9. Gage
Gage
S unday morning found me wide awake at five-thirty, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the ranch waking up around me. Three days since Barrett's birth, and I still couldn't quite believe it had happened.
The restless energy that had been building since the accident was stronger today. Not the desperate need to run that I'd carried for eleven years, but something else. Something that felt almost like... purpose. Like maybe I could be more than just someone who took up space while healing.
I hauled myself out of bed and made my way downstairs, moving around was getting easier with the crutch and Xander was talking about getting me into an aircast boot soon.
Never thought I'd be excited about that idea.
I was surprised to find the kitchen empty.
Booker was usually up before dawn, but his coffee cup sat cold on the counter, and there were no signs of his normal breakfast routine.
Even Val was missing from her basket in the corner.
Outside, I could see him in the main pasture, standing beside the fence with his back to the house. Even at a distance, there was something in his posture that spoke of concentration, of attention focused on something specific.
I grabbed my crutches and made my way outside, curiosity overriding my usual caution about involving myself in ranch business. The morning air was crisp with the promise of summer, and the sound of horses moving peacefully in their pastures was like a balm I hadn't realized I needed.
"You're up early," I said as I approached the fence.
"So are you," Booker replied without turning around. "Figured you might want to meet someone who understands what you're going through."
He gestured toward the far corner of the pasture, where a horse stood apart from the others.
Even from a distance, I could see something was different about this one.
The animal's posture was defensive, head low, ears pinned back in classic signs of an animal that had learned to expect pain instead of care.
"Bullet," Booker said, his voice carrying a weight of gratitude and grief. "He's been with the ranch for four years now. My horse."
I studied the animal more carefully, noting the faded scars along his flanks, the careful way he held his left rear leg, the alert but trusting way he watched Booker.
There was something different about this horse.
Not the hypervigilance of an abused animal, but the quiet dignity of one who'd proven himself when it mattered most.
"What happened to him?" I asked, seeing the obvious signs of old trauma.
"He saved my life a little over a year ago.
" Booker's hand found the horse's neck, stroking gently.
"There was an accident with the herd. Reece's abusive ex opened the gate deliberately, trying to scare her.
Horses were coming in for a feed and were spooked into a stampede.
Reece and Xander were in danger, so I rode Bullet straight into the middle of it to get them out. "
My chest tightened as I realized what he was telling me. "And?"
"Bullet went down with me. Took the brunt of the trampling, shielded my body with his own.
" Booker's voice was quiet but steady. "Broke my arm, gave me some impressive bruises, but I'm here because this horse chose to protect me instead of protecting himself.
It was touch and go for a while, but Bullet's a fighter. "
I found myself reaching out to touch the horse's shoulder, feeling the muscle beneath the healed wounds. "He chose to stay and fight for you."
"Yeah." Booker's eyes met mine with uncomfortable intensity. "Sometimes the ones who love you don't give up, even when you think they should. Even when you think you're not worth the risk."
The implication wasn't subtle. Booker was suggesting that I needed exactly what this damaged horse represented. A connection that didn't require explanation or apology, just presence.
"I know what you're doing at the ranch, Book, and it's truly amazing, but I'm not really the therapy type," I said, trying to deflect the obvious parallel.
"Wasn't talking about therapy. Was talking about friendship. Two survivors figuring out how to trust again."
I looked more closely at Bullet, taking in the defensive posture that I recognized in my bones. The way he kept his head positioned to watch for threats, the careful distance from the other horses, the hyperalert attention to everything happening around him.
"He doesn't look like he wants company," I said.
"Neither do you most days. But that doesn't mean company isn't exactly what you both need."
Booker stepped into the pasture, and I followed awkwardly, my crutches sinking slightly into the soft ground. Bullet noticed our approach immediately, his ears swiveling toward us, his body tensing for potential flight.
"Easy, boy," I said quietly, keeping my voice low and calm. "We're not here to hurt you."
Something in my tone must have reached him, because Bullet's ears twitched forward slightly. Not trust, exactly, but interest. Like maybe this human was worth investigating.
