn’t,” I say. “It was honest.”
Her hand drops. “I hate crying in front of people.”
“You didn’t cry. You fought, and defended yourself for the first time in years.”
She kicks at a pebble. “It was still messy.”
“Maybe,” I allow, “but messy isn’t wrong.”
She looks up at me then, and the exhaustion in her eyes makes something inside me shift—something steady, protective, and immovable.
“I didn’t know. I thought you handled everything so well. I didn’t realize you only looked okay because you were taking care of everyone but yourself.”
She exhales. “I didn’t want anyone to know how much it still hurt.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
“You didn’t exactly give me space to,” she replies gently, not accusing, just stating the truth.
I nod, throat tight. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I pushed you away because I panicked. Because I felt like I was dragging you into my messy life. My divorce. My past. My ex. The guilt. The age gap. I… thought I was doing you a favor.”
“Cole,” she mumbles, voice soft and trembling, “you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. That’s my job. You just get to love me and let me love you.”
The words hit like warmth and ache mixing together. We stop walking without meaning to. The quiet between us is no longer awkward, just heavy with everything we should’ve said sooner.
She gives a small, tentative smile. “Can we try again? Both of us? But better this time?”
I step closer, just enough that I can feel the heat of her skin without touching her. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Better sounds good.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “We really suck at this, don’t we?”
“Only a little.”
“And we keep hurting each other.”
“We can stop. If we actually talk instead of running.”
Her eyes soften. “I’d like that.”
She takes a half-step forward, closing the last of the space between us. My hand lifts without thinking, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Her lips part, breath catching, and everything inside me pulls toward her like gravity itself shifts.
We lean in at the same time—her hand reaches for my chest, my fingers slide to her jaw, her breath trembles against my mouth—
Then chaos explodes behind us. Footsteps. Fast, and wrong.
Before I can turn, something slams into the side of my head. Pain detonates across my vision. Ella gasps, a sound that slices me in half, and I feel her grip on my shirt tighten before another blow hits her.
“Cole!” she cries, voice cracking.
I reach for her blindly, but hands grab my arms, twisting them back. A rough sack drops over my head, thick fabric choking off light and air.
“Get the girl!” someone barks.
Ella screams, high, terrified. “Stop! Let me go—!”
Another thud, and her scream cuts off.
“No!” I shout, thrashing, useless against the restraints. “Ella! ELLA—!”
Tape or rope binds my wrists. The ground tilts as I’m hauled backward, shoved into something metal. Ella’s body hits the space beside me a second later, limp but breathing. I hear the ragged edge of it before a second sack muffles the sound completely.
The last thing I register before the world goes black is her hand fumbling blindly toward mine… and me grabbing it like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.