36. Holden
HOLDEN
Graham’s sedan disappears down the driveway in a spray of dust and gravel. Even after the sound fades, neither of us speaks.
Sage stands a couple of feet away from me, her arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes on the ground.
The ranch is strangely quiet all of a sudden. Just the wind moving through the trees and the distant clang of metal near the barns.
I stay where I am. Right now, I can’t make myself move any closer.
Twelve months in Europe.
Very prestigious.
The words scrape at something raw inside me every time I replay them.
Exhaling, she presses her fingers to her temples. “I can’t believe he came all the way here.”
I nod once absently, my brain stuck on the other part of this.
She never mentioned it. Not once.
How long has she been carrying it around while I’ve been letting myself think things I had no right thinking? Like her staying. Like this becoming something real enough to last.
I shift the rope higher on my shoulder. “How long have you known?”
Her expression tightens. She knows exactly what I’m asking.
“Just over a week.”
Relief is a trickle, not a flood. Not weeks. Not the entire time. Guess that explains why she’s been distracted lately. “Were you going to mention it?”
Her gaze drops for a beat before returning to mine. “I was trying to figure it out first.”
Tension pulls at the base of my neck, sending a dull ache through my skull. “So there was a chance you were never going to tell me?”
Hurt flashes across her face, replaced quickly by anger. “That’s not fair.”
I laugh quietly under my breath, scanning the corrals. If I keep looking at her, this conversation will probably get worse before it gets better. “Feels pretty fair from where I’m standing.”
She uncrosses her arms and steps toward me. “Holden—”
“Did you apply before you got here?”
Wetting her lips, she searches my face. “It was the first week I was here. Because it was something I always wanted to do.”
Was.
My chest keeps latching onto that word, even while the rest of me’s preparing for the opposite. I take in the view of the fields, then shake my head once. “You should go.”
Her brows pull together. “What?”
“To Milan.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
The wounded expression that flashes across her face lands like a knife in my gut.
“That’s what you got out of this?”
“What else am I supposed to get out of it?” I hold her gaze. “You’ve been offered a year-long residency halfway across the world and didn’t tell me about it.”
“Because I didn’t know what I wanted yet.”
Frustration cracks her voice at the edges, and that almost makes it worse. Because I believe her. I believe she’s torn. I also know what an opportunity like this must mean to her.
She wraps her arms around her middle, as if she’s holding herself together. “You’re acting like I already left.”
“That’s where this is headed, right?”
Her lips flatten. “See? This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve decided what this is before I’ve even had a chance to figure it out myself.”
The accusation stings. Probably because there’s truth sitting right there inside it.
I drag a hand down my jaw. “You should have trusted me enough to tell me.”
Expression faltering, she looks away. And that hurts worse than if she’d fought me on it. The wind catches her dark hair, tossing it around her shoulders. She pushes it back and meets my eyes again.
“You know what being with Graham was like?” she asks quietly. “Every decision turned into this thing I had to defend. Every opportunity became another chance for him to explain why he knew what was best for me.”
Dread sweeps in. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve known about Milan for five minutes, and you’re already acting like the decision has been made.”
I laugh once under my breath, tired more than amused. “Yeah, well. Hard not to when your ex-boyfriend shows up knowing more about your future plans than I do.”
Sage flinches, and regret hits me instantly. I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and look away again before I make the situation worse.
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo beneath the dust and heat.
“Holden.” The way she says my name nearly cracks my chest open.
My eyes drop to her mouth before I can stop them. Bad idea. Really bad idea. Because all I can think about is kissing her instead of having this conversation.
Her breath catches, like she’s noticed, like she’s just as affected. And for one dangerous second, neither of us says anything.
Then I shake my head once, hard enough to clear it. “While you were trying to figure out where you want to go next, I was trying to figure out how to ask you to stay.” The words come out low, hoarse.
The second they leave my mouth, I regret them. Not because they aren’t true, but because now she knows.
Eyes widening, she swallows audibly. Like she didn’t realize I was in so deep. Hell, maybe I never gave her reason to consider it.
A harsh laugh escapes me, and I look down at the dirt between us. “Guess I got stupid enough to start thinking maybe you belong here.”
Silence again. This time it’s heavy. Suffocating. I can practically hear her heartbeat from where she’s standing.
“Holden…” The way her voice softens makes the pain in my chest sharper. “That’s not—You’re not stupid.”
“I feel stupid.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t even think I had a chance.”
“But you wanted it.”
She exhales sharply. “Yes. At one point, I did.”
“At one point?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
I hate the honesty in those words. Because more than excited or relieved, she sounds scared.
I step closer before I even realize I’m doing it. Not touching her. Just close enough that if she leans forward even a little, I’ll feel it.
“You know what the problem is?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes lift to mine. “What?”
“I can’t stand here and act casual about the idea of losing you now.”
The vulnerability that flashes across her face almost undoes me. But right behind it comes fear again. Not fear of me. Fear of what that means.
Suddenly I know why she didn’t tell me. Because the second she did, what we have stopped being easy. Now it involves making choices.
And staying with me might be the wrong choice.
She swallows hard. “I’m trying to figure out what I want without somebody else deciding it for me.”
“I’m not trying to decide for you.”
“I know.” Her voice shakes slightly. “But you’re looking at me as if I’m already gone, and it makes me feel like maybe I don’t even get the chance.”
Christ. I close my eyes briefly. Because none of this is coming out right.
I’m angry that she didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I’m hurt because I finally let myself believe in something permanent. And beneath it all is this ugly certainty that even if she chooses to stay now, someday she’ll still leave.
The feeling sits sharp and familiar beneath my ribs.
Sage’s shoulders sag, her face drawn, the fight draining out of her little by little.
