Chapter Eleven
Colt
“Colt, I want you to think about the last time you put too much of yourself and your happiness on one person.”
Oh, here we go again with the mind-provoking questions. I expect nothing less from Dr. Palmer in our weekly “Let’s talk about all the ways Colt’s childhood fucked him up” session.
I know I am literally paying her to deep dive into my psyche and fix me…
or at least that’s the goal. But nothing needs fixing this week.
In fact, I am riding a dopamine high, so much so that when I sank into that ugly mustard sofa that stretches across the back wall, I could not shut up about the ranch, and about how it feels different lately. All since Maeve arrived.
When I pitched the ranch immersion scheme to Wade, I never imagined this.
I know I was looking for company, someone who wasn’t tied to this town or my mess of a family.
But Maeve has become more than that. She’s become a good friend.
One who takes time to know the parts of me that most people ignore.
And let’s be real, I’ve probably opened up to her more than I ever have in here, and I pay Dr. Palmer $110 an hour. I feel the muscles in the corners of my mouth pulling into a grin as I think about her, when Dr Palmer’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “Colt?”
I blink, returning my focus on the woman in front of me, one leg crossed over another with a curious look on her face. I clearly drifted off again. A regular occurrence when the good old doctor brings up things I don’t wanna talk about.
Avoidance tactic, apparently.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I know damn well what she means.
“Well,” she says gently, “when you first came here, you talked about relying on someone else for your happiness too much. And how that made things heavy for both of you.”
Ah, that. My failed relationship. My only relationship—if you can even call it that. It lasted four months before she told me I needed to “work on myself”.
Translation: I was too much and not enough at the same time.
Which is why I ended up spending an arm and a leg in therapy each week, just to realise that everything wrong with me stems from way back.
Before my relationship ended. Before Naomi told me I needed to work on myself.
All the way back to the rainy night I watched my mom disappear from my life Eighteen years later, and she was still not back.
And that sits the heaviest now that I'm an adult. Wade couldn’t keep me from her anymore, even if he wanted to. So why has she never come back?
I finally speak, because Dr. Palmer is doing what she always does best, letting the silence choke me until I give in.
Therapist tactics 101.
“Yeah, well, this ain’t the same. Last time I… I expected too much.” One of my legs swings back and forth, my boot scuffing the floor with every movement as I avoid Dr. Palmer’s eye contact.
I glance up to confirm that I was correct.
Her expression softens, though I didn’t think it could get any softer.
“It’s good you can see that. But sometimes we repeat patterns before we notice.
You might be putting more weight on this friendship than Maeve expects.
That can create pressure—for both of you”
My brows furrow.
“She likes being around me too,” I shoot back, maybe more defensive than I intended. “I’m not chasing her off or anything.”
“I didn’t say you were.” Her voice stays calm and collected. “But you’ve spent most of today’s session talking about Maeve, how’s she’s changed things for you. I’m just asking you to be aware of how much you are putting into this friendship. Balance. Independence. Those matter too.”
I stand, grabbing my hat because if I sit here any longer, I may not return. “Yeah… balance. Got it,” I glance at the clinical-looking clock above the door. “That’s our time, ain’t it, Doc?”
“It is.” She rises with me. “I’ll see you next week. Just reflect on what I said. I have your best interests in mind.”
She walks me out into the harshly lit waiting room, my good mood from earlier already dimmed after her words.
I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to feel better after therapy, and yet, I’m a ball of anxiety driving back to the ranch.
I blast the radio through the speakers, hoping it will drown out Dr. Palmer’s words replaying in my head.
It didn’t work.
Instead, all the slow country songs fuel this uneasy feeling deep in my gut, leaving me questioning whether Dr. Palmer is right.
Maybe I am the reason Maeve was off yesterday, and not Wade.
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until now.
Wade’s usually the problem. But what if I’m the one who made things… heavy?
She didn’t even stay for dinner when she returned from town.
Wade took a plate, joining us all at the table, while Maeve said she was too tired.
Said she wanted an early night. Even when Mrs. Mae tried to get her to eat, always the force-feeder, Maeve just joked that she had her fill of coffee and pastries.
I followed her out into the hall as she left, to check if she was ok, but she was short with me.
