Whiskey Wounds and Wild Horses

by royal_callahxn

Summary:

After years of radio silence, Theo Raeken is sent back to the dusty California ranch where he spent one golden summer of childhood — and where he left behind the only boy who ever really knew him. Bitter, broken, and battling more demons than he can count, Theo is sentenced to community service at the Hale Ranch alongside Brett Talbot, another city screw-up. But the wide-open spaces he once loved now feel suffocating, and Liam Dunbar — all grown up, all sunburnt freckles and callused hands — isn’t the soft-hearted kid Theo remembers. With the past hanging heavy and Theo’s spiraling addiction nipping at his heels, Theo doesn’t think he’ll make it through the summer

Notes:

Trigger Warnings / Content Warnings For This Story: Substance Abuse, Smoking, Emotional Abuse, Depression, Implicit Suicidal Ideation

Chapter 1: Dust and Other Ghosts

The car ride was too quiet. Sheriff Stilinski had the windows cracked halfway for airflow — not enough to stir the stale air, just enough to let in the burn of August heat and the sharp smell of dried grass. The cruiser’s backseat reeked of vinyl and sunbaked regret, and Theo Raeken could feel the sweat beading between his shoulder blades, dampening the back of his black T-shirt.

He’d forgotten how yellow everything was out here.

The city, for all its filth and flashing neon and sirens that screamed louder than your own thoughts, at least had corners to disappear into. Theo had spent most of his last year hiding — in alleyways, in backseats, in the too-loud buzz of his own mind. But here? Out here, the land didn’t end so much as sprawl. Dry hills curled like the ridges of some dead animal’s spine. The air shimmered above the asphalt, everything stretched and warping with heat. There were no tall buildings to throw shadows. No crowds to vanish into. No noise to drown in.

Just the dry hush of the valley, and the ranch, getting closer with every mile.

Brett let out a long, dramatic sigh beside him. Slouched deep in the passenger seat like he could maybe merge with it if he got low enough. “I hope they don’t expect me to shovel shit,” he muttered, voice low enough not to tempt Stilinski’s attention.

“You tagged a whole church,” Theo said flatly, not looking at him. “You’ll be lucky if they let you near animals.”

“Wasn’t even a real church,” Brett defended. “They turned it into a vape shop. That cross was irony.”

Theo didn’t answer. His jaw flexed once, sharp and tight, and then he looked back out the window, left hand curled protectively around the strap of his duffel bag in his lap. The bag was heavier than it looked — partly clothes, partly bad decisions in liquid form.

Stilinski glanced at them through the rearview mirror. “You two always this chatty?”

Brett offered a smirk. “Only on special occasions.”

The sheriff chuckled, like he thought that was charming. “You know,” he said, eyes flicking to Theo’s reflection, “I remember you. Used to run around the ranch in a cowboy hat two sizes too big, talking Peter into giving you extra chores so you could ‘earn your keep.’”

Theo flinched at the name. Peter. Of course.

“Ten years, give or take?” Stilinski went on. “You and that Dunbar kid were inseparable. Swear to God, you two ran more than the horses did.”

Theo said nothing. He could feel Brett looking at him now, sideways and curious, but he didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he kept his eyes pinned to the window, where the landscape was slowly becoming familiar in a way that felt wrong. Like stepping into a memory that didn’t want him anymore.

“Bet the Hales’ll be glad to see you,” Stilinski added.

Theo’s voice was a scrape. “Doubt it.”

That finally earned the sheriff’s silence.

Brett, mercifully, didn’t press. He adjusted his seatbelt and muttered, “Guy’s got a gift for making shit weird.”

Stilinski snorted. “You’re lucky we didn’t send you to juvie. Or out to work crew in Barstow.”

“I like ranches,” Brett said, with that effortless grin that always got them out of worse trouble than they deserved. “Sun. Air. Dirt. It’s… grounding.”

Theo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Brett only ever got poetic when he was hiding something. Which meant he was probably just as nervous as Theo was.

The cruiser turned off the main road, the tires crunching over gravel now. They hadn’t even gotten to the ranch, but the change in air hit Theo all the same — sharper, dustier. He could smell the sun on hay bales, somewhere nearby.

The last time he was here, he was nine years old.

The last time he was here, he was still Theo. Not the drunk. Not the criminal. Not the fuck-up in court-mandated denim.

Back then, he had dirt under his nails and a sunburned nose and Liam Dunbar at his heels like a shadow that smiled too much.

Back then, there was no duffel bag with a flask wrapped in two T-shirts.

“You remember the Hales?” Stilinski asked, oblivious.

“No,” Theo lied.

“Derek’s running the ranch now. Still got Peter and Cora helping out. Even brought in a couple of local kids. One of ‘em’s your age. Liam’s still around, too.”

Theo’s hands curled tighter around the strap. He wanted a drink so bad his teeth ached.

Stilinski must’ve heard the silence shift, because he didn’t say anything else. Just let the tension stretch thin, like a pulled muscle, as the cruiser trundled further into the dry sprawl of nowhere.

Eventually, Brett broke it. “So, what’re the chances they put us on tractor duty instead of, like, mucking out stalls?”

Theo didn’t answer.

Because he remembered.

He remembered the stalls. The smell of them, the routine of them. How Peter had made them scrub out every inch with a toothbrush when they’d tracked in mud. How Liam had helped him finish his stall so they wouldn’t miss dinner. How Theo had left, two weeks later, without saying goodbye.

“How long are we stuck here?” Brett asked.

“Eighty hours,” Stilinski said. “Four-hour shifts. Five days a week. You do the work, keep your heads down, you’re out by the end of summer.”

“And if we don’t?” Brett asked, eyebrow raised.

Stilinski didn’t answer that one either.

Theo leaned his forehead against the warm glass. The heat soaked into his skin, and for a moment, it was like being nine again, sunburned and bone-deep tired after a day of chores, falling asleep next to a kid who never once asked why Theo never talked about his family.

But Liam wouldn’t be that kid now. Not anymore.

People grew up. Hardened. Especially when they got left behind.

Theo had no right to expect otherwise.

“I’m not doing group therapy,” Brett said. “If they start with the trust fall shit, I’m out.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you tagged the pastor’s garage door,” Theo muttered.

“It was Beyoncé lyrics,” Brett hissed. “Inspirational.”

Theo almost smiled. Almost.

The road narrowed again, and the sheriff slowed the car. The landscape had opened wider — long stretches of fence line, trees sparse and crooked like old men hunched under the weight of the sun. Somewhere beyond the hills was Hale Ranch, sprawling and golden and exactly the same as it had been.

He could almost see the silhouette of the barn in the distance, like a phantom limb.

The panic hit him like a sucker punch.

He wanted out.

Out of the car. Out of the heat. Out of the sentence. Out of his skin.

The flask in his bag was calling, already louder than any good intention he’d had when he got in this car.

The bottle wasn’t full. It never was for long. But it was enough. Just enough to take the edge off the burn crawling up the back of his throat, the kind of rawness that didn’t come from thirst or heat, but need.

The kind of rawness that hummed louder the closer he got to that barn.

To him.

Theo dug his thumbnail into the meat of his palm. Hard. Deeper. He counted it off like seconds on a clock. One. Two. Three. Pain. Good. Four. Five.

“You alright back there, Raeken?” Stilinski asked without looking. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“He’s always quiet,” Brett said, breezy, like he was trying to throw a towel over a grease fire. “It’s his thing. Brooding. Mystery. Sad-boy chic.”

Theo didn’t look at him, didn’t answer.

Because the barn was there now — not a memory anymore, not an imagined outline, but real. Red paint sun-faded to rust, roof patched with tin, leaning slightly left like it remembered better days. The corral fences were still white, still weathered and splintering in the corners, still built by hand.

Nothing had changed. Not really.

And that made it worse.

Because everything in Theo had changed.

“You can let us off here,” Theo said abruptly.

The sheriff blinked. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still half a mile out. Road ends at the house.”

“I’ll walk.”

Brett turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Dude.”

“I said I’ll walk.”

The silence that followed was dry and brittle, like the grass baking along the fenceline.

Theo unbuckled his seatbelt, the click too loud in the quiet.

Stilinski sighed. “Suit yourself.”

The cruiser slowed to a full stop. Dust kicked up around the tires as Theo shoved the door open and stepped out into the heat. His boots hit gravel, the sun hit his back, and the scent of hay, dirt, and horse sweat hit harder than either.

Brett got out too, slinging his own duffel over one shoulder, muttering, “Are you kidding me?” under his breath as he shut the passenger door.

Theo didn’t wait.

He just started walking.

The gravel crunched underfoot. His shoulders ached from tension. The sky stretched endless and cloudless above him, and sweat was already slicking down the small of his back.

Brett caught up within seconds. “This your idea of a dramatic entrance?”

Theo didn’t answer.

“Because if you’re trying to make an impression, pretty sure walking into a ranch on foot like you’re on some Wild West pilgrimage isn’t the way.”

Still nothing.

Brett exhaled sharply. “Okay. So we’re back to monosyllabic Theo. Cool. Love that for us.”

The silence settled again.

Theo glanced at the fields to the left, where the grass used to grow higher, thicker — where he and Liam used to sprint from fence post to fence post, competing for nothing but speed and air and that wide-open joy that didn’t last long in a foster home.

The fence was still there. Still chipped and bowed and barely held together.

So was the tree where Liam fell out of the lowest branch and split his lip.

Theo had cried harder than he did.

He looked away.

“Are you actually okay?” Brett asked. Quieter now. “Like, actually?”

Theo’s grip on his bag tightened. “Yes.”

Brett nodded. “Cool. Just checking.”

The road sloped up slightly, cutting through the last stretch of field before the driveway curved into view. From here, they could see the house — long porch, peeling paint, screen door swaying in the heat. There were trucks parked to the side, one of them half-covered with a tarp, another with hay bales stacked high in the bed.

Voices floated faintly across the space.

Laughter. A shout. Someone’s dog barking.

Alive. The ranch was alive.

Theo wasn’t ready for that.

Wasn’t ready for the world to keep turning without him.

Wasn’t ready to see Liam.

And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to see what Liam had turned into.

They stopped just outside the main path. Theo’s breath was shallow. His mouth dry.

He reached into his duffel.

Brett’s voice cut through the air like a whip: “Don’t.”

Theo paused. Hand half-buried in canvas.

“You really gonna walk onto this ranch reeking of whiskey?” Brett asked, sharp now, all that laid-back sarcasm gone. “On the first day? Before you’ve even met the guy you’ve been spiraling about for two weeks straight?”

Theo didn’t move.

“I’m serious, man.” Brett stepped in front of him. “Put it away.”

Theo clenched his jaw. “You don’t get it.”

“I do. I really do. That’s the problem.”

The flask was right there. So close. One pull. Just one.

“You’ll hate yourself more if you do,” Brett said, softer now. “And you already hate yourself enough to fill a barn.”

Theo stared past him, to the porch, to the screen door, to the sliver of movement inside.

Just a shape. Just a shadow.

Could’ve been anyone.

Could’ve been him.

He let go.

His hand dropped.

The duffel zipped shut.

Brett exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

Theo adjusted the strap on his shoulder. It felt heavier now.

Everything did.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

Chapter 2: Ghosts Of The Living

The porch creaked under their boots. Not a lot — just enough to remind Theo that the boards were old, that this place had settled, aged, grown brittle in some places and stronger in others. The same way people did.

The same way he hadn’t.

Brett shifted beside him, dragging the strap of his duffel higher up his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, and Theo didn’t look at him. The front door loomed ahead, warped wood and chipped white paint, a rusted screen door crooked on one hinge. Someone had hung a wind chime just above it, made of mismatched horseshoes and twisted wire. It clinked softly in the wind, hollow and out of tune.

The house smelled like dirt and leather and the kind of soap that clung to skin long after the water dried.

Theo swallowed hard.

Before he could knock, the door creaked open.

Derek Hale filled the doorway. Broader than Theo remembered, his frame thick with years of work, a patch of sweat darkening the collar of his Henley. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but cautious. Weathered.

He looked between the two of them, eyes lingering on Brett first. Then Theo.

No spark of recognition.

No smile.

No You’ve gotten so tall or Jesus, it’s really you.

Just a squint. “You the city boys Stilinski said were coming?”

Brett nodded. “That’s us. Brett and Theo.”

“Theo,” Derek repeated, slowly, like he was testing the shape of the name.

Theo gave a stiff nod.

Still nothing.

Derek just stepped aside. “Come in. Cora’s in the back with the horses. I’ll get Peter.”

