Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Tessa
It was quiet, but not the peaceful kind.
The kind that felt like it might snap if I breathed too deeply or moved too fast. Every muscle stiff and sore, my throat dry, my head thick and heavy.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.
The ceiling looked wrong. The light slanting through the window didn’t match my internal map of the house.
Then I felt it. Weight. Warmth. The faint drag of someone else’s breath against my skin.
Wyatt was asleep on the floor beside the couch, long legs folded awkwardly, shoulders braced against the cushions like he’d sat down for a second and his body finally quit on him. His hat lay on the coffee table within reach.
His head was tipped back against the couch, turned just enough that his temple pressed into my bent knees.
Like he needed a point of contact with me before he let himself sleep.
I didn’t move at first. I couldn’t. The sight of him there made something inside me go soft and sharp all at once, like relief had teeth.
He looked wrecked in the honest way men only did when they stopped pretending.
Dirt streaked his jaw. There was a scrape on one knuckle, already swelling.
His lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes.
His mouth was slightly open as he breathed, slow and even, like his body finally decided it was safe enough to let go.
I could feel the heat of him through the blanket and the thin wall of air between us, even though he wasn’t touching me anywhere but my knees.
Dani was sprawled on the far cushion of the couch, curled tight, pink hair a bright mess against the throw pillow.
Her hand was still on my thigh, fingers slack now, like she anchored herself there in the night and refused to move.
On the other side of me, Maddy was curled into my back, knees tucked close, her arm looped around my waist with unconscious possessiveness.
Her breathing was deep and steady, the kind kids managed when their bodies finally decided the world could wait.
Three people. All asleep. All close.
My chest hurt.
I stared at the wall and let my body catch up to the fact that I was here. That I was home. That the air smelled like old wood and dust and coffee instead. Like Uncle Ray had been through the room before I woke up.
My fingers curled into the blanket. My hands were still trembling, faintly, like my nervous system hadn’t gotten the memo that the immediate danger passed. My heart thudded heavier than it needed to, each beat a reminder that I was still here, whether I felt ready for that or not.
Wyatt shifted in his sleep. The movement was small, almost nothing, but I felt it through my knees. His brow furrowed for a second, like he was chasing something in the dark. His hand tightened on my ankle, then loosened again.
My stomach rolled. Not with fear this time. With something worse. I swallowed, throat dry, and tried not to replay the night in fragments. The cabin. Colin’s voice. The way time twisted into something meaningless. The way I held myself together by sheer spite.
Then Wyatt was there. In the split second, my brain refused to believe it. The way the world snapped back into colour when I saw him standing there, real and furious and steady.
The way I’d run into him like I’d been falling for days.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to look down at him again.
His head was still there, heavy against my knees, like my body was a place he’d chosen to rest.
I lay there for a long time, listening to the house breathe around us. The soft tick of cooling pipes. The faint hum of the fridge. The occasional creak of old wood settling. My own pulse beating too loud in my ears.
Eventually, the urge under my skin got too sharp to ignore.
I needed air. Because if I stayed still one more minute, I was going to start shaking hard enough to wake them all, and I didn’t want anyone’s eyes on me yet. Not Maddy’s. Not Dani’s.
And not Wyatt’s.
I moved carefully. I slid my leg a fraction, testing whether his head would follow. It didn’t. It shifted slightly, then settled back against the couch cushion, his jaw relaxing, his breath deepening like he’d fallen right back into it.
My knees ached where his weight had been. The sensation lingered anyway, like my skin remembered him even when he wasn’t touching me.
I eased myself upright, bracing one hand against the couch. My back protested, stiff and sore. My body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. The blanket slid off my shoulders and pooled at my hips.
For a second, I just sat there, hovering in the quiet, staring at the three of them like I couldn’t quite believe they were real.
My bare feet touched the floor, and the cold shot up my legs, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. I waited, heart hammering, but nobody moved.
I stepped around Wyatt carefully. His boots were off. His socks were dirty at the heels. There was something almost stupidly intimate about that.
I moved to the front door. A restless pull, like if I didn’t get outside I might start crawling out of myself. I eased the door open and stepped onto the porch, letting the cool morning air wash over me.
I breathed in slowly, tasting dew and dirt and the faint bite of autumn creeping closer. The sky was pale and wide, the sun still low enough that the world looked gentler than it had any right to.
The ranch stretched out in front of me, bathed in soft light. The grass glistened faintly. The fence line cut a familiar path toward the south pasture, posts leaning here and there, rails weathered and worn. The barn stood solid and patient, like it always had, red paint faded but stubborn.
I stepped down into the yard, bare feet sinking into cool dirt. The ground felt real under me. Solid. I welcomed the sensation, let it anchor me.
Every step felt deliberate. Measured. Like if I moved too quickly, the decision waiting for me might lunge out of the dark and demand an answer I didn’t have yet.
I reached the fence and rested my hands on the top rail. The wood was rough under my palms, splintered in places, familiar enough that my hands knew where to settle without thinking.
This land had shaped me. It raised me. It had bruised me. It taught me how to stand back up when everything hurt. It had also taken from me in ways I hadn’t been ready for.
Ray. The debts. The silence he left behind. The weight of a legacy I wasn’t sure I could carry without breaking.
I could leave.
The thought slid through me smooth and tempting. The city waited with its clean lines and predictable systems. No fences to mend. No machinery held together by stubbornness and hope. No memories lurking in every corner. And Wyatt would buy it.
I didn’t let myself dwell on that too long, but the thought lingered anyway. The ease of it. The relief. The constant tightness in my chest might finally loosen if I handed this responsibility over to someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
My hands tightened on the rail until my knuckles ached.
I hated how much sense that made. I hated even more that part of me trusted him with it.
A sound broke the morning quiet behind me. The front door jerked open hard enough that the hinges complained. Footsteps hit the porch, fast. Heavy. Barely controlled.
I flinched instinctively and turned.
Wyatt was in the doorway, shirt rumpled, hair flattened on one side, eyes wide and sharp with the kind of fear that didn’t belong on him. He scanned the yard like he expected to find emptiness. Like he expected to find proof, I vanished again.
His gaze locked onto me at the fence. Relief hit his face so hard it almost looked like pain.
He crossed the yard in long strides, his breathing not quite steady yet.
“Jesus,” he said when he reached me. His voice was rough, scraped raw. “You vanished.”
“I needed air.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
His jaw worked as he studied me, eyes flicking over my bare feet, my posture, the way my hands gripped the fence like it was the only thing holding me upright.
“You scared me,” he said quietly, as he reached out and pulled me into his embrace.
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head once. “I’m not angry.”
We stood there in silence, our arms wrapped around one another, the morning stretching out wide and uncertain. His presence felt heavy and grounding all at once. I could feel the pull of him even now, the way my body registered him without my permission.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered.
“You don’t need to figure it out right now,” he said. I glanced at him. His gaze was fixed on the pasture, expression unreadable. The morning light caught in his eyes, turning them a softer blue than usual.
“You’re thinking about selling.”
I stiffened.
“I’m not asking,” he added quickly. “I can just see it on your face.”
I exhaled slowly. “I’m thinking about everything.”
“That’s fair.”
“I don’t want to lose this place. But I don’t know if I can save it.”
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was steady. “Whatever you decide, it should be because it’s right for you. Not because you’re scared. Not because you think you owe anyone anything.”
I swallowed. “That’s a lot easier to say when you’re not the one drowning.”
He turned to face me fully then. “I know.”
Something about the way he said it made my chest ache.
We stood there, wrapped in one another, the fence creaking softly under our weight, the land stretching out in front of us like it was waiting for something I wasn’t ready to say.