41. Holden
HOLDEN
Istand beside the practice arena watching a dozen teenagers take turns on a practice barrel.
Just as I’m disappearing into my head again, the clinic coordinator jogs over. “We’re ready whenever you are, Mr. McBride.”
I glance toward the arena. About twenty kids wait along the fence line, some trying and failing to look relaxed, others staring openly.
A few wear my old sponsor logos on their shirts.
Hell, I remember being their age. Watching riders I admired and thinking they had everything figured out.
The thought almost makes me laugh.
“Mr. McBride? Holden?”
I drag my attention back to the coordinator. “Yeah.”
He smiles. “Let’s get started.”
The next few hours pass in a blur of questions and demonstrations. When the clinic wraps up that afternoon, a handful of kids remain by the arena fence, getting photos and autographs while the sponsor reps pack away banners and promotional signs.
One last kid lingers, probably no more than sixteen. “How’d you know you wanted to ride professionally?”
The answer comes automatically. “I didn’t want anything else.”
He nods like that’s what he was hoping to hear, then jogs off toward his friends.
“Not a bad answer.”
Rick appears, a coffee in each hand, and passes one over.
I take a sip. “I thought you hated coffee.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you drinking it?”
He shrugs. “Gives me something to hold while I pretend I know what I’m doing.”
A laugh slips out despite myself.
He studies me for a long second. “You did good today.”
“Yeah.”
He’s right. I did better than I thought I would, anyway. Helping the kids. Talking through techniques. Watching them light up when something finally clicked. I enjoyed it. Which should make this easier.
Instead, it somehow makes it harder.
Rick jerks his head toward the hospitality tent. “Sponsors are waiting. They want to finalize things.”
My stomach sinks. My least favorite part of this whole thing.
He grimaces, clearly picking up on my reaction. “That bad, huh?”
A few months ago, I’d have been halfway into that tent, ready to hear whatever they’d lined up next—travel, clinics, sponsor appearances. With a shake of my head, I turn, and the two of us walk across the fairgrounds together.
The afternoon sun beats down on the packed dirt. Behind us, an announcer’s voice crackles. Nearby, livestock shift in their pens.
Everything looks the way it’s supposed to. And still, none of it feels right.
I’m not sure it ever will.
For the past week, I’ve been trying to convince myself that this can still be my life. Good money. Familiar territory. Practical. Safe.
But every morning, I wake up forgetting where I am and reach out for a soft, warm body that isn’t there. And when my mind clears, my first thought is always of home. Not the arena, not the road, not the endless movement pretending to be freedom.
Wild Ember.
Sage.
And every morning, I remember that I left it all behind, and my gut twists into a tighter knot.
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped until Rick steps in front of me, his brows drawn together. He shakes his head. “Nobody would blame you if you decided that ranch life suits you better these days.”
A humorless laugh scrapes out of me. “You might not.”
“Don’t worry about those guys.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to where the sponsors are waiting. “I can deal with them if you’ve got other places to be.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Every time you mention the ranch, you look like a guy talking about an ex-wife he’s still in love with.” He scratches at his scruffy jaw. “And for what it’s worth, you stopped looking happy in this world a while ago. Even before you got trod on.”
I scan the trailers, the arena, the crowds. The life I spent twelve years chasing.
Since I’ve been back, all I can think about is mornings on the ranch, Chance calling out from one of the barns, Dad’s breakfasts, Taryn’s laugh when Quinn is acting a fool. And Sage… Sage standing on the ridge, holding a camera as the sunrise hits the mountains behind her.
Every dream I’ve had this week has been about her. Her laugh, her smile, the way she goes completely still when she sees something beautiful, the way she looks at Wild Ember like there’s nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.
The way she looks at me like she sees every part of me, even the ones I spent years trying to hide.
And it’s so obvious now I don’t know how the hell I missed it.
I love her.
Jesus Christ.
Fear crawls up the back of my neck. What if I’m already too late? What if she hates me? What if I ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I got scared and ran before she could leave first?
I swear my chest is about to crack open.
Rick watches my expression shift. “Just like that.”
“I’ve got to go.” The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them.
He slowly nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you should do that.”