The inside of the house was dim and cool — a relief, after the sun. Theo hesitated at the threshold before following Brett in.

The hallway smelled like cedar and old photos. The kind of lived-in scent that makes you feel like a ghost for walking through it.

There were pictures on the wall — frames of old rodeos, black-and-white shots of the ranch when it had more horses, more hands. No one smiled in any of them. It wasn’t that kind of house.

Theo didn’t look too closely.

He didn’t want to see himself.

Didn’t want to see that wide-eyed nine-year-old with dirt on his cheeks and a hand tugging at Liam’s shirt because he couldn’t bear to be alone.

Theo set his bag down at the edge of the entryway, not daring to step further than Brett.

“You’d think he’d remember you,” Brett said under his breath. “You literally lived here.”

Theo’s voice was hoarse. “I didn’t live here. I visited.”

Brett glanced at him. “For a whole summer.”

Theo didn’t answer.

Because it hadn’t been just a summer.

It had been everything.

The first time he’d been somewhere that didn’t stink of bleach and fear and other people’s anger. The first time someone had taught him how to ride. How to hold a shovel. How to exist without constantly watching the exits.

He’d started calling it home in his head.

And then, one afternoon — a Tuesday, he remembered, because it had rained for the first time in weeks — the social worker had come, red-faced and flustered, and told him it was time to pack up.

He’d clung to the bedpost. Bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. Kicked and screamed so hard Peter had to lift him bodily out of the room.

Theo had torn his shirt that day. Had bruises blooming along his ribs from where he’d fought.

No one talked about it. No one came after him.

The next place smelled like mildew and roaches and the man who took three weeks to learn Theo’s name.

He stopped believing in home after that.

“I’ll get your room set up,” Derek said, reappearing with a short nod. “You’ll be in the bunkhouse with Nolan and Alec. There’s fans but no A/C. You’ll live.”

“Cool,” Brett muttered.

Theo stayed silent.

Peter’s voice drifted down the hall before the man himself appeared. “He won’t live, Derek. Not without some damn water and something besides dust to breathe.”

He turned the corner like he owned it, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, silver streaking his dark hair. And the moment he saw Theo, he stopped cold.

The silence thudded like a heartbeat.

Theo straightened.

Peter’s lips parted. “Teddy?”

Theo’s jaw locked.

“Oh, hell,” Peter whispered, a slow, gleaming smile overtaking the shock. “I’d know that little scowl anywhere.”

Brett blinked. “Teddy?”

“Nope,” Theo said immediately. “No. Don’t do that.”

But Peter was already moving. He crossed the space in three long strides, arms out like he meant to hug him, then thought better of it and just grabbed Theo’s shoulders instead. “You were tiny. And loud. And sticky. I used to threaten to tie you to the fence if you didn’t stop chasing the chickens.”

“I was nine.”

“And now look at you,” Peter said, beaming. “You’re taller than Cora.”

“Congratulations to me.”

“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” Peter asked, tone turning sly.

“Not even a little.”

Peter grinned wider. “Still a little feral, I see.”

Theo gently shrugged out of his grip. “It’s been a long decade.”

Peter raised a brow, but didn’t press. “Well. You’re still prettier than Derek was at twenty.”

“Peter,” Derek barked from down the hall.

“What? I call it like I see it.”

Brett was biting back a laugh, half-confused, half-impressed. “So…you’re like, the favorite grandkid they didn’t know they had?”

Theo huffed a humorless breath. “Don’t romanticize it.”

Peter’s voice softened. “You screamed so loud when they took you away, I couldn’t hear myself think for hours.”

Theo froze.

The hallway grew quieter.

Peter tilted his head. “You remember that, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The memory was burned into his chest.

Peter holding him back as he kicked and cried. Derek yelling at someone on the phone. Cora staring from the top of the stairs, wide-eyed and confused.

And the car door closing.

Locking.

Gone.

Theo looked down at his hands. “Doesn’t matter.”

Peter studied him for a beat. “It did.”

But he stepped back. Let it go.

Theo nodded once, grateful in a way he’d never say.

“Cora’s outside,” Derek said, louder this time, like he needed to ground the room again. “She’ll show you where you’re bunking.”

“I thought you said you were getting the room set up,” Peter called.

“I lied.”

Theo followed Brett out the back door, but not before Peter added one last thing, soft enough that only he would hear:

“You never stopped being one of ours.”

Theo didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

He stepped out into the blinding sun instead.

Let the screen door slap shut behind him.

The sky was wide and the world was loud and the house behind him was breathing with memories he wasn’t ready to face.

But for the first time in a long time, there was a voice — not the one that begged him to drink, or the one that told him to run — but the one that sounded like a nine-year-old boy with sunburned cheeks, whispering:

You came back.

He shoved that voice down hard, like he did everything else. Buried it beneath the thick, familiar numbness that kept him upright. That kept his hands from shaking. That kept the last ten years from spilling out in a messy, pathetic trail behind him.

The sun bit at his skin as he stepped off the porch, the dry heat curling under his collar and soaking through his shirt like a second layer of sweat. Brett walked ahead, his duffel bouncing lazily against his side. Like this was nothing. Like they weren’t walking straight into the past Theo had spent a decade trying to forget.

The barn hadn’t changed.

Not the color, not the shape, not the way it sat crooked against the flat sprawl of pasture like a tired sentinel. The wood had faded a little more, time stripping the red paint into something closer to rust, but the silhouette was the same — slanted roof, wide doors, slats of sun slicing through the gaps like memory.

Cora was waiting.

She leaned against the fence just outside the barn, arms crossed, a faded trucker cap pulled low over her dark hair. She wore jeans and boots and a tank top that showed off the ink spiraling down one shoulder — a line of horses running up her arm like they were fleeing something.

She looked older than he remembered, but not by much. 12, maybe 13, back then. Her features were sharper than they’d been, eyes just as unreadable, mouth tugged into a faint scowl like it was carved there.

“You’re late,” she said by way of greeting.

Brett saluted. “Traffic was hell.”

“You’re in the middle of nowhere. What traffic?”

Theo hung back, one step behind Brett, hands tucked into his back pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

Cora looked at him. Squinted.

Then her entire face changed.

It wasn’t dramatic — no gasps, no tears — but it was enough to knock something loose in Theo’s chest. Her eyes widened just slightly, her posture shifted, her arms dropped to her sides.

“…Theo?” she said, like she didn’t believe it.

He didn’t answer.

But that was all she needed.

“Oh my god.”

She pushed off the fence and crossed the dirt in four long strides. She was taller than he remembered. Stronger, too. She moved like someone who’d been breaking horses her whole life.

Theo saw it coming before she even reached for him. The hug. The open arms. The split-second of joy on her face, like seeing him somehow meant something.

He flinched back.

Not big. Not obvious. Just a hitch in his step, a tension in his spine that made his whole body go rigid.

Cora stopped short.

Arms halfway raised. Smile dimming.

Her brow furrowed, confused. “I—sorry, I just—”

Theo cleared his throat. Looked away. “It’s fine. I just…don’t really do that.”

Cora hesitated, then dropped her hands. “Okay. Yeah. Of course.”

Brett looked between them but didn’t say anything.

Theo forced a breath out through his nose. His voice came out dry. “Hey, Cora.”

A beat of silence. Then she gave him a crooked smile. “Hey, Teddy.”

He winced.

“Oh no. That still a no?”

“Definitely a no.”

She grinned wider. “Fine. No Teddy. But holy shit, look at you. You’re…grown.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t vanish off the face of the earth for a decade.”

Theo shrugged, still not looking at her. “Wasn’t really my choice.”

She sobered instantly. The smile slipped again.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, quieter.

He didn’t respond.

Because if he said me too, he’d be lying. And if he said don’t be, he’d sound like a dick.

So he just stood there. Let the weight of it hang.

Cora tilted her head toward the barn. “You wanna see who’s still kicking?”

He nodded once.

They walked. The air smelled like hay and dust and horses — thick and hot and strangely familiar. The kind of scent that clung to your skin and your clothes and your memories.

The barn doors yawned open, the sun spilling into shadow, and Theo stepped inside like he was crossing into another life.

And there — in the third stall on the left — was Buckshot.

Same strawberry roan coat, same uneven blaze down his nose, same lazy, judgmental eyes that had once watched Theo fail to mount him at least nine separate times.

He stopped short.

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

“Buckshot?” he rasped.

Cora smiled, a little softer this time. “You remember him.”

“I thought he’d be dead by now.”

“He should be. Stubborn bastard won’t go.”

Theo stepped closer, cautious. Buckshot huffed like he’d been expecting him.

Theo reached out. Let his hand hover over the coarse mane, like touching it might make something come undone.

Then slowly, gently, he pressed his palm to the horse’s neck.

Warm. Steady.

Buckshot didn’t flinch. Just shifted his weight and leaned into the touch like no time had passed at all.

Theo’s vision blurred for half a second.

He blinked hard.

“I used to sneak him sugar cubes,” he said, voice barely audible.

“He used to follow you around like a puppy. Wouldn’t let anyone else near him if you were around.”

Theo stroked the horse’s side in silence. His other hand curled at his side, thumb twitching like it wanted to reach for something.

“You look tired,” Cora said gently.

“I always look tired.”

“You didn’t. Not when you were a kid.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not to me.”

Theo finally looked at her. “Why do you even care?”

Cora frowned. “Because you were my friend too, Theo. You weren’t just Liam’s little shadow. You were part of this place. Part of my family.”

He looked away again. “Well. I’m not anymore.”

Cora didn’t argue. She didn’t tell him he was wrong or that he could be again.

She just let the silence stretch until Buckshot shifted and nudged Theo’s shoulder like he was impatient with all the drama.

Theo huffed a soft laugh. Scratched behind the horse’s ear.

“He still hates being brushed,” he said absently.

“He still fakes a limp to get out of runs.”

“Smart bastard.”

“Exactly like you.”

Theo didn’t argue.

He stood there for a long time, one hand on the horse that had once felt like his only friend, the heat pressing in around him like a weighted blanket.

And for just a moment — a fleeting, painful second — he let himself pretend nothing had changed.

That he hadn’t been torn away.

That he hadn’t spent years chasing numbness just to breathe.

That maybe, if he stayed still enough, long enough, Liam would come down from the pasture grinning, dirt on his face and a smudge of blood on one knuckle, calling Theo’s name like no one else ever had.

But the moment passed.

And Buckshot let out a snort, flicked his tail, and shoved Theo back toward the present with a nudge to the ribs.

Cora smirked. “He remembers you.”

Theo swallowed. “Don’t know why he would.”

Theo ran his fingers down the horse’s neck one more time, then stepped back.

His skin itched again. That hollow ache under the ribs. That tug to drink.

But it was quieter now.

Just a whisper.

Cora hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll show you the bunkhouse. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got a bed and running water, so…”

Theo nodded.

Didn’t say anything.

Just gave Buckshot one last look and followed her out into the blinding sun, wondering if maybe — just maybe — the ghosts here didn’t want to hurt him.

Chapter 3: Where The Smoke Settles

Notes:

Trigger warning: smoking

The sun was still relentless, but there was a shifting in the air — a low hum of voices, the scrape of boots on gravel, the steady thud of hands working wood somewhere nearby. The ranch was alive.

Cora led them down a narrow dirt path flanked by brittle sagebrush and wild grass, the barn looming behind them like a monument to the past Theo wanted to forget but couldn’t. Brett followed easily, whistling under his breath, while Theo’s gaze stayed fixed ahead, every muscle wound tight.

As they rounded a corner, voices rose — clear and familiar, cutting through the heat.

Three figures stood clustered near a water trough, tossing a rag back and forth like a game.

One was tall, broad-shouldered, sunburnt to a bronze-red that sharpened the freckles scattered across his face and arms. Thick muscles rippled under the faded plaid of a sleeveless shirt, calluses mapping years of hard labor on his hands. His hair was darker blond, sun-bleached but not golden, tousled and stubborn, just like Theo remembered.

Theo’s breath hitched.

Liam.

The same Liam he’d left behind ten years ago. The same Liam who had been his only real friend.

Only Liam wasn’t the boy anymore.

He was something else entirely.

The years vanished in an instant — the years of silence, of distance, of everything left unsaid — but the coldness in Liam’s eyes didn’t disappear.

No soft smiles. No warmth.

Just watchful, guarded resentment.

Cora’s voice broke through the moment. “Theo, Brett — this is Liam, Mason, and Corey.”

The other two men stood slightly apart from Liam. Mason was tall, dark-skinned, with a grin that was warm but wary, and Corey had an easygoing air, the kind of quiet confidence that fit the land like it belonged there.