“We’re both upset. Neither of us is thinking clearly. Maybe we just need to take some time to cool down,” she says quietly.
Every instinct in me pushes against the idea. Don’t let her walk away. Fix it. Say something to make it better.
Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets. If I touch her right now, I’m not sure I’ll let her leave at all.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably.”
The sadness that spreads across her face almost makes me take it back. Almost.
After a second, she nods once, like she’s accepting something she doesn’t want to. Then she turns and heads back to the house.
I stand in the driveway for a long time after she disappears inside. Long enough for the heat to sink through the back of my shirt and the rope hanging over my shoulder to feel twice as heavy.
The screen door doesn’t open again. Not sure why I thought it might.
A leaden weight presses on my chest, but I force myself to move, heading on autopilot toward the stallion barn while my brain replays the conversation.
I was trying to figure out how to ask you to stay.
Jesus Christ.
The words are out there, exposed. I shouldn’t have said them. Or maybe I should’ve said them earlier.
I shove open the barn door and head inside. Cooler air wraps around me, carrying the smell of leather, hay, and dirt baked into old timber. It should be a relief. It’s not.
It’s quieter in here than the main barns near the house.
One of Chance’s new studs lifts its head over the stall door as I pass.
I scratch his nose absently on my way to the tack room.
After tossing the rope onto a hook harder than necessary, I brace both hands against the edge of the workbench and hang my head.
Europe. Twelve months. Gallery shows. The words keep circling through my head. A life that has absolutely nothing to do with this ranch.
Or me.
How am I supposed to ask her not to want that?
The thought should make this easier. Instead, the knife that’s lodged itself into my gut twists again. With a humorless laugh, I scrub a hand down my face. Should’ve known better.
Outside, a familiar voice laughs near the equipment shed. Probably Quinn. Drawing in a breath, I straighten. I can’t keep thinking about it. I should go help with the never-ending fence repairs before the others start bitching about having to do everything themselves.
Instead, I dig my phone out of my pocket and swipe it open to my last message to Rick.
Hold off for now. Rethinking things.
Before I can think too hard about it, I hit dial and wait for him to pick up.
He answers on the second ring. “This is a surprise. Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you finally gotten bored with retirement?”
I lean back against the workbench, surveying the mountains through the open tack room door.
“Something like that.”
Rick snorts quietly. “That sounds promising.”
For some reason, that almost gets a laugh out of me.
“Any of those offers still on the table?”
He’s quiet for a second. Then he clears his throat. “Depends on which ones.”
“Training. Commentating. Mentorship stuff. Any of it.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Well, shit,” he mutters. “Didn’t expect that today.”
Yeah, neither did I.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. Sage’s face flashes through my head. The look on it when I told her I knew where this thing was going. I swallow hard.
Rick’s voice cuts back in. “Holden?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure about this?”
No.
The answer burns my throat. But staying here, waiting for her to leave, would be so much worse. Because once she’s gone, I’ll be stuck with even more reminders of what’s been lost from this place.
No more second coffee mug in my cabin sink. No more camera sitting on the passenger seat of my truck. No more of her laughing with my family.
Just emptiness where someone used to be.
I built half my damn life around making sure I wouldn’t have to face this shit again. Except somewhere along the way, I’d let people in again. My family. Sage.
And hell, maybe this is the best way for me to help my family.
The expansion’s already stretching everybody thin.
Chance invested a fortune in the breeding program, and Sterling’s carrying half the damn ranch on his back while pretending he’s not exhausted.
I might not need the money a rodeo gig will offer, but Wild Ember does.
If I can bring in more without giving Sterling something else to worry about, at least I’ll be doing something useful.
I look down at the dirt on my boots. “I need something lined up. As soon as you can.”
Rick is quiet, and for a second, I think he’s going to challenge me.
“All right,” he says instead. “There’s a rider development program looking for someone with your experience. Clinics, some mentorship work, sponsor appearances, a bit of media stuff. Good money. You’ll be a big draw.”
My stomach twists. “How soon?”
“They’ve got a clinic outside Colorado Springs next weekend. The sponsor wants to launch the program before the season hits full swing.”
I watch two horses move lazily through the sunlight in the corral outside. Then I think about Sage standing at the bottom of the porch, looking at me like she was waiting for me to tell her not to go.
This morning, she was in my bed. Now everything around me feels wrong, and I can’t fucking breathe.
“You want me to call them?” Rick asks.
I don’t answer straight away. Part of me wants to tell him no. To hang up. To walk back to the house once we’ve both cooled off and try to figure this out with Sage. Maybe she’d tell me she’s staying. Maybe she’d tell me she’s going.
I envision her standing in a fancy gallery halfway across the world while I’m here, longing for a woman who was never really mine to keep.
Or her staying, then waking up ten years from now wondering if she traded everything she worked for because she got attached to a washed-up bull rider hiding out on his family ranch.
I don’t know which outcome would hurt more.
“Yeah. Set it up,” I mutter, the words leaving an acid taste in my mouth.
He lets out a slow breath. “You sure?”
Damn him for forcing me to say it twice. “Yeah. I’m in.”
“There’s a Pbr event in Durango this weekend. Sponsor reps will be there. I’ll be there,” he tells me. “Why don’t you come? Observe some of the riders before the clinic? Ease back into things?”
Even better. No time to think. No time to change my mind. “That works.”
“I’ll send through the details.”
After we end the call, I take in the view of the ranch from here, the way it stretches green and gold beneath the afternoon sun, with the mountains rising blue in the distance. It looks different today. Or maybe it’s just me. Because for the first time since I returned, leaving feels real again.
And somehow that hurts worse than coming back ever did.