He glances toward the hospitality tent before looking back at me. “I’ll let them know you’re out.”
For a heartbeat, I look that way too. Twelve years of chasing the next ride. The next buckle. The next season. The next reason to keep running.
Then I turn my back on it.
“Give my apologies,” I tell Rick.
“I will.” With a half-smile, he slaps me on the back. “Safe travels.”
With that, he turns and strides toward the tent where the sponsors are waiting.
I don’t hang around. I toss my coffee cup into the trash, then head straight for the motel, where I throw my stuff in my duffel and get on the road.
Five hours later, darkness stretches across the highway, my headlights cutting along the empty road toward Wild Ember. Every mile closer tightens the screw in my chest.
I should call first. Instead, I keep driving. Partly because I don’t know what to say. Partly because some stupid, hopeful part of me wants to believe maybe Sage is still there. That when I get back, the lights will be on in her cabin. That she’ll let me explain.
Wind rattles softly against the truck as the dark mountains rise in the distance.
I drag a hand across my face. What the hell am I even going to say to her? Sorry I got scared and ran? Sorry I convinced myself that leaving first would hurt less? Christ. I don’t even know where to begin.
By the time the Wild Ember sign comes into view, my pulse is hammering, my shoulder aching along with it.
Warm light spills from the ranch house windows, but I don’t stop. Driving a little too fast, I turn off onto the road that leads up to our cabins.
My stomach drops when I get close, knowing that if her lights were on, I’d see them shining through the trees.
Nothing. No porch light. No glow through the windows.
I pull up outside anyway. Maybe she’s asleep. It’s not that late, but maybe—
Her car’s not here.
Regret punches straight through me, my fingers locking around the steering wheel.
If she went back to New York, I’ll get her details from Sterling and fly there. I’ll go to her wherever she’s gone. Hell, I’ll fly to Milan if I need to.
I make a U-turn and race back down the road, this time turning toward the ranch house.
The front door swings open before I even reach the porch. River steps outside, then freezes.
“Holden?”
Something immediately feels wrong.
“Where’s Sage?” The question comes too fast. Too sharp.
His expression falls. “Oh shit.”
Ice slides straight through my veins. “What happened?”
Dad appears in the hallway, his face drawn and tired. And I know, before he says anything, I know.
Fear crashes through me, my stomach twisting violently. “Where is she?”
“She’s in the hospital, son,” Dad says quietly.
My world stops. “What?”
“She and Taryn were getting a calf unstuck this afternoon.” He steps onto the porch. “Sage fell.”
Every muscle in my body goes taut. “Is she okay?”
“She hit her head hard. She was unconscious for a while, and they were worried about a small bleed at first—”
“What do you mean, worried?”
His expression tightens. “The first scan wasn’t clear, so they kept her for more tests. They ruled out a bleed, but she has a pretty bad concussion. She was awake when we left, but they’re keeping her overnight for observation.”
Some of the panic loosens in my chest. Not enough. Not even close.
I drag a shaky hand across the back of my neck as the breath leaves my lungs. “Why didn’t somebody call me?”
River and Dad exchange a look, faces shuttered. Right. Because I walked away. Because they assumed I’d chosen my priority, and it wasn’t Sage. While I was away, stupidly trying to reclaim a past version of myself, they were here, looking after her.
I should’ve been here. The thought hits instantly and viciously, guilt crashing through me. Same helpless panic. Same sick feeling I’ve spent twelve years trying to outrun.
“We just got home from there. She’s okay,” Dad repeats firmly, like he knows where my head just went.
I nod once, even though my chest still feels tight enough to split open.
Grimacing, River kicks at the dusty floorboards of the porch. “One more thing.”
Dread crawls through my stomach. “What?”
“Sage’s parents are here. They got in about an hour ago.” He exhales carefully. “Her ex is with them.”
Anger flashes hot and immediate beneath the panic clawing through me. For one hard second, I consider driving straight through the hospital doors. I turn sharply back toward the truck.
“Holden.”
Breathing hard, I stop.
Dad’s expression softens beneath the porch light. “She said your name. When she woke up.”
Relief, fear, and regret collide painfully inside me.
Before he can say another word, I climb into the truck and tear out of the driveway.