Theo’s eyes flicked from Liam to Mason and Corey, but he barely registered them. Liam was the anchor pulling everything taut.

Liam didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t offer any hint that seeing Theo again was welcome.

Theo swallowed, the familiar lump rising in his throat.

Brett elbowed him lightly. “That’s the guy you’ve been yapping about all those nights back at the foster home.”

Theo’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well. That was then.”

Mason stepped forward, breaking the silence. “We heard you’d be coming. It’s… good to have fresh hands around.”

Corey nodded. “Yeah, the work here never stops.”

Theo gave a curt nod. “Thanks.”

Liam shifted his weight, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studied Theo like he was trying to measure what had changed — and what hadn’t.

There was a tension between them that wasn’t about words. It was something deeper, buried under layers of anger and pain and lost time.

Theo wanted to reach out, to break through it. But he didn’t know how.

So he stayed silent.

Brett grinned, clearly amused. “So, Liam, you gonna give the guy a tour? Or just stand there like a statue?”

Liam’s eyes flicked to Brett, cold and hard. “I’m not his tour guide.”

Cora gave Liam a sharp look but didn’t say anything. Mason shifted beside him, lips pressed together like he wanted to smooth things over but couldn’t find a good enough lie. Corey just glanced at the ground and let the heat speak for him.

Theo tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. Then his voice came low and dry, not quite sharp but edged enough to cut.

“I remember my way around.”

He didn’t look at Liam. Didn’t even glance in his direction.

“I don’t need a tour,” he added, stepping forward. “C’mon, Brett.”

Brett blinked, caught off guard. “Uh. Sure.”

Theo grabbed him by the elbow — not hard, just firm — and walked, leaving the others behind without a second glance.

Inside the bunkhouse, the air was marginally cooler, the single ceiling fan spinning slow and half-defeated above their heads. Four metal-frame beds were shoved against opposite walls, mattresses stiff and sheets scratchy, a small desk crammed in the corner. A faded poster of some rodeo star still clung to the wall, curling at the edges.

Theo let the door slam shut behind him. The moment it clicked into place, he dropped his duffel onto the nearest bed and turned away from it, dragging a hand through his hair like he could scrub the weight of that stare off his skin.

Brett stood still for a beat, watching him, brows knitting. “That went well.”

Theo didn’t answer.

Instead, he dug into the side pocket of his bag — not the one with the flask, not yet — and came back with a soft pack of cigarettes. The crumpled box had seen better days, edges frayed and paper thinned from being handled too much. He tapped one out with practiced ease, the movement muscle memory by now, and tucked it between his lips.

The cigarette bobbed once as he spoke. “You mind?”

Brett waved a hand. “You already dragged me across a sun-bleached hellscape. Knock yourself out.”

Theo struck the match against the box — no lighter, just the old way, the rough way — and lit the end.

The flame flickered to life. Bright. Hungry.

He pulled in the first drag like it meant something. Like it had weight. Like it could steady the tremor in his fingers that hadn’t quite gone away since Liam’s eyes met his.

The taste was sharp and dry. Chemical and ash, but weirdly comforting.

Smoke curled from his lips slow and lazy as he leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes fluttered closed.

He took another drag. Let it fill his lungs this time. Let it burn a little.

His exhale was long and steady, the smoke spiraling toward the ceiling fan and fading into nothing.

The tension in his shoulders eased by degrees. Not gone. Never gone. But dulled.

He smoked like someone who needed the ritual of it — the lighting, the drag, the exhale — more than the nicotine itself.

Each movement was deliberate. Measured. Like if he just went slow enough, the rest of the world might catch up.

Brett flopped down on the opposite bed, watching him. “So. That’s Liam.”

Theo didn’t open his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You sure he’s the same kid? Because I’m pretty sure that guy could kill a man with a hay hook.”

Another drag. Another breath.

“Same eyes,” Theo muttered. “Different person.”

Brett tilted his head. “You okay?”

Theo opened his eyes. Smoke clung to his lashes. “No.”

The silence after was thick — not awkward, just heavy. Familiar. Like two people who’d done this before. Maybe not here, but in cracked alleyways behind shelters, in foster homes where sleep didn’t come easy, in borrowed cars and over empty bottles.

Brett sighed and stood up, stretching lazily. His boots scraped against the floorboards as he walked over to Theo’s bag and rifled through the side compartment until he found the cigarettes. He pulled one free, pinched it between his lips, then struck a match from the same worn-down box Theo had used.

The sulfur hissed to life, casting a brief flicker of orange across Brett’s face before he lit the end and gave a shallow first drag.

“Christ,” Brett muttered, coughing a little. “These are dry as hell.”

Theo didn’t smile, but something shifted at the corner of his mouth — not humor, exactly. Something close.

“They’re cheap,” he said.

Brett shrugged and dropped down beside him, letting their shoulders nearly touch. He took another pull, steadier this time, holding it like he was trying to remember how his lungs were supposed to feel. Then he exhaled through his teeth, watching the smoke spin and tangle in the shaft of sunlight cutting through the slatted window.

The room smelled like heat, dust, and tobacco. Like burned things. Like every other place they’d ever tried to pretend they were safe in.

“You know,” Brett said, after a while, “when we were thirteen and you used to talk about him—”

Theo’s gaze snapped to him.

Brett met it. Unbothered. Calm in the way only someone who knew every awful inch of you could be.

“—I thought you were full of shit,” Brett went on, dragging lazily from his cigarette. “Like, no way some soft, golden California farm boy made that much of an impression.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “I never said he was soft.”

Brett gave him a look. “Yeah, you did.“

Theo turned his face away, jaw working.

The cigarette between his fingers was almost out. He brought it to his lips again, slow, like the drag might give him time. The smoke filled his lungs, deep and bitter. He let it sit there, burning.

Theo flicked the finished cigarette out the cracked window. Watched the ash scatter like dust across the porch roof. His hand lingered on the frame. Then he pulled the pack from his pocket again and lit another. Slower this time. Slower than he needed to.

He took a long, dragging inhale. Let the smoke fill every corner inside him that felt cracked open by Liam’s eyes. Let it settle into the places that still ached with old, familiar wounds.

He exhaled through parted lips, eyes distant. The smoke ghosted from his mouth like something being let go.

Theo dragged again, slower this time. The cherry at the end of the cigarette pulsed like a heartbeat. He held the smoke in until it stung behind his eyes, then let it go in a long, bitter sigh.

“I thought maybe he wouldn’t recognize me,” Theo said finally, voice dry.

Brett arched a brow. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know.” Theo shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s been eleven years. People forget.”

“Not the people who matter.”

Theo didn’t answer. He tapped the ash out of his cigarette against the frame, fingers twitching like they needed to be doing something else. Like if he wasn’t smoking, he’d have to start clawing at his own skin just to feel again.

“I kept thinking about what he might look like now,” Theo said after a moment. “I thought—maybe he’d be different. Maybe I’d be different.”

Brett didn’t laugh, but it was close. Dry. Tired.

“Well, he is different,” he said, dragging from his own cigarette. “All sunburn and forearms and attitude. Boy’s got that ‘small town rage’ thing going strong.”

Theo huffed a sound that wasn’t quite amusement. “You saw how he looked at me.”

“Yeah.” Brett let the word hang. “Like he’d rather gut you than hug you.”

Theo winced. Not at the words, but at how true they were. That look. Like all those dusty, faded years hadn’t blurred the edges one bit. Like whatever was left of seven-year-old Liam had been carved out and replaced with someone sharp and sun-hardened and cold.

He smoked deeper, until his chest ached, until his throat burned. He welcomed it. Craved the sensation. It was honest.

“He used to follow me around,” Theo said, voice barely above a whisper. “Back then. Like a shadow. I’d sit on the fence near the hay shed, and he’d sit right beside me. Wouldn’t even talk half the time. Just….sat there. Close.”

Brett didn’t speak.

“Every time I got mad, he’d pull me out of it. No one else could do that. Not the foster families. Not the therapists. Not even the Hales.” He paused, the smoke curling from his lips like a secret. “Just Liam.”

Brett’s gaze flicked sideways, soft now. “That why you talked about him so much?”

Theo didn’t answer at first. He stared out the open window, eyes tracing the jagged lines of the trees against the fading sky, the haze of dusk turning everything gold and sad.

“I think I needed to believe he was still out there,” he said eventually. “That someone still remembered me.”

His voice cracked on that last word, so faint it barely made it into the air between them.

Brett reached over, slow and quiet, and took the cigarette from Theo’s fingers. Stubbed it out against the tray, careful not to say anything too soon.

Theo didn’t look at him.

“I’m not trying to get him back,” Theo said after a long silence. “I just…I didn’t want it to hurt this much.”

Brett leaned forward, elbows on his knees again. “You still got that bottle in your bag?”

Theo’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah.”

“You planning to open it?”

Theo stared ahead. “I already want to.”

“Then don’t unpack it.”

Theo’s jaw twitched. “That simple, huh?”

“No,” Brett said, soft. He stood, stretching with a grunt. The floorboards creaked under his boots. “It’s not.”

Theo closed his eyes. He could still feel the way Liam looked at him — that flinch of recognition, the way his body went rigid. No joy. No relief. Just that sharp, unforgiving distance. The opposite of everything they used to be.

He felt like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong set.

Brett made for the door, flicking the curtain aside. The sun had almost vanished now, leaving just the thick amber of twilight.

“I’m gonna go check if there’s food,” Brett said. “You coming?”

Theo didn’t move.

Brett paused, half in the doorway. “You don’t have to do anything, man. But if you sit in here and drown in it, I’m not dragging your ass back from the bottom.”

Theo didn’t answer. Brett didn’t push.

The door creaked open, then shut again with a soft click.

And Theo was alone.

He lit another cigarette. Not because he wanted to — but because it was all he had left that didn’t ask questions.

The nicotine coated his tongue, acrid and familiar, and he leaned against the window frame like it might hold the pieces of him together.

He didn’t cry. He hadn’t in years.

But his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Not even when the sun disappeared completely, and the only thing left in the room was smoke and silence and the dull, hollow ache of everything he hadn’t said. Of everything he wouldn’t say.

Chapter 4: A Shard in the Hand Is Worth a Lie on the Tongue

Summary:

Trigger warnings: violence, blood/injury, alcohol and smoking, self-loathing

The bottle was less than half-empty when the door creaked open.

Theo didn’t bother hiding it. He didn’t even flinch, just tipped the rim to his mouth and let the whiskey burn its way down. He was still perched on the same window ledge, smoke curling from the half-lit cigarette between his fingers. The bunkhouse was dim now, lit only by the heavy blue of dusk spilling through the cracked windows, dust dancing in the air like ash.

Two sets of footsteps hesitated in the doorway. Then—

“Are you seriously drinking already?” The voice was sharp, incredulous, young.

Theo turned his head slowly, cigarette glowing as he pulled in a drag.

In the frame stood two boys. One of them was taller, lanky in the way kids on the edge of manhood were, his short brown hair curled at the ends and brows furrowed like he was used to worrying. The other was leaner, smaller, but with a posture that made up for the size. Dark hair, sharp green eyes, expression fixed somewhere between curiosity and challenge.

Theo let the smoke drift from his lips before answering. “Didn’t realize I was being monitored.”

The taller one — obviously the worrier — stepped forward. “You’re not. We’re just supposed to drop off the keys. Cora said you’d probably be in here.”

“She said you were the quiet one,” the smaller kid added, eyes narrowing slightly. “Doesn’t look that quiet to me.”

Theo arched a brow. “And who are you?”

The tall one spoke first. “Nolan. I’m—uh, I help out in the stables. I do early chores, vet stuff sometimes. My mom works in town.”

The other boy didn’t wait for an invitation. He strode further in, tossed the keys on the table like he lived there, then leaned against the wall near Theo with crossed arms.

“Alec,” he said. “And I’m not a kid.”

Theo blinked. “Didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

Theo took another long drink, eyes half-lidded. “You look twelve.”

Alec’s jaw tightened. “I’m sixteen.”

“Right,” Theo drawled, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. “Practically ancient. Shouldn’t you be off…I don’t know, Tiktoking or skateboarding or whatever the hell you kids do these days?”

Nolan looked horrified. Alec didn’t even blink. If anything, he looked more interested now.

Great. Exactly what Theo wanted.

“You’re not what I expected,” Alec said, voice low, like he was talking to an animal he didn’t want to spook. “They said someone was coming. That he used to live here. I didn’t think they meant someone like you.”

Theo gave him a sideways glance. “Someone like me?”

