Page 126 of Reckless Hearts

I rest my hands on the porch railing and stare out into the dark. The fields are shadowed now, barely visible. The barn looms in the distance, still standing. Still mine. That was my kingdom once. I used to sneak up into the rafters and nap for hours, sunlight on my face, nothing but time to kill.

So many summers lost to harmless trouble and wild dreams.

The door creaks behind me, and I half expect Callie. Or Mav.

“I told them to stay back,” my mom says softly, stepping up beside me. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”

She’s a freaking mind reader, always has been, never been able to get away with shit. “Your father and I have mulled this over for years. We wouldn’t have told you if we didn’t know thiswas the best decision. I know it’ll be hard to let this place go, but with no one else to run it, this is the only way your father and I can settle down.”

“I’m not letting this go. I’ll figure it out. Loans, sponsors. Whatever it takes.”

She hums low in her throat, not acceptance or denial, then asks the thing I knew she would.

“So Callie’s back.” She’s not one to tiptoe around something. So this is proof. She knows how delicate this topic is.

“She told me she’s just here for the summer. But I’m not letting her walk away. Not this time,” I say.

“Good. She’s always been what’s best for you. They both have.” My mom places a warm hand on my shoulder, then walks back inside, leaving me out here with my thoughts. Her words ring in my ears, confirming what I already know.

She’s always been it for me. Even when I didn’t have the words for it.

And Maverick… he’s always been part of that too.

It’s not just her. It’sthem.

They’re the ones who make me feel whole.

And I think—no, Iknow—we could be everything if I can just prove we’re worth staying for.

By the time I come back inside, dinner’s long over, and the dishes are already washed and put away. I find Callie in her room two doors down from mine, and she greets me with that quiet smile that’s been undoing me since we were kids.

She wraps her arms around my waist and leans in, her cheek pressed to my chest like she can hear every storm still raging inside me.

And somehow, just standing here with her makes it a little quieter.

Losing the farm feels like losing the last piece of who I was before everything broke. But holding her like this? It reminds me that some things can still be mine.

“You smell good. Like outside. Like memories and trouble.” She nuzzles her nose into my chest, squeezing a little bit harder. Her own sadness shows in the way she holds me tight.

“Hm… not as good as you,” I say truthfully. She still smells like citrus and pomegranates, soft, warm, like she’s already curled herself into this house without meaning to.

I make a mental note to steal the name of whatever soap she’s using. The only thing better would be her smelling likeme.

“Stop sniffing me,” she grumbles, giving me a shove, but there’s no force behind it.

I don’t let go. My hands settle on her hips, firm and steady, keeping her close as I lean back enough to look into her eyes.

“You’re one to talk. You had your face buried in my shirt a second ago.”

She shrugs, trying for casual, but her voice betrays her.

“Yeah… but that’s ’cause you smell like home.”

The words hit like a strike to the chest, instant, deep, permanent.

A ripple shoots through me, all the way down to my heels. The way she sayshomelike she means it, like shewantsit sets something warm and dangerous spinning in my gut.

Lately, I’ve started to think maybe knowing what she wants isn’t the problem.

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