Page 96 of Tame Our Wild

FORTY | HARLOW

Dirt crunches beneath the tires, the truck curving along back roads as I take us to the one place I know Colson can find peace in the chaos. The place where I felt the tension I didn’t know he was carrying release with the ripples as the canoe carried us to the center of the lake when he brought me out that early-spring afternoon.

The truck is silent, only the crack of gravel and whoosh from the air vents filling the space between us. Dark circles are painted under Colson’s closed eyes as he tries to keep the nausea at bay, the crinkle of his water bottle filling the cab as he chugs his third bottle of water since Matt and I helped him finish the garden for Paisley a few hours ago.

My heart hurts. It’s cracking, splintering for the man who cradled me tightly in the dirt as if I would’ve left him alone to deal with a past that has already eaten him alive for the last seventeen years.

On his birthday.

Guilt swarms in my stomach like angry bees, Matt’s words on a rotating track. He gave me enough of the story to understand but didn’t overshare the information he knew Colson should be the one to share.

“Colson has never hated you, Harlow. Watching you ride reminds him that you aren’t her.”

That’s when my heart first started to cave as I took in the broken man down in the field before me, talking to himself, before his knees crashed into the earth like he couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t have the whole story, but I already know I’ve never misunderstood anyone as much as I’ve misunderstood Colson Payne.

I feel it in my gut, a sharp pang that tells me all those words he’s said to me over the years were masking the hurt, the pain.

I thought he hated me for competing at his level, and he has, but only because I’ve been a reminder. My injury—my constant presence in the arena whenever I got on the back of a bull dug up his past, as if I were dirt under his nails he could never scrub.

All I want is to help him through this or just be here, so he doesn’t have to deal with it alone.

As strange as it was that Matt sent a Lyft to get me from the airport, it makes sense now. I’m grateful he didn’t leave Colson alone in this state.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, like I can push the guilt tearing at my chest into the leather. We’ve both made a lot of mistakes since we started competing against each other—said a lot of words we can’t take back—but it’s how we move forward, knowing each other’s scars that we carry deeper than raised skin.

After we finished spreading the dirt and planting the sunflower seeds, the sun was dipping below the horizon. Then we said goodbye to Matt, and Colson took a shower, one long enough that it made me wonder if he would ever get out.

Then, I thought of something—a place that he said was a reset. I quickly pulled out the baking materials I needed, tossed something together, and found a pack of what I was looking for in an old junk drawer. I took everything I needed to the truck and walked back into the house just as he had gotten out of the shower.

“What are you doing?” His husky tone filled my ears.

“Do you trust me?” I replied.

He swallowed and nodded, putting his boots back on as he followed me out to the truck.

We hit a pothole when I pull the vehicle off the gravel road, heading to the same spot on the shoreline where we had parked when we took the canoe out.

The jostle has Colson’s eyes opening in interest before they take in the silver, sparkling body of water spanning out before us. “You brought me to the lake?”

I put the truck in park and turn off the ignition. I give him a faint smile. “Let’s go.”

Opening the door, I hop out, Colson hesitating before he follows, and I hear the passenger door close. I round the truck to the bed, grabbing the pillows and blankets I threw back there.

Carrying the blankets and the bag I brought, I head toward the lake, stopping when I see his massive silhouette against the backdrop of night and glittering dark waters. His hands are in his sweatpants pockets. His body is still and motionless as he takes in everything before him, while I soak in the image before me. I memorize the details, as if I can use them to paint a picture that captures the emotion and heaviness with every brushstroke.

Slowly, I approach him, his gaze locked on the lake, blanketed by a dark, star-speckled sky, with soft peaks of mountains beyond that hover under the crest of the moon.

Colson exhales, some weight escaping him in one sharp breath. But I know it’s not that easy.

Picking a spot a few feet from the waterline, I place down the blankets and pillows before walking back to the man standing silently with his thoughts while crickets harmonize somewhere in the distance.

I stop beside him, keeping my voice low. “I knew this place meant something to you. You said, besides the ranch, that this was your favorite place on Earth. And I thought, after all you’ve been through today, that there is nowhere you’d rather be than here.”

He turns his head to look at me, an unspoken intensity flickering in his irises. “Since I met you, you’ve lived beneath my skin—you’ve infested my thoughts, even when I didn’t want you to. I just never knew that letting you in that deep would mean you’d be able to read my mind, too.”

I give him a simple shrug. “If only I could’ve read them sooner. I’m sorry, I should’ve been here earlier. I shouldn’t have missed your birthday; you should never spend it alone.”

He shakes his head, his hand reaching for mine beside my thigh. Lacing his fingers with mine, his thumb drifts over the dip between my pointer finger and thumb.