“Someone who looks like they’ve already lived three lives,” Alec said.

Theo let the comment settle in the air. The smoke curled, slow and steady, around the lines of his face, softening nothing.

“That what they’re teaching kids now? How to psychoanalyze strangers?”

Alec shrugged. “I just watch people. You seem interesting.”

Theo snorted. “I’m a court sentence, not a story.”

“Everyone’s a story.”

Nolan cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the way Alec was staring. “We should probably head back. It’s getting late.”

“You go,” Alec said without looking at him. “I’ll catch up.”

Nolan hesitated. “Alec…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Let the kid stay, Nolan. I’ll try not to corrupt him.”

“I’m not a kid,” Alec said again, sharper this time.

Nolan looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually backed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. Just—don’t be stupid.”

He tossed one last glance toward Alec, then slipped out the door.

The silence that followed was heavier, but not tense.

Theo lit another cigarette. Let the flame hover at the tip, then touched it gently to the paper. Inhaled. The smoke burned through him, clean and sharp.

Alec watched the whole process like it was a goddamn ritual.

“You shouldn’t do that around the horses,” Alec said eventually. “Smoke. Cora’ll kill you.”

Theo exhaled slow. “Good thing I’m not near the horses.”

“Do you always drink when no one’s around?”

Theo looked at him sideways. “Do you always talk this much to strangers?”

Alec didn’t answer. If anything, he leaned in closer, toes curling against the dusty floorboards like he was making himself at home. His eyes flicked to the bottle in Theo’s hand.

“Is that whiskey?”

Theo took a slow sip. “What gave it away? The color, the smell, or the fact that I’m halfway to drunk?”

Alec smirked. “How strong is it?”

Theo stared at him, unimpressed. “To strong for you.”

Alec bristled. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you’re sixteen and curious,” Theo said flatly, lowering the bottle to the floor. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

Alec shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Never said you were,” Theo muttered, flicking ash onto the windowsill. “But you’re still not getting a sip.”

Alec leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What if I’ve already tried it?”

“Then congratulations,” Theo said, dragging again from his cigarette. “You survived being a dumbass once. Doesn’t mean you should try again.”

Alec didn’t reply right away. His eyes dropped to the cigarette pinched between Theo’s fingers, then back up to Theo’s mouth as he exhaled, slow and smoky.

“That stuff actually help?” Alec asked. “The cigarettes?”

“No,” Theo said, too quickly. Then slower: “But it gives your hands something to do.”

“Can I try it?”

Theo barked out a sharp laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Alec frowned. “Why not?”

“Because your lungs haven’t had time to rot yet,” Theo said, tipping his head back. “Keep it that way.”

Alec rolled his eyes but smirked, clearly enjoying the game more than he should. “You sure you don’t want to share? I promise I won’t tell.”

Theo narrowed his eyes, amused despite himself. “Yeah, because I definitely want a sixteen-year-old telling stories about the guy who let him get wasted in a bunkhouse.”

Alec grinned wider, unfazed. “Not the way I’d tell it. I’m more of a ‘wise beyond his years’ kind of narrator.”

Theo snorted, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifted lazily toward the ceiling. “Right. You narrate my downfall while I get hauled off to court again.”

Alec cocked his head, eyes bright with teasing challenge. “I bet you’re fun at parties.”

Theo smirked, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t want to know.”

Just then, the bunkhouse door swung open with a loud creak, and Brett stomped inside, his usual laid-back air replaced by something sharper — annoyance, maybe even anger. His eyes immediately locked onto the bottle in Theo’s hand and the lingering scent of smoke in the air.

“What the hell, man?” Brett said, voice low but intense.

Theo stiffened, the cigarette almost slipping between his fingers. He quickly stubbed it out on the nearest wooden surface and tried to shift the bottle behind his back like a kid caught red-handed.

Brett wasn’t having it.

“Seriously? You’re already drinking again?” His tone was half exasperated, half worried.

Theo’s jaw tightened, voice clipped. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah? Because this isn’t how you handle it.” Brett stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You promised, Theo.”

Alec watched the exchange quietly, a flicker of something like concern flashing across his features.

Theo glanced at Alec, then back at Brett, the old tension coiling tight inside him.

“Look, Brett,” Theo said slowly, voice low, “I don’t need a lecture. And I don’t need you or anyone else trying to fix me.”

Brett shook his head, frustration giving way to a softer edge. “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to keep you from crashing and burning before the summer even starts.”

Theo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, words stinging deeper than the whiskey. “I don’t need you babysitting me,” he snapped, voice sharp and low like a knife scraping stone.

Brett took a step closer, fists clenched at his sides, but his voice stayed steady. “I’m not babysitting. I’m trying to keep you from falling apart.”

“Like you’re any better?” Theo shot back, the bitterness dripping from every word. His fingers curled into a fist around the empty bottle. “You think you’re some saint, huh? The perfect screw-up who can somehow save everyone else?”

Brett’s jaw twitched. “That’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Theo’s voice cracked, anger flaring like gasoline on a fire. “Always the hero, Brett. Always the one who’s better, stronger, smarter. But you don’t get to lecture me. Not after everything.”

Brett didn’t back down. His chest rose and fell steadily, but there was fire behind his eyes now — something raw and old and waiting to be unleashed.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he said quietly.

“Or what?” Theo growled. “You’ll finally hit me?”

The silence that followed was ice-thin and sharp.

Then Brett lunged.

It wasn’t a warning shove. It was full force — fist to jaw, the sound of bone on bone snapping through the bunkhouse like a gunshot. Theo’s head snapped sideways, his body twisting with the impact. He staggered, caught himself on the window frame, and immediately launched back.

His shoulder slammed into Brett’s ribs, knocking them both into the wooden table. The bottle of whiskey crashed to the ground, shattering into amber-soaked shards.

Alec flinched where he stood, wide-eyed. “Shit—hey, stop!”

But they didn’t.

Theo swung again, wild and angry. His knuckles cracked against Brett’s cheek, and Brett reeled, blood blooming from his split lip. He retaliated fast — years of instinct kicking in. His hand caught Theo’s collar, dragging him forward, and then his elbow slammed into Theo’s side hard enough to make Theo grunt and double over.

Alec didn’t wait. He bolted through the door, sprinting barefoot through the dust and gravel, voice carrying out into the trees as he shouted, “NOLAN! CORA! SOMEONE!”

Back in the bunkhouse, Theo spat blood onto the floor and stood upright, shaky but seething.

“Should’ve stayed down,” Brett warned, panting. “You’re not in any shape for this.”

“Don’t care,” Theo rasped, then charged.

They crashed into one of the beds, the metal frame groaning under the force. Sheets tangled around their legs as Brett pinned Theo by the shoulders, but Theo twisted, shoving a knee into Brett’s ribs, and they rolled.

Theo ended up on top, fist raised again, but Brett grabbed his wrist before the punch landed and headbutted him — brutal and direct. Theo saw white, his balance tipping. Brett used the opening to shove him off, sending Theo sprawling to the floor beside the broken bottle.

Theo’s hand, reaching for something — anything — landed on a jagged shard of glass. He gripped it without thinking, the edge biting into his palm, and lunged.

The glass sliced across Brett’s forearm as he raised it to block. Blood welled instantly, dark and thick.

“Are you insane?!” Brett bellowed, eyes wide now — not just angry, but stunned.

Theo froze, just for a second, like he hadn’t realized what he’d done.

Then Brett tackled him again.

They hit the ground hard. Dust rose up in choking clouds. Theo’s head cracked against the wooden floorboards, stars dancing behind his eyes. He couldn’t see clearly — just the shape of Brett above him, blurred and panting.

“You want to bleed out in here, is that it?” Brett yelled, voice shaking. “Is that what this is?!”

Theo’s lips peeled back in something between a sneer and a snarl. Blood trickled from his mouth, staining his teeth.

“Maybe I do,” he whispered.

Brett froze — just for a moment. His hands still held Theo down, but he stopped swinging.

And in that stillness, the only sound was Theo’s ragged breathing, the metallic scent of blood thick between them.

Footsteps thundered outside. Nolan’s voice broke through, sharp with panic: “Cora! Inside! They’re—shit, they’re fighting!”

The bunkhouse door slammed open seconds later.

Cora stormed in like a wave of fury and authority. Her boots hit the floor like hammers.

“Enough!”she barked.

Brett scrambled off Theo, chest heaving, blood smeared down one arm. Theo coughed and rolled onto his side, hand still clutching the shard of glass until Cora crouched beside him and knocked it from his fingers.

Her voice softened just slightly. “Jesus, Theo.”

He didn’t answer — couldn’t. His side throbbed. His ribs ached like something was broken. And his hand — god, his hand was torn open from gripping the glass. Blood dripped in steady trails to the floor.

Behind them, Alec hovered in the doorway, pale and shaking.

Nolan stood behind him, fists clenched, looking like he wanted to scream.

Cora stood slowly, glaring between the two of them — Theo bruised and bleeding, Brett shaking and silent.

“You’re both damn lucky I was close,” she said. “This is not how things work here.”

Theo dragged himself upright, his mouth twisted in something like shame — or maybe just defeat. His body ached in too many places to count, his head spinning from pain and adrenaline. Blood ran in sticky trails down his wrist, soaking into the frayed cuff of his shirt.

Theo’s breath came in shallow, ragged pulls as Cora’s hands moved over his injured palm with practiced efficiency. The rough fabric of her sleeve brushed his wrist, a touch so simple it should have been grounding, but it wasn’t. Instead, the sting of blood on his skin felt like the only thing real in a world spinning out of control.

He hated this — hated how small and fragile he felt under her gaze. Like a broken thing waiting to be tossed aside.

His mind splintered, pulling him under like cold water.

You’re just a screw-up. You’ll never get it right. They all see it. The scars, the mess, the mistakes. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to be helped.

Cora’s voice, steady and calm, drifted through the fog in his head, but it was muffled — distant, like she was speaking underwater. Her hands pressed firm but gentle, wrapping cloth around his bleeding hand.

Theo wanted to scream. Not at her, not at the world. At himself. For losing control. For letting the fight come to this — for breaking again when he’d promised to be better.

He stared at the bandage, the crimson seeping through the cotton, a slow, relentless reminder that nothing was ever clean or easy.

In the corner of his vision, Alec stood rigid, lips pressed tight, eyes wide. Nolan’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his face pale. Brett leaned back against the doorframe, the bruise on his arm pulsing with each shallow breath.

They were all watching. Waiting.

Judging.

Theo’s chest tightened — suffocating, relentless.

You’re weak. They’ll never forgive you. You don’t belong.

He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to curl into himself, to disappear behind the numbness.

Theo didn’t notice the shift in the air until someone crouched in front of him.

It wasn’t Cora.

It was Brett — voice low, eyes still dark from the fight, but softened at the edges like he was trying to make himself smaller. Less threatening.

Theo tensed, instinct twitching toward defense, but Brett didn’t reach for him. He just sat there, close enough to touch but not daring to.

“Theo,” Brett said, steady. Not soft, not sharp — just present. “Hey. Come back, man.”

Theo blinked, but his eyes didn’t focus. His thoughts were static. His throat was dry and hot with unsaid things.

But Brett didn’t press. He didn’t ask how he felt, didn’t say you’re okay now or you’re not alone — all the things that made the walls in Theo’s chest rise like shields.

Instead, Brett glanced over his shoulder at the window, at the last scraps of evening light melting into the hills.

“You remember when we used to race down the trails by the creek?” he said casually, like they hadn’t just beat the hell out of each other. “The one with the sharp turn near the fallen log?”

Theo’s gaze flickered, lashes twitching.

“You always took it too fast,” Brett continued, almost smiling. “Wiped out half the time. Covered in dirt and pissed off, and still insisted you won because you crossed the tree line first.”

Theo didn’t answer, but something in his shoulders shifted — barely, but enough. Brett noticed.

“You couldn’t stand losing,” Brett went on, like he was telling a story from a lifetime ago. “Even when it didn’t matter. You’d throw a fit for five minutes, then demand a rematch. I think you made me race you five times that day.”

Theo’s fingers twitched against his thigh. His jaw unclenched.

Brett kept talking.

“Remember that weird tree outside of Mr. Harem’s house? The one that grew sideways?”

Theo nodded, faintly. Just once.

“You swore it looked like a werewolf mid-shift,” Brett said with a breathy laugh. “Used to scare Colin with it. Told him it came alive at night.”

“I did not,” Theo rasped, voice hoarse and cracked.

Brett grinned — just for a second. “You totally did. Don’t lie. He wouldn’t go near it for a week.”

