THIRTEEN.
Ever
——————————
Roger.
I find myself sitting beneath the oak tree at the top of the gentle sloping hill, the long, slender branches swaying overhead like a living curtain that filters the late-afternoon sun into soft, dappled patches across my lap.
This is the one place on the entire ranch I’ve avoided since coming back.
I haven’t been able to bring myself here until now.
This spot used to be my refuge—my quiet escape whenever anxiety coiled too tight in my chest, whenever sadness pressed down heavy, or whenever I felt abandoned, waiting for a mother who might or might not come back for me.
It was also the place where I first fell in love.
And I say “fell in love,” but I was twelve and he was fourteen, so the words feel both impossibly true and embarrassingly childish in retrospect.
He appeared one summer afternoon without warning, stepping out from the barn like he’d always known exactly where to find me.
Our eyes met, and he didn’t say a word—just extended his hand.
I took it without hesitation and let him lead me up the hill to this very tree.
We sat together for nearly an hour in total silence, listening to the wind move through the leaves and the distant thunder of horses running across the pasture below.
I don’t know if he stayed quiet on purpose or if he was simply too nervous to speak, but it was exactly what I needed.
No questions, no forced cheer—just presence.
My mom had dropped me off that morning with the usual vague promises and hurried goodbyes, and Uncle Ray—ever practical—had insisted I go out to the stables to work instead of locking myself in my room to stew.
He said the horses and the open air would clear my head.
Looking back, I’m not sure my life has ever been the same since that day.
That long stretch of silence gave my racing thoughts somewhere safe to land.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and careful.
He asked my name, and I told him Grace—my middle name—because back then I hated the sound of Everette.
It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but I still regret not giving him the truth.
He told me he went by T.J., then he asked what had me so upset, and I unraveled.
I’m pretty sure I talked for a solid thirty minutes straight—pouring out everything about my mom, the uncertainty, the ache of never knowing when or if she’d come back.
He listened without interrupting, without flinching, without looking at me like I was broken or dramatic. He looked at me like he understood.
And then he made me a promise. He said if I wanted a different life, he’d come back and take me away from here.
He was asking me to run away with him—two kids who barely knew each other, plotting an escape under an oak tree.
It was absurd, reckless, thrilling. I didn’t know him, not really, but I trusted him completely in that moment.
I felt seen in a way I never had before.
He explained he couldn’t stay that day—he had to leave with the friend who had brought him to the ranch—but he’d be back tomorrow.
If I was waiting under this tree at five o’clock, we could start a new life together.
Even now, years later, the memory makes me smile at how ridiculous it was.
And yet it left a mark on me that never quite faded.
I can’t remember what T.J. looked like. The details have blurred and softened over the twenty-two years since then—his face lost to time.
When I got older and social media became more prevalent in our lives, I did try searching for him.
I used to type in every variation of “T.J.” and “Strawberry Plains, Tennessee” into search bars, hoping for a match.
But T.J. is a common nickname in the south, and without a full name I hit dead end after dead end.
Eventually I gave up. Then when I moved to Chicago, I let the memory slip away, buried under city noise and new routines.
It wasn’t until I was driving back here that his green eyes suddenly flooded my mind again.
And the longer I spend looking into Tobias’s eyes, the more I find myself convincing myself that he’s the same boy.
The same T.J. who sat with me in silence, who promised to take me away.
But the man standing in front of me today is so different from the quiet teenager I remember.
Older, steadier, rougher around the edges in a way that only time and hard work can carve.
Yet I can’t deny the pull I feel toward him—the way my pulse quickens when he’s close, the way his presence quiets the noise in my head the same way that long-ago silence did.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe it’s just the ache of wanting something familiar in a place that feels both like home and like a stranger’s house.
But every time he looks at me, I wonder.
I shouldn’t have let him kiss me—not like that, not with the kind of hunger that pinned me against the door and stole every rational thought from my head.
I should have pushed him away, turned, and walked out before things got that far.
But I didn’t. I wanted it. I wanted the press of his hands on my waist, the way his body crowded mine, the rough edge of need in his mouth.
I wanted all of him, and that raw want terrifies me more than anything else right now.
Because what if he’s not who I think he is?
What if this is just a fleeting spark that burns out and leaves us both scorched?
What if I have to sell the ranch to keep it from bleeding money, and Tobias ends up working for someone new who doesn’t understand what this place means to him?
Or what if I can’t stay—what if Chicago pulls me back, and I leave him here with nothing but memories of a few stolen nights?
There are too many what-ifs crowding my mind.
I groan and pull my knees tight to my chest, dropping my forehead onto my folded arms. What a mess. If I don’t single-handedly ruin this ranch with my own indecision, the tension simmering between Tobias and I is going to boil over and tear everything apart anyway.
In the distance, the steady rhythm of hooves on grass pulls me out of my spiral.
I lift my head slowly. Tobias is riding up the hill on Tacoma, June trailing close behind on her lead.
I straighten my legs, brush dirt from my jeans, and stand as they crest the rise.
My pulse kicks up at the simple sight of him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask the second he’s close enough.
He tosses June’s lead to me without breaking stride. “Aspen’s about to give birth. Thought you might want to be there.”
I don’t hesitate. I slide my foot into the stirrup, and swing up. We exchange a quick nod, then urge the horses into a lope down the hill toward the birthing pasture.
“You’re not squeamish, are you?” Tobias calls over the wind as he brings Tacoma back to a steady walk.
I glance ahead and see Aspen already heaving with labor. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, though my stomach flutters with nerves.
Dr. Moore and Serena stand off to the side with Jesse, keeping a calm, watchful distance.
I grip the saddle horn hard enough that my knuckles whiten.