“I’m fine Colt, chill.” Granted, I did ask like four times, but it’s not like her to be so blunt. I say this like I’ve known her my whole life, but sometimes it does feel that way.
Why am I beginning to overthink everything now?
The gravel crunches under my tires as I ease the truck to a stop in front of the main house. And before another thought has a chance to enter my head, I am out of the truck striding toward the barns with one thought in my head.
Find Maeve.
I need to know if going to town yesterday with Wade worked. If she’s still planning on staying.
Storming through the barn doors so fast that I’m pretty sure there’s smoke under my feet, I call out, “Maeve, you in here?”
I am met by nothing but horses chomping away at their hay.
Where’s she? She should be here. She usually is.
As I make my way to the back of the barn to check whether she is in the back by the pen, I hear a clang coming from the tack room. A slight moment of hope washes over me, only to be snuffed out by the sight of Wyatt organising the saddles.
“Whatcha doing here?” I ask.
“What does it look like? Clearing out the damn barn,” he responds in a dry, humourless tone.
Sarcastic bastard.
“And where’s Maeve? Ain’t she supposed to be doing this?”
“I don’t know Colt. I was told to come here and do it. Just following instructions. Avoiding an ass-kicking”
“Told by who?”
“Who do you think?” A moment goes by before he answers his own question, “Wade.”
If Wade needs someone else to do the job, does this mean she’s gone?
Panic boils in me as I leg it back to the main house, hoping that someone is there to give me answers.
I fling the front door open, and race up the stairs, not even bothering to look in the kitchen.
I come face to face with Maeve’s bedroom door, and just as my hand is about to knock, I hear her laugh.
The laugh that automatically makes me feel a hundred times lighter.
I follow the sweet sound, turning the corner into the office. Only to be met with the sight I least expected to see.
Maeve curls in the big brown leather chair, her small frame barely covering the back of the seat, while Wade leans over her.
His body close to hers… Too close. His arm stretches past her to grip the mouse, showing her something on the computer screen.
She’s looking up at him with the most radiant smile on her face.
The opposite of how disconnected she seemed yesterday.
And I swear, I can see a slight smile on Wade’s face.
What the actual fuck.
I clear my throat loud enough for them to snap their heads in my direction. Wade jerks back, pulling away from Maeve, like he has been caught in a heinous act.
“What’s going on here?” I force out a laugh, hoping it covers whatever concoction of emotions I have experienced in the last forty-odd minutes since leaving therapy.
“Oh, hi Colt!” Maeve beams. Christ, she is a sight when she smiles like that. “Wade finally caved and is giving me more responsibilities!”
Is that so? Maybe Maeve’s charm does work on everyone.
Wade backs away from the desk, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Yeah, she’ll be handling stock intake and ordering now.”
There’s something unsteady in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “Was just showing her that spreadsheet you set up for tracking stock, then I gotta walk her through the order sheets. Won’t take long.”
“I can take over,” I say, trying not to sound too eager. “Surely you have better places to be. Besides, Maeve is my responsibility.”
Maeve’s eyebrow archers, her head tilting with that look that says she’s no one’s responsibility.
Wade shrugs and saunders toward me, aiming for the door. “You’re right. Have at it,” he says with sharpness. “Make sure she’s confident before you let her crack on without being supervised.”
“Excuse me, she is right here,” Maeve bites, fire flashing in her eyes. “And I am sure if you boys can manage, it can’t be that complicated.”
Relief floods through me hearing that sharp tongue of hers, a sign that she is back to her normal self. I hope.
I move toward the desk, taking Wade’s place beside her. Standing just as close to her, letting her sweet scent of cherries drift up from her hair, making my pulse quicken and something I try to ignore harden.
As I lean over to reach the mouse, Maeve shifts right to give me space. Her shoulder brushes against my arm, and I have to concentrate on breathing steadily.
“Did Wade's explanation make sense, or do you need me to go over the stock intake again?” I ask, pulling up the order sheets.
“Nah, I am all good there! Spreadsheets are like my superpower,” she laughs, “I have one for everything.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a spreadsheet nerd,” I tease, nudging her shoulder gently, testing the waters between us.
“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, golden boy,” she smirks back.