Theo exhaled a broken huff of air. Not quite a laugh. But it was enough.

And Brett saw it.

He didn’t say I’m proud of you. He didn’t say you’re safe now. He didn’t tell Theo to open up or feel better or trust them.

He just gave him little things. Anchors. Memories that didn’t hurt.

“Still think it looks like a werewolf,” Theo muttered, after a beat.

Brett’s grin widened, just barely.

“There he is,” he said.

Cora rose quietly from where she’d been cleaning blood from the floor, giving them space. Nolan tugged Alec gently out of the doorway, whispering something neither Brett nor Theo heard.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Brett shifted his weight onto his haunches, the floor creaking beneath him as he rested an elbow on his knee. He let a beat of silence pass — not heavy, just long enough for Theo to breathe in it.

Then, gently, he asked, “You ready to get up?”

Theo didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on the floorboards, but they were clearer now — less fogged over, more present.

Theo’s fingers flexed, blood dried in the seams of his knuckles. His ribs ached. His hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His shirt was a mess of dirt and blood and sweat. But something in him — stubborn, familiar — pushed upward.

He took a breath, rolled his eyes slowly, and said, “I’d be ready faster if you weren’t hovering like a worried mom.”

Brett huffed. “Welcome back, asshole.”

“Shut up.” But Theo’s voice had that familiar rasp — dry, defensive, cocky just for the sake of it. He braced a hand against the floor, wincing, but didn’t stop. “Jesus, it’s like you’re waiting to catch me in your arms or something.”

“I’m not,” Brett said, rising as Theo forced himself up. “I know better than to try carrying your dramatic ass.”

“Please,” Theo muttered, wobbling slightly. “You couldn’t lift me even if you tried.”

“You weigh like, what? A hundred and forty pounds of unresolved trauma and nicotine?” Brett shot back.

Theo laughed. Actually laughed — short and sharp and almost disbelieving.

Theo swayed slightly but stayed upright, then swept a hand through his mess of blood-matted hair. “God, I probably look like I crawled out of a dumpster.”

“You look like you lost a fight with one.”

Theo snorted. “Didn’t lose against you.”

Brett raised a brow. “You pulled a bottle shard on me, man. That’s cheating.”

Theo rolled his shoulder, teeth grit at the pain. “You think I fight fair?”

“I hoped,” Brett said dryly, “but no, clearly not.”

Theo’s lip curled. His knuckles were split, ribs bruised, and his entire body screamed for a bed and about twelve hours of unconsciousness. But the old fire was back in his eyes. Crooked. Defiant.

“You still hit like a bitch,” Theo added as he limped past Brett toward the sink.

Brett followed with a muttered, “Yeah, yeah.”

Theo turned the tap and stuck his hand under the water, hissing through his teeth as blood and grit streamed down the drain. He glanced at Brett through the mirror above the sink — caught the way Brett was watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Brett said, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Just glad you’re back.”

Theo didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He just smirked faintly, water running red down his fingers.

His reflection looked like hell. Blood on his shirt. Dried sweat at his collar. Dark rings under his eyes.

But he was upright.

Still standing.

Chapter 5: Gold and Bruise-Colored Mornings

The morning sun broke over the tree line in a haze of gold and soft gray, painting the fields in light that made the Hale Ranch look gentler than it ever really was. Wind rustled through the leaves, dry and warm, and the air smelled like fresh earth and horses and something old, like wood and time.

Theo blinked blearily against it all, already regretting not stealing a second cup of coffee before stepping outside.

His body ached.

His ribs were stiff, his shoulder barked with every stretch, and his hand — tightly wrapped and bandaged — throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. But none of it was unfamiliar. He could work through pain. Pain was just another kind of noise. You learned to quiet it.

The barn loomed ahead, its doors swung wide from early chores. Somewhere inside, horses stomped and snorted, impatient for turnout. The field just behind it was already dotted with bales of hay, lined in staggered rows. They’d need moving — stacking, spacing, rolling — and someone had left the pitchforks and gloves half-strewn by the fence like an open invitation.

Theo sighed. One breath, two. Then he rolled his shoulder and trudged toward the first bale.

He didn’t get far before the sound of rapid footsteps followed him like a storm he hadn’t invited.

Two shadows flanked him. One tall and anxious. The other short and determined.

Theo didn’t even look back. “No.”

“We didn’t say anything yet,” Nolan huffed, jogging to keep up.

“You were going to,” Theo said flatly, eyeing the hay bales like they were an enemy that might throw the first punch. “I could hear the desperation in your silence.”

“We just want to help,” Nolan insisted. “You’re clearly not at one hundred percent. I mean—” His voice dipped awkwardly, “—you almost bled out yesterday.”

Theo didn’t respond. He grabbed the edge of the nearest bale and tested its weight with his good hand. It resisted, straw splintering against the pressure, the corded twine biting into his palm.

Alec appeared beside him, all fake-casual swagger and too-wide eyes. “Nolan’s just using that as an excuse. I think he’s in love with hay.”

“I do not love hay,” Nolan snapped, immediately defensive. “I just don’t like watching other people do everything when they’re not supposed to be lifting anything.”

Alec snorted. “You love hay.”

“I hate you.”

“You love that too.”

Theo made a sound in his throat that might have been a growl. “Are you two always like this?”

Nolan paused. “Define ‘this.’”

“Annoying.”

“Yes,” Alec answered at the same time Nolan said, “No!”

Theo blinked once. Then again. Then turned back to the bale.

Alec stepped forward, bold as ever, and crouched beside the second bale. “We know how to do this. We’ve been helping in the fields since before you showed up.”

“That supposed to impress me?”

“Dunno,” Alec said, shrugging. “Do you impress easy?”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Are you flirting or just naturally irritating?”

Alec beamed. “Both.”

Nolan groaned.

The work started slow. Theo braced, lifted, rolled. Nolan jumped in without asking again, grabbing one end of the next bale and helping shift it toward the cart. Alec mostly lingered. Watched. Occasionally made himself useful. Mostly, though, he trailed behind Theo like some strange, overeager satellite.

He never stopped talking. Not for long.

“Do you know how many calories you burn lifting hay?” Alec asked after Theo dropped his third bale into the stack. “It’s kind of wild.”

“Are you researching me?” Theo muttered.

Alec grinned. “Research is a strong word. I just read stuff. Got curious. Muscle mass and all that.”

Nolan dropped a bale with more force than necessary. “Can you please stop thirsting after the guy who literally got in a fist fight twenty-four hours ago?”

“Not thirsting,” Alec said. “Just appreciating. He’s like—” He waved a hand vaguely at Theo’s back as the older boy moved toward the next bale, “—a very angry statue. Like if David had trauma and a smoking habit.”

“Jesus,” Nolan whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

Theo snorted. “You’re both insufferable.”

Alec looked pleased. “You’re still listening, though.”

Another hour passed. Sweat dripped down Theo’s neck, soaked into the collar of his shirt. His bandaged hand throbbed in time with his pulse, and he could feel the bruises blooming deeper in his ribs each time he twisted wrong. But he kept going. He always kept going.

It was easier to hurt like this — a kind of pain that earned something, moved something, stacked neatly into corners and carts. A pain with purpose.

He didn’t notice the moment the teasing stopped. Not until Nolan quietly shifted another bale into place, then glanced at Theo and said, “You could take a break, you know.”

Theo stiffened. “I don’t need one.”

“You’re limping.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Alec said, suddenly serious. “You have been for the last fifteen minutes. Right side. Rib maybe.”

Theo shot them both a glare. “If either of you tell Cora, I’ll bury you under a goddamn haystack.”

Nolan looked faintly alarmed. Alec looked thrilled. “Threats now? Is that progress?”

Theo rolled his eyes and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “You really don’t have a self-preservation instinct, do you?”

Alec shrugged. “No.”

Theo didn’t respond.

Sweat clung to his skin, soaking his shirt like a second, heavy layer. The sun was climbing higher, beating down with merciless heat that made the air around the barn shimmer. He peeled off his shirt slowly, tugging it over his head and revealing the lean, bruised muscles of his arms and shoulders.

Alec’s eyes flicked up and held there a moment too long, brows raised just a fraction as if memorizing every line, every scar. Nolan shifted nervously beside him, glancing at Theo like he was one wrong move away from collapsing.

“Seriously,” Alec muttered under his breath, half to Nolan, half to himself, “he looks like he should be on a magazine cover or something.”

Nolan shifted uncomfortably beside him, brow furrowed as he glanced at Theo with a mixture of awe and worry. “You really think that’s helpful?” Nolan said quietly to Alec, voice tight. “The guy’s clearly beat up. And we’re just ogling him?”

Alec waved a dismissive hand, but his gaze flickered back toward Theo, who was already gripping the next hay bale. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Theo’s voice cut through the thick heat, low and sharp. “Listen, Alec— I’m twenty years old. Way too old for you to be standing there like some lovesick teenager. You should be crushing on someone your own age.”

Alec blinked, unfazed. “I can admire hot people of any age. It’s called appreciating art.”

Theo snorted, hefting the hay bale with a grunt. “You’re a weird kid.”

Alec grinned. “I’m aware.”

Nolan cleared his throat nervously, stepping closer. “Seriously though, Theo, you should take it easy. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Theo shot Nolan a look, edged with exhaustion and a rough kind of stubbornness. “I’m not some fragile thing you have to watch over.”

“I’m not watching you because I think you’re fragile,” Nolan said quickly, brows furrowed, voice gentle but firm. “I’m watching because you’re hurting and I’m worried.”

Theo paused, the bale heavy in his arms, before he straightened, eyes steely again. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m good.”

“Break time,” came a soft call from behind them, cutting off whatever Nolan was about to say.

They turned as Corey approached, a mason jar in each hand, a third tucked under one arm. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, forearms dusted with flour or dirt — probably both — looking more like he belonged in a summer kitchen than anywhere near the barn. The sun hit his curls, lighting them gold.

He paused as his eyes landed on Theo — shirtless, bruised, still stubbornly upright with a hay bale in his hands. Corey’s steps faltered just a little.

He handed Nolan and Alec each a jar. “Peter made iced tea,” he said, voice even but quieter than usual. “Said if he found anyone passed out from heatstroke, he wasn’t dragging them inside.”

Theo dropped the bale with a grunt, muscles bunching and then relaxing, sweat running in sharp lines down his spine.

Corey’s eyes lingered too long.

Alec didn’t miss it.

He accepted his jar, fingers cold against the glass, and raised an eyebrow as he glanced between Corey and Theo.

“You’re staring,” Alec said.

Corey blinked, clearly caught. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Alec said smoothly, already taking a sip of the tea. “It’s okay. He looks like a Calvin Klein ad. I get it.”

Nolan groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he’d just aged a decade. “Can everyone please stop ogling the injured man?”

“I’m not injured,” Theo muttered automatically, taking the final jar from Corey’s hands. Corey’s eyes narrowed slightly at the deep purple smudging Theo’s ribs.

“Did Brett do that?” he asked softly.

Theo didn’t answer. He just took a sip and let the cold tea sit heavy on his tongue.

Corey sighed, stepping back just enough to give him space. “Ten minutes, okay? Then you can go back to playing macho barn man. But sit down. Drink something. If Peter catches you out here still sweating buckets and throwing hay around, he’ll probably make you rake the upper pasture.”

Theo gave a low grunt that might’ve been a laugh, and dropped onto the edge of a haystack. His body moved stiffly, carefully, like each inch of motion had to be calculated around bruises.

Alec flopped beside him with zero grace. “This tea’s amazing.”

Corey gave him a fond smile. “It’s got lemon balm and mint. Peter grows it near the back fence.”

Nolan hovered at the edge of the barn, sipping slowly and watching Theo out of the corner of his eye. Always tracking. Always a step away from intervening.

Theo noticed.

He looked up over the rim of the glass, eyes catching Nolan’s just for a second.

“I’m fine,” he said again.

Nolan just nodded.

Theo leaned back against the wall, letting the tea chill his fingers, the moment stretch.

Alec broke it with a content sigh. “Honestly, this is kind of great. Hot guys, iced tea, sun. It’s like a weird farm-themed music video.”

Nolan looked at him like he was going to throw the tea at his face.

Corey just laughed softly and turned back toward the house. “Try not to kill each other before lunch.”

The sound of boots crunching against gravel drew their attention not long after Corey left.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

Brett.

His tone wasn’t harsh — more worried than angry — but it had a sharpness to it that made Theo grit his teeth before the words even landed.