I know this is routine—a precaution in case anything goes sideways, or in case one of the other mares decides to get protective—but the sight of Aspen straining still makes my chest tight.
Time stretches. Minutes feel like hours as we wait through the quiet.
Then, finally, a small brown foal slides into the world, slick and dark-haired, legs folding beneath it as it fights to stand.
My throat closes up. The foal wobbles, finds its balance, and stumbles toward Aspen’s side, nosing for milk with clumsy determination.
Tears sting my eyes as I try to keep them from falling, but the emotion swells anyway.
I’ve known this day was coming, but I didn’t realize how much it would matter. This is the first new life I’ve been part of on the ranch. For the first time, I don’t feel like an outsider looking in. I feel like I belong.
“You wanna name him?” Tobias asks quietly.
I stare at the tiny foal, still shaky on its legs, and shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
He looks over at me, surprised. “Why not? I think you should.”
I glance sideways at him. “You do remember what I named the cars, right?”
He scoffs, then chuckles low under his breath. The sound catches me off guard, and I whip my head toward him, eyes wide. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the corners of his mouth lift in a real, unguarded smile, and it’s the most beautiful thing I have seen.
“Are you laughing at me?” He leans forward in the saddle, grin widening.
“Sorry.” I nudge June forward until she’s directly in front of Tacoma, forcing him to look at me. He’s still smiling, still laughing quietly. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “but Gladys and Mandy are horrible names for cars.”
“They’re old ladies,” I counter. “It suits them.”
“No, that’s not how it works,” he says, and chuckles again. My heart flutters traitorously every time those laugh lines deepen around his eyes. “What would you name the horse?”
“Roger,” I say without a second thought, because it’s the first name that pops into my head.
Tobias laughs immediately, a deep, genuine sound that rolls out of him and makes my chest feel light even though I probably should be offended.
“God, Ever. That’s horrible,” he says, shaking his head as he looks past me toward the new mother and foal. But I freeze at the sound of my name on his lips. Not Princess. Not sweetheart.
“Did you just call me Ever?” I ask quietly, letting a little tease slip into the words.
His eyes flash to mine, quick and almost startled, like he didn’t realize himself what he let slip. “I thought you hated being called Princess.”
I shrug, a sly smile tugging at my mouth. “It’s growing on me.”
I nudge June forward, away from the lingering tension, until I reach the others.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Dr. Moore says when I draw up beside the group.
I glance back at Tobias. He’s still in the same spot, watching me with an intensity that makes my knees feel unsteady even in the saddle—desire and want written plainly across his face.
“He looks strong,” Jesse says. “I think he’s gonna be a great horse.”
“He stood up fast,” Serena adds. “Already walking like he owns the place.”
I watch the foal wobble on brand-new legs, nosing around Aspen’s flank, still trying to figure out how everything works. I’ve never seen a foal this young before, and there’s something almost miraculous about it—the way life just arrives and figures it out.
“Tobias said to name him Roger,” I tell them. Jesse bursts out laughing and shakes his head. Dr. Moore raises a skeptical brow.
“Roger?” he repeats.
“Yep,” I say, grinning. “It surprised me too.”
Jesse gives me a knowing look—he knows damn well that’s not Tobias’s idea of a strong horse name.
“You do know we might have to sell him eventually, right?” Jesse asks carefully. “You think Roger is our best sales pitch?”
I press my lips together. He’s right. A name like Tacoma or Arrow or Blaze would probably sound better on paper, carry more weight in a catalog. But that’s not me.
“How about Ranger?” I offer. “That’s close enough, right?”
“That’s a fine name,” Serena says, smiling warmly at me. “Though I can see Roger on him too. It’s got character.”
“See?” I say pointedly to Jesse, who rolls his eyes again. What is it with the eye rolls today? “You guys can decide whatever you want. But he’ll always be Roger to me.”
“I think we’ll discuss it as a group,” Jesse says diplomatically.
My gaze finds Tobias again in the distance. He hasn’t moved. His eyes are still locked on me, steady and unwavering, like nothing else in the world exists.
“You guys can handle it from here?” I ask.
Jesse nods. Then tilts his head. “Your friend gets in later this week, right? She’s staying with you a while?”
“She is,” I say surprised. “I’m honestly shocked you remember. I told you so fast the other day when you were busy.”
“It’ll be nice to have a new face around.”
“Tired of me already?” I tease.
He shrugs. “Is your friend cute?”
“I’m not the one to decide that for you,” I say with a laugh. He hums thoughtfully in his chest. “I’m sure you’ll see her around. She’s never ridden before, so you might need to dig deep for some patience.”
“I’m not the one you should be telling that to,” he says, and I know he means Tobias.
I haven’t actually told Tobias about Marissa coming to visit. Mostly because I know he won’t be thrilled about it—about sharing the ranch, about the disruption, about whatever quiet rhythm we’ve fallen into.
“I do have to get going,” I say. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
Dr. Moore and Serena wave as I turn June. “Nice to see you, Ever,” Dr. Moore calls. “I’m sure I’ll be back through the week to check on Roger.”
“I look forward to it.” I smile at the sound of the name coming from someone else. Mostly because I know how much it’s going to annoy Tobias when everyone starts saying “Roger” like it’s official.
I give Tobias one last glance. The second our eyes meet, he urges Tacoma forward like he’s about to intercept me, but I click to June and push her into a full sprint, tearing straight into the open field.
I wasn’t sure about any of this before—not the ranch, not staying, not him. But now, with the memory of Tobias’ voice saying my name still echoing in my mind, I’m almost certain he’s exactly who I’ve been thinking he is. The boy under the oak tree. T.J. all grown up.
And I have no idea how to feel about that. Part of me wants to run toward it. Part of me wants to keep running away.