Page 66 of Broken Cedar

I say it out loud to the windshield. The windshield doesn’t react. I decide the windshield is a tough audience and try again.

None of them survive more than a few miles. By the time the flat valley starts giving way to rolling hills, I’ve abandoned the script entirely. The road curves more often now, climbing gently before dropping into shallow gullies lined with cottonwoods. I know these hills. I grew up watching them change color with the seasons. I know exactly how far I am from home.

I crest the last ridge and there it is. Broken Cedar Ranch, spread out below me. The main house with its wide porch. The barn with its faded red paint. The bunkhouse, the paddocks full of horses.

Last time I saw this view, my stomach was in knots. A particular lurch that felt like dread and longing twisted together so tightly I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

I pull into the gravel drive and switch off the engine. The silence settles around me. For a long moment I don’t move. Then I reach across to the passenger seat and rest my hand on my suitcase. The same suitcase. The same clothes. The same woman. And somehow…not the same at all.

I climb out of the car. I take one step toward the porch before hesitating. Mom’s probably inside, but Colt likely isn’t. I quickly scan the property. The barn door is half open. My heart starts hammering again. Not because I want to leave. Because I’m finally ready to stay.

I push the barn door wider and step inside, the smell hitting me first—hay, leather, horse. My eyes adjust to the dimness as I check for Colt.

He’s at the far end, his back to me, working on something at the bench. A bridle, maybe. I don’t call out. Just stand there, place my suitcase at my feet, and wait for him to sense me the way he’s always been able to. He turns to reach for a tool and his hands go still, his whole body freezing. He turns, looking in my direction.

“Hallie?” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much today.

He looks at me. Looks down at my suitcase, then looks back at me. His gaze drops to the bag again. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Every version of this conversation that I’d rehearsed on the way here evaporates. Apparently my brain has decided now would be an excellent time to forget language.

“Hi,” I manage.

“You’re…” He stops, still staring at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” A short laugh bursts out of me. “I bought a plane ticket.” Colt keeps staring at me, waiting for me to explain. “I came back,” I say weakly.

He sets the bridle down carefully. “For your mom?”

“No.” I shake my head. “For you.”

“For how long?” he asks, swallowing.

“I don’t know,” I say. Which is true. “A week, at least. Maybe longer. Maybe…” I trail off, unsure how much I should tell him. Unsure if he even wants me to stay, or if me leaving again hurt him too much.

Colt takes a step toward me and my heart is doing that hammering thing again. His hand rises, then stops and falls back to his side. “Your mom will be glad to see you,” he says eventually.

I swallow. “Yeah. I should probably go say hi to her,” I say weakly.

“Yeah,” Colt says. “She’s been—” He stops, shaking his head. “She’s gonna be real happy to see you.”

I take a breath. Let it out. Then take another. “I left because I was in love with you,” I blurt before I can stop myself. The words land between us with the particular terrifying honesty of a sentence that has lived in my bones for eight years and finally, finally found its way out.

Every version of this conversation I rehearsed in my head suddenly feels inadequate. I failed to account for the effect Colt has on me when I’m around him. My tongue feels like it’s tied into knots. Colt doesn’t move. His expression doesn’t change, he just stares at me, waiting for me to explain.

“I was scared,” I continue. My voice is surprisingly steady. “Scared of what it meant. Scared people wouldn’t understand, and I didn’t want complicated. I wanted simple. I wanted to see the world and build something and be someone, and loving you felt like…” I pause, looking for the word. “Like belonging to something before I figured out who I was without it. And that terrified me.”

Colt nods slowly, his jaw tightening. “Okay,” he says slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I stayed away because seeing you hurt,” I say with a rush. Colt says nothing. “Every time. Every holiday I skipped, every visit I canceled—it was because I knew that standing in this barn, looking at you, would undo me. And I didn’t want to be undone. I wanted to be the woman who left and built a life and never looked back, because that woman was brave, and the woman who loved you felt…exposed. All the time. Like I was carrying something too valuable to put down and too heavy to keep holding.”

I watch the column of Colt’s throat bob up and down.

“I came back because I finally stopped running,” I say simply. “I stopped running. I turned around and looked at what I’d been running from, and it wasn’t a cage. It was never a cage. It was a home. It was you. It’s always been you, Colt. I should never have left. Not the first time, not the second time. I should have stayed. I should have had the courage to want you the way you deserved to be wanted—openly, completely, without shame. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realise it.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes once. Swallows. Like he’s waited so long for these words that hearing them doesn’t feel real.

My breathing is uneven. “That’s it,” I whisper. “That’s everything.” Colt is quiet, but his eyes haven’t left mine. “Please say something,” I breathe. “I know you’ve never been one for words, but God, I could really use some right now,” I choke out.

He looks down before looking back up and breathes out slowly. “I never stopped hoping you’d come home,” he says eventually. “Didn’t mean I expected you to. Figured if you came back…” he shrugs. “It had to be because you wanted to.”