Theo looked up lazily from where he sat against the barn wall, still nursing the last of his iced tea. The sun hit Brett’s shoulders in a halo of dust and light, and he looked like he’d jogged the whole way — his hair wind-swept, shirt slightly wrinkled, eyes locked on Theo like he was expecting to find him already collapsed.

Theo didn’t move. “Working.”

Brett frowned, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t be working the hay bales. Not with your ribs like that.”

Alec, ever the chaos child, perked up. “Ha! Told you it was his ribs.”

Theo shot him a look that promised haystack suffocation. Alec just smiled sweetly at him.

But Brett wasn’t listening to Alec. His focus didn’t waver as he crossed the space between them in just a few strides, crouching low to meet Theo at eye level. The worry was louder now, not just in his voice but in his hands — hands that hovered but didn’t quite touch.

“You’re already pushing yourself too hard,” Brett said. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

Theo took another sip of tea. “I’m not proving anything. I’m just working.”

“You’re working while barely standing straight.”

“I’m fine,” Theo muttered for the third time that morning, voice flint-hard.

Nolan and Alec exchanged a glance, but wisely said nothing.

Brett exhaled, slow and steady, grounding himself.

“Look,” he said finally, “if you want to be out here, fine. But at least let me get you on something else. Less lifting. No heavy movement. Not with those broken ribs.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say they were broken.”

“You didn’t have to,” Brett said. “I can see it.”

The barn was quiet for a beat. Even Alec seemed to sense the shift — his smirk fading, his attention locked on the low burn of tension between the two older boys.

Theo wanted to argue. To shove back against the concern with teeth and fire, to pretend he didn’t feel the ache every time he breathed too deep.

But the truth was — he was tired. His ribs were screaming. His hand still throbbed despite the wrap. And the last thing he wanted was to end up flat on his back again while everyone stared at him like he might snap in two.

So instead of biting back, he exhaled.

And nodded.

“Fine. What else is there?”

Brett didn’t smile, not exactly — but there was something in his face that eased. Relief, maybe. Or trust.

“Cora said there’s some saddlework that needs checking. You can help in the tack room. Organizing, cleaning, no lifting.”

Theo sighed like he hated the idea.

But he stood.

Alec looked disappointed, clearly upset the shirtless hay bale show was ending early. Nolan, on the other hand, seemed relieved enough to sag in place.

“Don’t say it,” Theo muttered as he passed them.

“I wasn’t going to,” Nolan lied badly.

“You were,” Theo said.

“I was,” Nolan admitted.

Theo didn’t look back — but Brett did, offering them both a nod before walking Theo back toward the barn doors.

The tack room was cooler than the rest of the barn, tucked between thick wood beams and lined with rows of bridles and saddles that hung like quiet sentinels on the walls. The scent of leather and dust filled the space, sharp and grounding. For a moment, Theo welcomed it. Familiar. Still. It was the kind of place you could lose yourself in— hands busy, thoughts quiet, pain forgotten under the weight of routine.

But that peace shattered the second he stepped over the threshold.

Because Liam Dunbar was already there.

He stood at the workbench in the far corner, back turned, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hands working rhythmically over a saddle with the kind of focus that made Theo bristle on instinct. His hair was messy, curls damp with sweat, neck flushed from the sun — and Theo had the unfortunate, immediate realization that Liam looked good like this. Familiar in a way that made everything inside him tighten.

Brett’s voice was low behind him. “Didn’t know he’d be here.”

“Bullshit,” Theo muttered under his breath, eyes locked on Liam.

Liam must’ve heard it anyway, because he straightened and turned, cloth still in hand, expression unreadable.

His eyes flicked down Theo’s bare chest, then jerked back up to meet his glare. “You’re bleeding through your wrap.”

Theo scowled. “You’re still annoying.”

Brett cleared his throat like he wanted to disappear.

Theo crossed his arms, ignoring the subtle pull in his side. “Nope. Not doing this.”

“It’s a tack room,” Brett said, trying for diplomatic. “It’s not a boxing ring.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Theo muttered, voice sharp. “You knew he was in here. You brought me in anyway.”

“I brought you in because you can’t lift hay bales and there’s work to be done,” Brett said evenly. “This isn’t about him.”

“It’s always about him,” Theo snapped before he could stop himself.

The silence that followed landed heavy.

Liam blinked slowly, lips parting like he might say something — might try, again, to cross whatever invisible line still stretched tight between them — but Theo looked away before it could happen. Before it could cut deeper than it already had.

He turned back toward Brett, jaw tight. “I’ll clean the stalls.”

“Nope,” Brett said, standing his ground. “You’ll do the tack room. You know how. You’ve done it before.”

“Brett,” Theo growled, the sound low in his throat.

“Figure it out,” Brett added softly. And then, without waiting for a response, he turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Theo didn’t move for a long beat.

Liam set the saddle cloth down with more care than necessary. “You can take the other side of the bench.”

“I’ll take the floor,” Theo said coldly, already crouching beside a saddle that needed oiling.

The silence between them crackled, not quite hostile, but far from comfortable. Theo pulled over the saddle oil, grabbing a rag with slightly trembling fingers, willing his body not to betray him. He could feel Liam’s eyes on him — tracking, measuring. Always looking too closely. Always trying to see beneath.

“I didn’t ask you to stare,” Theo muttered.

“I didn’t ask you to have your shirt off.”

Theo scoffed, sharp and humorless. “If you’ve got a problem with it, stop looking.”

“I’m not the one ogling.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Liam scrubbed a bridle like it had insulted his entire bloodline. “You’re impossible.”

“Good,” Theo said, sharper now. “I’d hate to make it easy.”

The silence stretched again. It wasn’t sharp this time — more brittle, like thin ice.

Theo worked his hands through the familiar motions: oil, rub, stretch. There was comfort in it. In the repetition. In the mindlessness of muscle memory. His body ached, but his hands didn’t falter, not even when the sting in his ribs made him pause to breathe slower.

Liam didn’t speak again until the second saddle.

“Your hand’s shaking.”

Theo didn’t look up. “No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“Then don’t look.”

“I can’t help it.”

Theo slammed the oil jar down harder than necessary.

The glass clinked against the bench and wobbled before settling, the sound louder than it should’ve been in the tack room’s dry stillness. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, muscles coiled too tightly beneath bruised skin and old instincts. His ribs throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that only made the anger burn hotter.

“I said stop watching me,” Theo snapped.

Liam’s head jerked up. “And I said I can’t help it.”

“Well, maybe try harder,” Theo said, standing abruptly. “You’re not my handler. You don’t need to track every goddamn breath I take.”

“I’m not tracking you,” Liam snapped back, dropping the bridle with a wet thump onto the bench. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re about to collapse!”

Theo flinched at the volume. Then his eyes narrowed, a sharp glint buried behind a wall of practiced apathy.

“Always so dramatic,” he muttered.

Liam stepped forward, the air between them pulling taut. “You’re covered in bruises, limping through every task, and bleeding through a wrap. That’s not drama, Theo. That’s concern.”

“Well don’t,” Theo said, voice tight. “Don’t concern yourself with me. I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

Liam stared, breathing uneven, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re so fucking exhausting.”

“Yeah?” Theo sneered. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

A bitter silence crashed down between them, so loud it drowned out the creak of the barn walls and the rustle of hay outside. Liam’s jaw worked, like he was holding something back—something sharp, maybe something true.

Theo moved to the next saddle, but his hand trembled again when he reached for the brush. His grip slipped. The brush hit the floor with a muted thud.

And that was the crack in the dam.

Liam’s voice dropped, colder now. “You’re hurting. You’re struggling. And you’re acting like everyone who notices is the enemy.”

Theo didn’t bend to pick up the brush. He just stood there, fists clenched, shoulders high.

“Yeah, well. That’s what I do, right?” His voice was quieter now, but sharper, like it had teeth. “I self-sabotage. I drive people away. Because God forbid someone get close enough to see what a mess I really am.”

Liam didn’t flinch, but his expression darkened. “That’s not what I said.”

“No,” Theo said, stepping forward. “But it’s what you meant.”

Liam looked at him like he couldn’t decide whether to hit him or shake him. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Theo’s breathing stuttered. His pulse pounded in his throat, too loud, too hot. The urge surged suddenly — fast and cruel.

One drink.

His mouth felt dry, like cotton and smoke. The taste of the last cigarette still lingered, sharp on the back of his tongue. But that wasn’t what he wanted now. He wanted something stronger. Something that would burn going down and settle in his chest like fire. Something that would numb the ache twisting deep in his ribs—both the real pain and the one Liam was carving into him with every look, every word, every goddamn ounce of concern.

He hated it.

“You know what your problem is?” Theo snapped suddenly, voice rising, venom curling around every syllable. “You don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”

Liam’s eyes flashed, hard and cold, like a shutter snapping shut. “And your problem is you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

“You think you’re helping?” he spat, stepping closer, the heat of his anger burning brighter than the sun outside the barn doors. “You don’t know shit about me, Dunbar. So stop acting like you fucking do.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. His silence was colder than the barn’s stale air, sharper than any blade Theo could have wielded. The weight of it pressed down, suffocating, and it made Theo’s skin crawl.

Theo’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. The urge to tear something apart, to escape the sting of every accusing glance, every barely-hidden disappointment, was clawing up from inside him.

One drink. One goddamn drink.

“Maybe you don’t care,” Theo said suddenly, venom dripping from every word. “Maybe you’re glad I’m back to remind you why you don’t want me around in the first place.”

Liam’s eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat Theo thought he might explode, but then he turned away — cold, distant, and completely uncaring.

Theo’s chest tightened, air rasping in his lungs like it wasn’t enough to fill them.

He couldn’t take it.

“Fuck you, Liam,” Theo snarled, voice raw and low.

Without waiting for a reply, he stormed out of the tack room, the door banging shut behind him with a final, hollow slam.

The sun outside blinded him, and the heat pressed down like a weight. His ribs screamed with every step, but he didn’t care. The urge to escape — to disappear into the endless, dusty landscape — was unbearable.

His hands shook, fingers itching for the flasks hidden in his bag. The familiar burn calling to him, promising relief, promising oblivion.

Theo swallowed the lump in his throat and walked faster, the past and present blurring into one jagged, painful edge.

Chapter 6: Ashes in The Bottle

Notes:

Content Warning: The following chapter contains themes of alcohol abuse and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with care. If you or someone you know is struggling, you’re not alone. Reach out to a trusted individual or seek help from a mental health professional.

The sun had barely shifted when Theo slammed the bunkhouse door behind him, the sharp thud echoing like a gunshot through the stale afternoon air. His chest was tight, ribs a raw ache with every ragged breath, but none of it mattered. None of it mattered except the fire gnawing in his gut — the relentless, desperate need to dull the noise inside his head.

The duffel bag thumped against his leg as he stalked toward the corner of the room where he had hidden the flask earlier. His hands trembled—half from exhaustion, half from the fury still coursing through his veins. He shoved the bag to the floor and unzipped it with a sharp tug, ignoring the scattered contents until his fingers closed around the familiar cold steel of the second bottle.

It was half empty from the morning, but it didn’t matter. That bitter burn was all he needed. That poison was the only thing that promised to hush the screaming voices — the ones telling him he wasn’t enough, never enough; the ones reminding him that every scar, every bruise, every broken thing inside was his own fault.

Theo sank into the corner, muscles aching, and twisted the cap off. The sharp scent of whiskey hit him first — rough, unforgiving, like glass shards sliding down his throat. His lips parted, thirsty for the sting. He tilted the bottle back and took a slow, deliberate swallow.

The burn came next—a fiery ribbon uncoiling inside his chest, crawling down his throat and settling deep in his stomach. The sharp edge of it pulled at something in his gut, fierce and cruel and needed. His throat tightened, but he swallowed again, the bitter liquid sliding past, leaving a bitter ash taste lingering in his mouth.

He let out a hollow breath and leaned back against the bunk’s wooden frame, the rough grain pressing into his bruised shoulder. The world around him blurred slightly, edges softening like smoke drifting away.

He hated himself for wanting this. Hated the way the liquid promised freedom but delivered chains. Hated how every sip pulled him closer to a place where he didn’t have to feel. Where the weight of the past, the present, the ache of rejection could be dulled to a numb throb.

Theo’s fingers tightened around the bottle, knuckles white, his breath shallow and ragged. The voices clawed at the edges of his mind again.

Weak. Pathetic. Broken.

He dragged in a ragged breath, eyes squeezing shut. The bitter taste lingered on his tongue, mixing with the residue of smoke from earlier.

You don’t deserve better. You’re a mess no one can fix.

He opened his eyes, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling the silence press down on him like a coffin lid.

