Page 125 of Reckless Hearts

“I’m grateful to have found what I lost. To feel that hollowed-out part of me finally filled.”

My voice cracks, but I push through.

“I’ve been walking in the dark for a long time… and it finally feels like the sun’s coming up.”

I take a long, steadying breath and hope they hear what I can’t say out loud. Not yet. Not here.

“I’m grateful to be surrounded by the people who matter most. That feeling of invincibility that I can do anything, so long as they’re beside me, is finally back.”

Maverick doesn’t look at me, but his hand finds my thigh under the table, wrapping around it tight. The tremble in his grip travels straight through me.

He’s saying everything without a single word.

Callie’s hazel eyes are locked on mine, wide and shining. A soft pink blooms across her cheeks, and her chest rises a little too fast.

God, I’d give anything to pull her into my arms and never let her go.

Across the table, I catch the look on my mom’s face.

She’s already picturing holiday dinners and baby showers and probably sewing a damn quilt.

“Let’s dig in before it gets cold and all your mom’s hard work goes to waste,” Dad says, scooping up a big spoonful of mashed potatoes.

Callie covers her mouth as she chews, eyes bright. “I’d never let her cooking go to waste. I’m pretty sure I dreamed about this.”

Conversation picks up fast, everyone talking over each other. Laughter echoes through the room, the kind that settles in your bones and stays there. A warm, easy buzz hums around the table.

Then my parents share a look.

Dad clears his throat. “We’ve been thinking about selling the farm.”

The words hit harder than a kick to the ribs. I choke on nothing, fork frozen halfway to my mouth.

“It’s a hard decision,” he says gently. “We’re getting older. It’s just… too much work now.”

Callie and Maverick both go still. Their faces say it all, like they’re losing something that belongs to them too. But they stay quiet.

This land runs through me. Dirt under my nails, sweat in the wood beams and floorboards.

No way in hell I let someone bulldoze it for condos or strip malls.

The pot roast on my plate turns to ash in my mouth.

“May I be excused?” I ask, already pushing back from the table. I can’t sit here and act like this is just news.

Like it doesn’t feel like the floor just dropped out from under me.

My dad doesn’t lift his eyes, just gives me a silent nod.

I push back from my chair and head for the door, doing my best not to stomp or let the mess of feelings inside me show.

I know they wouldn’t bring this up unless they had to.

And I know they’re not trying to hurt me.

But still… fuck.

The night air hits like a slap, cool against my overheated skin. I suck in a breath, lungs filling with the scent of hay, dirt, and worn leather. The smell of my childhood.

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