Page 109 of The Wrong Ride Home

As the dining area cleared, I went outside to look for Elena.

The night air was cool, and the scent of earth and horses settled deep in me. I found her by the fence, drinking coffee. She didn’t turn when I approached, even though I knew she heardme.

I stopped beside her, resting my arms on the top rail. I felt her flinch and moveaway.

She was like an unsteady filly.

I remember Nash teaching me about horses when I was six or seven. He’d stand by the paddock, looking as big as a damn mountain—or at least, that’s how he felt to me. Tall, rough, solid as the land itself. He wore a sweat-stained hat, an old denim shirt with pearl snaps, and a scowl that could send grown men running.

I gripped the top rail of the fence, trying to act like I belonged, my small hands barely wrapping around the weathered wood as I peered into the round pen, where one of the hands was working a high-strung filly, easing her into the idea of wearing a saddle.

“You see that horse out there?” Nash asked, pointing with his chin.

I nodded. She was skittish, barely halter-broke, stomping at the dirt like the whole damn world was her enemy.

“She’s mean,” I muttered, watching her toss her head.

Nash let out a low chuckle that sounded like gravel shifting under boot heels. “She ain’t mean, son. She’s scared. Big difference.”

I looked up at him, confused.

He rested one calloused hand on my shoulder and kneaded. “Thing about horses, Duke—they don’t trust easy. And they never forget who was rough with ‘em.”

I’d nodded like I understood, even though I didn’t.

But now, standing here all these years later, Iunderstood. Elena wouldn’t forget how I’d hurt her, and trust wasn’t something I could just ask for—it was something I’d have to earn. The thing was that Elena wasn’t just angry; she was wary. Guarded. Scared.

Pain was a damn good teacher, and it had taught her well. She didn’t want to be anywhere near me, not because she didn’t feel something—God, I knew she did—but because she was afraid. Scared that if she gave in, if she let herself be with me again, I’d do what I did before—I’d break her.

I had to show her that I’d never do that again, that I’d rather die than cause her pain. I’d done that enough, and now I had to find a way to heal her, be the medicine that made her better—because she was mine. I had lived a life of distrust, which didn’t surprise me, considering how I’d been raised by a man who showed no emotions and a woman who lied about hers.

“I wasted so much fuckin’ time,” I said hoarsely.

She didn’t say anything to that, kept her focus on me.

“I miss him,” I admitted, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be. “I…should’ve been here during his last days. I fuckin’ hate myself for not telling him to his face that there was nothing to forgive, that I loved him, because fuck, Elena, I did.”

Tears filled my eyes as I thought about Nash—the larger-than-life man whom I’d respected and then hated. I couldn’t understand how he could’ve left my mother, disrespected their marriage vows, and Mama had fueled that emotion. She’s never had one good thing to say aboutNash, and afterthatsummer, I started to believe each one of her lies. Was Nash perfect? Hell no. But then, who was? We were all flawed, all damaged, all broken—we were, all of us, overcoming shit.

“I wish I’d had more grace.” I closed my eyes, hanging my head in shame and remorse.

A hand rested on mine, not soft but a touch that was calloused, beautiful,hers. “I know. But he believed you had forgiven him, Duke, before he was gone; he believed that you loved him.”

I raised my eyes to meet hers, wet with regret. “Because you lied to him.”

“Yes.”

“You loved him.”

“Yes.”

I gave her a watery smile. “And you did it for me, too, didn’t you? So, when I was standing next to you, feeling like ripping my heart out for hurting my father, you could give me this.”

Her eyes flashed surprise.

Oh, baby, yes, I know you.

Our lives had taken different paths, we’d spent a decade apart, growing, changing—but at her core, she was still Elena. The fire in her, the way she loved, the way she fought, the way she stood her ground—that hadn’t changed.

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