Chapter 32 Boone #3
I broke off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Shouldn't have touched her? Shouldn't have presumed? Shouldn't have responded to her pain as if I had any right to ease it? All true, yet in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to regret the brief connection, inappropriate as it was.
Ghost nickered softly, breaking the tension. She stretched her neck toward Nelly, interested in the second sugar cube.
"I've been calling her Ghost," I blurted out, desperate to move past the moment of my transgression. "Just... in my head. Because of the gray mark on her chest and because I didn’t know if you’d ever be real." The words tumbled out, more than I'd intended to share.
I waited for Nelly's reaction, for her to step back, to retreat behind her walls of wariness and distrust. Instead, she remained beside me, her gaze shifting from my face to the horse. The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire.
What was she thinking? I couldn’t even begin to guess. It was easy with the guys, because we’d been together so long. I wondered what it would be like to have that kind of connection with Nelly. To know her thoughts before she spoke them, to feel her emotions as if they were my own.
I pushed the thought away. That kind of bond couldn't be forced or rushed. It grew from trust, from mutual choice, from time spent learning each other's rhythms and respecting each other's boundaries. None of which could happen if she left.
And she would leave, wouldn’t she? As soon as Cooper got an answer from Eros, as soon as we found a way to break the contract without repercussions, she would be gone. Back to Seattle, back to her life before us. The thought felt like swallowing broken glass.
I focused again on Ghost, on the present moment. The horse was growing impatient; her gaze fixed on the sugar cube in Nelly's hand. I gestured toward it gently.
"She's waiting," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "If you still want to."
Nelly looked down at the treat in her palm as if she'd forgotten it was there. I watched her gather herself and saw the precise moment she decided. Her shoulders straightened slightly, her chin lifting in that unapologetic, resistant way I’d already come to love.
Even in borrowed clothes too large for her frame, even with tear tracks still visible on her cheek, she carried herself with grace. She stepped forward, lifting her hand.
This small act of courage shouldn't have affected me so deeply.
Yet I found myself holding my breath, my entire being focused on the connection forming between Nelly and the horse I'd privately named. It mattered in a way I couldn't articulate, even to myself.
Ghost stretched her neck further; her ears pricked forward in anticipation. Nelly hesitated, then extended her hand closer to the mare, palm flat as I'd instructed. The horse considered the offering, sniffing it for a moment.
"Ghost," Nelly said, her voice barely above a whisper as she waited patiently.
Ghost's velvety lips finally dipped against Nelly’s palm to delicately collect the sugar cube, crunching it between her teeth.
Nelly didn't flinch or pull away, though I could see the tension in her shoulders as the horse chewed, as if she still half-expected to get bit.
When the horse backed away, Nelly swiped her damp palm against her jeans.
Her first successful interaction with the horse sent an unreasonable surge of pride through me, as if I'd personally accomplished something monumental instead of merely standing witness to this small act of courage.
"I like that," she continued, watching Ghost with a newfound intensity. "That should be her name."
I clenched my hands into fists, joy rushing through my body.
She liked the name I’d chosen.
Ghost suddenly pranced in her stable, shaking out her mane and neighing loudly.
A small huff of surprise escaped Nelly's lips, not quite a laugh but close enough to make my heart stutter in my chest. "Ghost really is perfect," she breathed out, walking as close as possible to the stall gate and crossing her arms over the top.
Her expression shifted, her eyes going sad again.
I studied her profile as she gazed at the horse. I could look at Nelly forever; didn’t think I’d ever tire of the view.
The delicate curve of her jaw.
The slight upturn of her nose.
The way her golden eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks.
At first glance, she seemed fragile.
I could imagine her dancing on stage.
Spinning and leaping and captivating the audience.
But on closer inspection, you saw the measure of her.
The lean muscles.
The invisible scars, long healed.
And the hurt wanting to linger longer.
I wondered what else had happened in her life to make her ease so smoothly into sorrow.
The mare pressed her head against the stall door, angling for more attention.
After a deep breath, Nelly raised her hand and placed it on Ghost's nose. The horse leaned into the touch, eyes half-closing in contentment. Nelly’s mouth curved, not a full smile, but a hint of one.
The pale edge of dawn fighting back the blue-black night.
I wondered how long it would take for the sun to fully rise.
My chest tightened at the sight, then released at the joy of it.
Outside, the clouds which brought the earlier rain parted.
Shafts of sunlight poured through the windows of the stable, illuminating everything they touched.
Dust motes turned to floating gold. Even the air between Nelly and I shimmered.
Her hair became living flame, ginger strands woven with metallic highlights of copper and bronze.
She seemed to glow from within, ethereal and earthbound all at once. A goddamn angel.
She turned then, perhaps sensing my stare.
Even her eyes were mesmerizing in the sunlight, sparkling with flecks of emerald and amber.
So damn complex that I could spend a lifetime gazing into them and still not see every detail.
There was wariness in her gaze still but, dancing at the edges, was also an unguarded wish.
A jolt ran from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet.
I felt like we were suspended in time.
I couldn't look away, couldn't even blink, afraid to shatter the moment.
It wasn't just my Alpha responding to an Omega. Not just the primal pull and biological imperative. I wanted her. I wanted Nelly. No other Omega could make me feel this way. I wanted her defiance, her anger, her tears, and her tomorrow.
But wild things shouldn't be caged, no matter how precious they are.
No matter how much you might want to keep them close.
My people had always understood this, had taught me from childhood that all beings deserved freedom, that forcing another to bend to your will violated the natural order of things.
Every living, breathing thing in this world had to walk their own path, of their own volition. Who was I to interfere with Nelly's path, to try to redirect it toward me, toward us, if that wasn't where she was meant to go?
But as I watched her gently stroke Ghost's nose and I felt the connection between us humming like a plucked string, I found myself hoping. Hoping that she might choose to stay, that she might give us—give me—a chance to prove we could be worthy of her.
The thought shamed me even as it took root, growing stronger with each passing second.
I had no right to hope for her to stay, not when she'd been brought here against her will, not when every moment here reminded her of that violation.
And yet, I couldn't stop myself from wanting it, from silently pleading with whatever forces governed the universe to give me this one thing, this one person.
Ghost whinnied softly, butting her head against Nelly's hand, demanding more attention. Nelly obliged, her movements becoming more confident as she scratched behind the horse's ears the way I had earlier.
In that moment, despite every lesson I'd learned about the importance of free will and choice, I wanted to keep her. No matter what. I’d do anything to make her stay.
The selfishness of the thought should have horrified me.
Instead, it settled alongside the hope, twin inhabitants of my heart that I suspected would only grow stronger with time.
I would have to fight against that selfish desire, would have to remember that her happiness mattered more than mine, that her freedom was not something I had any right to compromise.
I knew the fight would be the hardest of my life. Because somewhere between her stepping off that plane barely forty-eight hours ago and this moment, Nelly Shaw had become essential to me in a way I hadn't believed possible again.
How do you let go of something essential?
How do you abandon oxygen or water or food?
You don’t.