The next swig went down faster. Sharper.

It burned like hell — raked down his throat with the fury of a wildfire, settling in his stomach like acid — but he welcomed it. Craved it. That burn was honest. It didn’t lie to him. It didn’t pretend to care. It just was — raw and hot and punishing.

Theo let out a low breath through his nose, shoulders sagging as the heat spread through his limbs. His ribs still hurt, but the pain felt far away now, muted behind the rising hum in his skull. He stared down at the bottle, watching the amber swirl and catch the weak light like something sacred.

It wasn’t sacred. It was survival.

Another swallow. Slower this time.

It coated his tongue, bitter and warm, and slid down like liquid flame. It hurt — yeah — but it also soothed. Numbed. Quieted the static in his head. The anxiety that had been clawing at his insides all day started to dull around the edges, just enough for his shoulders to drop from their tense line.

Just enough to breathe again.

He sat back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, and tipped the bottle to his lips once more. This one was greedier. Hungrier. He didn’t even flinch at the burn this time — didn’t blink when the alcohol hit his chest like a fist. He wanted it to hurt.

He deserved it to hurt.

The heat rushed through his veins, blooming out from the center of his chest, a spreading flush that made his fingertips tingle. He could feel it curling around his ribs like smoke, softening the ache into something dull and slow. Like he was floating just an inch outside his own body. Far enough not to feel everything, but close enough to still remember why he was trying to escape in the first place.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. The ceiling wavered slightly in his vision, warping around the edges. The lines didn’t sit straight anymore. Nothing did. The bottle wobbled in his grip, and he tightened his fingers again, grounding himself in the cold bite of the steel.

“Better,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

It was better. Not good. Never good. But better than before. Better than Liam’s voice in his head, sharp with frustration. Better than the feel of bruised ribs every time he moved wrong. Better than the aching silence of the tack room when Liam had stopped fighting.

The whiskey was cruel, but at least it didn’t judge him.

Another drink. Another flash of heat, another blur in the corner of his vision. His limbs were starting to feel heavy now, like his bones had turned to wet sand. His hand trembled, not from pain this time — but from the creeping buzz that was slowly wrapping itself around his brain like cotton.

His mind slowed. The voices weren’t as loud now.

Weak.

No, not weak. Just tired.

Pathetic.

Not pathetic. Just….worn out.

Broken.

That one still stuck. Still rang true, no matter how much he drank. But at least now it didn’t hurt as much.

He laughed under his breath, low and bitter, more of a soundless huff than anything else. It echoed in the empty bunkhouse like a ghost.

He took another drink.

His head lolled to the side, cheek brushing against the edge of the wall, The bottle was growing lighter in his grip. Almost empty. He stared at it like it had betrayed him, like it should’ve lasted longer, done more.

At least the burn was gone now.

Or maybe he just couldn’t taste it anymore.

The room spun gently around him, not in a violent, dizzying way — not yet — but in soft, slanted waves, like the world had tilted sideways and decided to stay that way. Theo blinked slowly, heavy-lidded, watching the shadows on the ceiling twist and bend. They looked like smoke. Or maybe wolves. Or maybe nothing at all.

His lips were numb. His hands felt far away.

He laughed again — louder this time, sloppier. “Fucking betrayed by a bottle,” he muttered, voice slurred at the edges. “How poetic.”

He tipped it back again, lips clinging to the rim, tongue greedy for the last drops. It burned down like fire and copper, and this time it made him cough, his body lurching forward slightly. He dropped the bottle onto the ground beside him and stared down at his knees.

His vision doubled for a moment. Or maybe he had two sets of legs now. Who the hell knew.

He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged once, hard — just to feel something. Just to prove he still could. But even the sting at his scalp faded too fast, swallowed up by the hum of warmth beneath his skin.

The edges of the world were soft now.

This was freedom.

No noise in his head. No Liam breathing down his neck. No Brett telling him to take it easy. No fucking Nolan watching him like he was a rabid dog, waiting to pounce or fall apart.

Just him. Just whiskey. Just the heavy beat of his heart and the slow unraveling of everything he’d held together for too long.

He stood, too fast.

The floor swayed beneath him, pitching like a boat, and he caught himself on the edge of the bunk with a sharp bark of laughter. “Whoops,” he muttered. “Gravity’s pissed.”

He stumbled a few steps forward, not sure where he was going — didn’t care. The bunkhouse stretched around him like a tunnel. His body felt like it didn’t belong to him. Too slow. Too heavy. Too light.

“I could fly,” he slurred, arms stretching out as he spun once, arms wide like wings. “Bet I could. Just—” He tripped, shoulder slamming into the post of the bed, and winced. “Shit—okay. Not flying. Not yet.”

But it still felt good. Still felt better than anything else had in days. Weeks. Years, maybe.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart — steady, thick, strong beneath his bruises. It was still beating. Somehow.

That should’ve meant something. But all it did was tighten his throat.

He reached blindly for the bottle again, fingers fumbling against the fabric of the mattress, finally curling around the cool glass. Just a drop left. Not enough. Never enough.

He poured it onto his tongue anyway, tilting his head back like it was communion.

The silence roared in his ears now. It wasn’t peaceful — not really. Just loud in a different way. Not thoughts anymore, but feeling. A rush of them, hot and messy and spilling over each other. Guilt. Rage. Longing. Shame. The kind that never really left. The kind that sunk into your bones and stayed there.

His eyes burned. His throat tightened. But he didn’t cry.

Couldn’t.

He’d buried those parts too deep.

Instead, he laughed again — hollow and cracked, eyes wild, chest heaving.

The sound choked off halfway through, catching in his throat like it didn’t want to exist at all. It left behind a silence that felt heavier than before, thick with something sour and stagnant. The kind of silence that settled over graveyards. Or broken promises.

Theo’s fingers loosened around the bottle. It slipped from his hand and landed with a soft thud on the floor, rolling a few inches before resting still.

He didn’t look at it.

Didn’t need to.

It was done. Spent. Emptied, like him.

He slumped back against the wall, head lolling to the side, vision smeared at the edges. His limbs were hot and heavy and useless. Like his body had been filled with smoke instead of muscle. There was no tension left in him. No sharp edges to keep him upright.

He closed his eyes.

And the dark rushed in like a wave.

He should’ve stayed angry. Should’ve kept that fire in his chest burning long enough to keep moving, to keep trying. But it was gone now — smothered by liquor and exhaustion and the hollow ache of too many days pretending to be okay.

And now there was nothing left.

Nothing but the cold, familiar pull of the thought he’d been avoiding since he got back to Beacon Hills.

What’s the point?

It came quiet. Gentle. Like a whisper under his skin. Not a scream. Not a threat. Just a suggestion. A lullaby.

What’s the point of rebuilding what everyone already gave up on?

What’s the point of proving he could be better if no one believed he could?

What’s the point of waking up if all it meant was more ache, more eyes watching too closely, more silence where Liam used to smile?

He let his head fall back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, watching it sway with the weight of his breath. His heart still beat, slow and steady, like a metronome ticking toward something inevitable.

He hated that it wouldn’t stop.

That no matter how much he drank or how far he ran, it kept dragging him forward — into more days, more expectations, more memories of things he couldn’t fix.

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

The craving was gone now. Not for alcohol. Not for smoke.

But for stillness. Silence, true silence. The kind that didn’t hurt. The kind that didn’t come with guilt or bruises or breath.

He didn’t want to die.

Not exactly.

He just didn’t want to be.

Not like this. Not in this skin. Not in this body that carried too much shame and too many scars and not enough hope to balance the scales.

He let his thoughts drift. Let the numbness pull at the edges of his consciousness like a tide.

He imagined slipping under. Letting go.

No more fights. No more stares. No more trying.

Just…nothing.

And for a moment, that sounded like the kindest thing in the world.

For a moment, it sounded like peace.

Like quiet in his chest, where everything was usually too loud. Like the kind of silence that didn’t come with strings attached — not earned through apologies or performances or pretending to be okay.

Just quiet.

Just gone.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His body felt like it had melted around the ache inside him, like his skin barely held him together now. Like if someone touched him, even gently, he might dissolve.

The bottle lay forgotten on the floor, a hollow shell of the comfort it had promised. The burn in his throat had dulled, turned to ash. His mouth was dry. His eyes stung, but still—no tears.

He didn’t think he knew how to cry anymore.

Not for himself.

Not for this.

Somewhere in the distance, a horse snorted — restless in its stall. Wood creaked. The wind moaned through the rafters.

The ranch was alive, even when he was unraveling. That felt wrong. Unfair.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to breathe.

Tried to disappear.

If he could just stay still long enough, maybe the world would forget he was here. Maybe Brett would stop looking at him like he was a walking wound. Maybe he could stop waking up to a mirror that only showed the worst version of himself.

A freak. A failure. A mistake.

Monster.

His hands curled tighter around the back of his neck.

He was so fucking tired.

Tired of pretending the people wanted him here. Tired of holding himself upright on shaky legs.

Tired of surviving like it was supposed to be enough.

He drew in another breath, thick and slow. His chest ached from it — from the effort of simply existing in a body that had been both weapon and battlefield.

Then: the soft creak of the front door.

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t lift his head. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just listened, breathing hard through his nose, heart kicking painfully in his ribs.

Footsteps. Slow. Hesitant. Boots on wood.

His stomach twisted.

If it was Liam—

If it was anyone—

He wasn’t ready. Not like this. Not with the bottle empty on the floor and the air still clinging to him like a noose.

But the steps paused. Didn’t come closer.

Just…waited.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Theo didn’t know what made him look up — maybe spite, maybe hope — but he did.

The doorway stood empty.

Just the wind. The old wood. His own paranoia.

He sagged again, jaw tight, shame crawling under his skin like fire ants.

He couldn’t keep wanting nothingness just because everything felt like too much.

He sat there, for a long time, in the too-still air.

The whiskey had taken the edge off, but left him gutted. Empty. Numb and raw at the same time.

His fingers twitched, reaching — not for the bottle this time, but for the floor, for balance, for something solid.

He didn’t get up. Didn’t leave the bunkhouse.

Chapter 7: The Bottle And The Brush

The morning sun hit the bunkhouse like it had a personal vendetta. The windows, streaked with dust and cracked in the corners, did little to soften the assault of gold and white light that broke through them. It speared directly across Theo’s face, unforgiving and hot.

He groaned and rolled, arm flopping out across the thin mattress, his other hand dragging over his eyes like it could erase the headache building behind them. His stomach churned — acid, empty, hollow. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died overnight.

The bottle lay on the floor beside him, mocking in its silence. Empty. Like him.

He’d managed to hide it behind the bedframe before crashing. Old habit. Tuck it out of sight before someone saw. Before Brett saw.

But hiding the bottle didn’t hide the stink.

It clung to him, seeping from his pores like sweat. Sharp and sour. Whiskey and shame.

The knock at the bunkhouse door was too polite to be angry.

Theo flinched anyway.

He didn’t answer. Maybe if he stayed still, he’d disappear. Maybe if he didn’t breathe, Brett would just walk away.

The door creaked open.

Of course not.

Theo didn’t lift his head, but he knew the sound of those boots. Brett never slammed doors. Never shouted. He didn’t have to.

The silence he carried said enough.

“You drank.”

It wasn’t a question.

Theo swallowed. It felt like glass scraping his throat.

“Didn’t think I needed permission,” he muttered, voice rough and flat.

Brett’s footsteps stopped beside the bed. He didn’t sit. Didn’t speak again right away.

Theo finally forced himself to look up.

Brett was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched. His eyes were sharp in that way Theo hated — not angry. Just…disappointed. And worse: understanding.

“Don’t,” Theo said.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Brett’s voice was calm, but tight around the edges. “Like what?”

“Like you pity me.”

Brett let out a breath, slow and bitter. “I don’t pity you, Theo.”

“Sure as hell sounds like it.”

“I’m mad,” Brett said. “I’m worried. I’m scared, honestly. But I don’t pity you.”

Theo dragged a hand through his hair, rough and too fast, like he could scratch the thoughts out of his skull. “Well, maybe you should.”

“You’re not a fucking tragedy.”

Theo snorted, loud and humorless. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re not,” Brett repeated, firmer now. “You’re a mess, yeah. But you’re still here. You’re trying—”

“Am I?” Theo snapped, sitting up too fast, the world spinning. He winced and clutched his ribs, jaw locking as pain bloomed behind his eyes. “Because it doesn’t feel like trying. It feels like surviving. Barely.”

Brett’s voice dropped. “Then let me help.”

“I don’t want help.”