"He's responding to you," Booker said, genuine surprise in his voice. "Usually takes weeks for him to show that much curiosity about strangers."
"Maybe he recognizes someone else who's not sure if it's safe to let people get close," I said, taking another careful step forward.
Bullet tensed but didn't retreat. His dark eyes stayed fixed on mine, and I had the strange sensation that he was assessing me, trying to figure out whether I represented safety or just another source of potential pain.
"I know how that feels," I continued, more to myself than to anyone else. "Not knowing if the people offering help actually mean it, or if they'll hurt you when you're not expecting it."
Bullet's ears came forward fully, and he took a tentative step in my direction.
"Take your time," I murmured. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... if you want company, I'm here... apparently. I'm still not entirely sure why I'm doing this."
For the next twenty minutes, I stood in that pasture talking nonsense to a damaged horse while my brother watched from a respectful distance.
I talked about the weather, about how peaceful the ranch was, about the way the morning light made everything look possible.
And slowly, gradually, Bullet began to relax.
He never came close enough to touch, but by the time we left the pasture, he was standing within easy reach, still wary but no longer ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
"Six months we've been working with him," Booker said as we made our way back toward the house. "You're the first person he's approached voluntarily."
"Horse has good taste, I guess," I joked.
Back at the house, I found myself thinking about what Booker had said. About being tired of fear, about the possibility that healing might happen more easily when you weren't trying so hard to force it.
"There's something I need to ask you," Booker said as we settled onto the back porch with fresh coffee. "And I need you to promise not to bullshit me."
I raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Shoot."
"Are you at least thinking about staying? Because if you're just going through the motions while you plan your next escape, we need to know that now."
The directness of the question caught me off guard. No careful dancing around the subject, no gentle probing. Just Booker being Booker, cutting straight to the heart of what mattered.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I'm thinking about it. Barrett's birth... it changed something for me. Made me want to try being part of something again."
"But?"
I set down my coffee, running my hand through my hair.
"But I don't know what staying would actually look like.
I've been drifting for eleven years, taking whatever job paid the most and kept me moving.
I don't know what I'd do here, where I'd live.
You and Reece deserve your privacy, and I can't camp out in your guest room indefinitely. "
"You don't need to figure it all out now," Booker said firmly. "You have time. You can figure it out as you go, or at least when you have two functioning legs."
I laughed, because he wasn't exactly wrong. "But I need to at least find a place to live or something. You two deserve your space."
Booker's mouth quirked into something that might have been a smile. "Didn't think I'd have so many of my brothers at the ranch, but it's not as terrible as I thought it would be. Besides, you're not exactly high-maintenance company."
The casual acceptance in his voice, the way he talked about my presence like it was normal and expected, made something warm unfurl in my chest.
"Sometimes when you think all you want is to be left alone," Booker continued, his voice taking on the thoughtful tone that usually preceded his rare moments of wisdom, "what you're really craving is a connection. And the connections that mean the most are always the ones you have to fight for."
The words settled between us, loaded with meaning that went beyond just my living situation. Because he was right. I'd spent eleven years running from connections, convincing myself that isolation was safer than vulnerability.
But maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to fight for the things that mattered, instead of assuming I didn't deserve them.
"I should probably get ready for Billie's next session," I said, standing and reaching for my crutches.
"Probably should," Booker agreed. "But Gage? Whatever you're fighting for, make sure it includes the things that are worth having."
As I made my way back into the house, Booker's words echoed in my mind. Fighting for connections. Fighting for the things that mattered.
And suddenly, with devastating clarity, I realized I'd be a fool if I didn't fight for Billie.
Even if she didn't feel the same way about me anymore, even if too much had changed between us for romance to ever be possible again, I missed my friend.
I missed the person who'd known me better than anyone, who'd seen the best and worst of me and loved me anyway.
I wanted her back in whatever way she was comfortable with letting me in. It was time to stop being a coward about asking for what I wanted, and it was definitely time to give Billie the apology she deserved.