“Bullshit.”

Theo glared at him. “What, you think if you lecture me enough I’ll suddenly see the light and go sober? Is that how this works?”

“No,” Brett said. “I think if I leave you alone, I’m gonna find you cold one morning.”

The words landed like a punch.

Theo blinked. His throat closed around the silence.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered.

Brett didn’t flinch. “It’s the truth.”

They stood there, two feet apart, but the distance between them felt like a canyon.

Theo looked away first.

“I wasn’t trying to die,” he muttered. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I know,” Brett said. “But you weren’t trying to live either.”

The honesty in his voice scraped at Theo’s insides.

It was the worst kind of truth — the kind you couldn’t fight without proving it right.

Theo’s hand curled into the blanket beneath him. “I just needed a break. From everything. From me.”

“There are other ways,” Brett said. “Healthier ways. We’ve talked about this.”

“Talking doesn’t make it easier,” Theo snapped.

“No. But drinking makes it worse.”

“I know!” Theo’s voice cracked, raw and hot. “I fucking know. I know what it does. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s killing me.”

Brett flinched.

Theo didn’t stop.

“That’s the worst part,” he said, quieter now, voice shaking. “I know. And I still do it.”

He looked up then, eyes red and rimmed in exhaustion. “So tell me, Brett. What kind of person keeps doing the thing they know is destroying them?”

Brett didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Theo already knew the answer.

“A broken one,” he whispered.

Brett stepped closer. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“No,” Brett said. “It’s what the bottle tells you. It’s what the guilt tells you. But it’s not true.”

Theo looked at him, hollow. “Feels true.”

“I know,” Brett said. “But feelings aren’t facts.”

Theo laughed, short and dry. “You sound like a therapist.”

“I listen,” Brett said. “Sue me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Brett added, softer: “Come on. Get up. Shower. Get something in your stomach before you puke bile all day.”

Theo hesitated.

It wasn’t the offer. It was what it meant. Accepting it would mean stepping over that line. Letting someone see him like this. Again.

But wasn’t that what friendship was? The ugly parts, too?

So he nodded — barely — and let Brett take some of his weight.

His legs felt wrong. Heavy. Off-balance. The floor shifted beneath him like a boat caught in slow, churning tide.

Brett didn’t say anything about how much Theo leaned on him. Just guided him gently toward the small, shared bathroom off the bunkhouse hallway. His grip was steady, palm warm against Theo’s elbow. Not demanding. Just there.

“You good to stand?” Brett asked, pausing outside the door.

Theo gave a tight nod, though he wasn’t sure if it was true.

Brett stared at him a moment longer, like he wanted to say something — like he wanted to fix it — but then just stepped back and let the door close between them.

The latch clicked softly.

Theo sagged against the counter.

The mirror above the sink caught him off guard.

He looked like hell. Pale under his tan, eyes shadowed and bloodshot, lips chapped. A raw, cracked red line still lingered across the corner of his mouth — must’ve split in his sleep. There was stubble on his chin, a few days’ worth, uneven and scruffy.

And his eyes —

God.

He didn’t recognize them.

Not for the first time, he wondered if anyone else ever did.

With shaking hands, he peeled off his shirt. The fabric clung to him, sweat-damp and wrinkled, smelling of smoke and whiskey. He dropped it on the floor like it might burn him.

The rest followed. Slowly. Carefully. Like undressing a body that didn’t quite feel like his.

His ribs still ached, dull and persistent, a leftover echo of Brett’s beating from the night before. He didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to see the bruising. The evidence.

He stepped into the shower and turned the knob.

The first blast of water was too cold. He flinched, teeth grit, waiting for the ancient pipes to finally cough up something warmer.

Eventually, it came.

Not hot, not comforting — just warm enough to wash with.

Steam rose slowly, fogging the mirror, and Theo leaned his forehead against the tile, arms braced on either side of the wall.

The water hit his back in thick drops. It felt heavy, like a storm.

And for a while, he just stood there.

Letting it run over him.

Letting it soak into his hair, his skin, the cracks inside him.

Like it could wash something away.

It didn’t.

But it helped.

Even if only a little.

He reached for the soap eventually, mechanically. Washed the sweat and stink from his skin, scrubbed harder than he needed to. Left his arms red. Scrubbed like maybe if he tried hard enough, he’d find something cleaner underneath.

Theo let the warm water sluice down his body a little longer, willing himself to relax just enough to feel some small shred of normalcy. The rough scrubbing stung, but it was a reminder he was still here — still fighting in whatever way he could muster.

Eventually, his trembling fingers fumbled for the soap one last time before rinsing off and shutting off the water. The cold air of the bathroom hit him like a slap as he stepped out of the shower, goosebumps prickling over his skin.

He grabbed a threadbare towel hanging nearby and wrapped it tightly around his waist, using it to mop his damp hair. His muscles protested with every movement — the bruises, the aches — but he pushed through, focused on the simple task of dressing. Brett had laid out some clothes for him: an old flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans. Theo slid into them slowly, pulling the flannel tight over his bruised ribs, as if it could shield him from more than just the sun.

When he stepped out into the small living space of the bunkhouse, Brett was waiting, arms crossed but eyes softer now.

“I’m good,” Theo said, voice rough but firmer. “I can work today. Just… keep me out of heavy lifting.” He rubbed the sleeve of the flannel over his ribs, careful, like the fabric could patch the raw edges inside him.

Brett nodded slowly, not pushing. “That’s all I’m asking. Take it easy. We don’t need another hospital visit.”

Theo cracked a dry smirk. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who always ends up dragging me out of the mess.”

Brett grinned, the kind of smile that felt like a small victory in the middle of chaos. “Someone’s gotta keep you from killing yourself.”

Theo looked away, throat tightening, but he didn’t argue.

The door to the bunkhouse creaked open, and a burst of sunlight spilled inside.

Alec bounded into the room, bright-eyed and breathless, his grin wide enough to split his face.

“There you are!” Alec said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We thought you’d vanished, or ran off.”

Theo raised an eyebrow but tried not to let the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“We’re working on grooming today,” Alec said, beaming like it was the best news anyone could get at seven in the morning. “Socks rolled in mud again, like, full body roll. It’s nasty. You’re gonna love it.”

Theo snorted under his breath. “Yeah, sounds like a dream.”

Alec was already halfway to the door again, practically vibrating with energy. “Come on, Nolan’s brushing out Cassie, and—oh, Liam’s already down there. He said he’d take care of the hooves since they’re a little—”

Theo’s body locked up.

Alec stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing.” Theo’s voice was tight. Controlled. Too controlled.

But Brett caught it. The subtle shift in posture. The clenched jaw. The way Theo’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, not into fists — but like he needed to hold something. Anchor himself.

Alec blinked, confused. “You guys still fighting or something?”

Theo didn’t answer. He pushed past them both instead, the heavy door creaking behind him as it swung open wider. Sunlight spilled over him like spotlight, too bright, too warm for how hollow he felt.

Brett sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, Alec.”

“What?” Alec asked, baffled, holding his arms out. “What’d I say?”

“Everything. That’s the problem.” Brett gave him a small shake of the head and followed Theo out into the light.

Outside, the ranch had already begun to wake — birds chirping, the smell of damp hay in the air, someone clanging tools in the distance. Theo walked briskly, jaw set, boots crunching gravel as he headed toward the barn.

He didn’t know why the mention of Liam made his chest feel like it had caved in. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to name it yet. Not after last night. Not after the fight.

He hadn’t seen Liam since. Didn’t know if he could.

And still, here he was. Walking straight toward him.

Because what else was he going to do?

The barn was warm with the late morning sun filtering through the slats in the walls, streaks of golden light cutting through dust and the earthy scent of hay and sweat and horses. It was familiar. Safe, in a way Theo didn’t let himself think about too hard.

He stepped inside without looking to either side — didn’t let his eyes drift, didn’t let his shoulders tense. He didn’t need to see Liam to know he was there.

Theo set his jaw and kept walking.

Boots echoing off the wooden floor, he moved past the grooming stalls, past Nolan who glanced up and opened his mouth like he might say something — then thought better of it — and then past Cassie, who huffed at him like she knew he wasn’t in the mood.

He didn’t stop.

Not until he reached Buckshot.

The old gelding was still chewing at the last of his hay, half-lidded eyes lifting lazily when Theo stepped close. Buckshot didn’t react much. Just gave a soft, tired snort and turned his head like, ‘You again?’

“Yeah,” Theo muttered under his breath. “Me again.”

He reached up to scratch the spot just beneath the gelding’s jaw, the one that always made his ears twitch.

Buckshot leaned into it, slow and solid.

Theo felt his breath leave him.

This was good. This was safe.

He grabbed a brush from the nearby kit and set to work — slow, practiced strokes down the horse’s broad neck, along his withers, down his flank. The rhythm helped. The motion. It gave him something to do, something to control.

Something to drown in.

He focused on the brush, the way the bristles kicked up loose hair and dust, the quiet snort of the horse, the weight of his own hands.

Not the way the barn had gone quiet.

Not the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Not the scent that hit him — pine and sweat and something that made his chest throb in ways he didn’t have the tools to face.

The silence behind him didn’t last. Of course it didn’t. Theo could feel the weight of Liam’s stare before he ever heard the footsteps.

He didn’t turn around.

But the steps got louder. Closer. Hesitant — then sharp.

“Theo,” Liam said, voice taut.

Theo froze, just for a second. The brush paused mid-stroke against Buckshot’s flank. Then he started again, slower.

“Not now, Dunbar.”

“You hungover?” Liam asked. Not accusing. Just…cold. Flat.

Theo didn’t answer.

Liam stepped closer. “Jesus, you are.”

Theo kept brushing. “Told Brett I could work. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s not—” Liam exhaled sharply, cutting himself off. “You think this is about work?”

“I think it’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Liam snapped.

Theo turned now. Slowly. His face was a mask, but his eyes burned.

“You wanna make a scene? Fine. Let’s go.”

Liam looked like he wanted to hit something. His jaw was clenched, hands tight fists at his sides. “You’ve been drinking. You’ve been hiding it.”

“And?”

“You’re gonna pretend that’s fine? That you being drunk off your ass in the bunkhouse is normal?”

Theo’s lip curled. “Better than sobbing into a pillow every time someone looks at me wrong.”

Liam flinched.

Theo saw it. And he hated that part of him felt guilty.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Liam said, quieter now. “I didn’t know you were—God, Theo. You’re killing yourself.”

Theo looked away. “Yeah? So?”

Liam stepped forward. “So I care. That’s what this is about.”

Theo laughed — sharp, bitter, hollow. “No. You care when it’s convenient.”

Liam’s eyes searched his face, hot and angry and breaking at the edges. “I only care when it’s convenient?” he repeated, voice rising. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Theo didn’t blink. “You’re only here to yell at me, aren’t you? So go ahead. Yell.”

“I’m not yelling at you,” Liam snapped, “I’m worried about you!”

Theo let the silence eat the words alive. Just stared, unmoved.

Liam stepped forward, still too close, like always. “You’re drinking yourself to death, Theo. You’re pushing everyone away—”

Theo cut him off with a dry scoff. “Not like that’s new.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend this isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s not your fucking problem!”

“Yes it is!” Liam shouted. “Because you — because you left me! And I can’t handle you leaving me again.”

Theo’s breath caught like something had cracked inside him. He stared at Liam like he didn’t recognize the face in front of him anymore. Like the words hit harder than they should’ve.

And then he laughed. Bitter and wrong and so far from funny it sounded broken.

“I was taken, Liam,” he said, voice like gravel. “I didn’t leave. It wasn’t even my choice.”

Liam flinched again, just like earlier — like that memory still had claws.

“You didn’t even try to reach out to me!” he snapped. “All those years — nothing. Not a call. Not a letter. You were just gone.”

Theo stepped forward now, all heat and venom and unspoken ache. “Yeah, well, you didn’t reach out to me either. So I guess we’re even.”

Theo didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t let the silence stretch any longer than it already had.

He turned his back on Liam — sharp and deliberate — and picked the brush back up with fingers that no longer trembled. Not because he wasn’t shaking, but because the cold in his chest had finally numbed him.

Cold was easier.

Cold was safe.

He dragged the bristles down Buckshot’s flank again, the strokes mechanical now, methodical, like muscle memory alone was pulling him through.

Behind him, Liam didn’t move. Not at first.

Theo could still feel him there, though. Still feel the hurt hanging in the air like smoke after a fire, choking and acrid. Still feel the stare burning into his back — not angry now, not exactly. Just wounded. Bleeding.

He ignored it.

“Is that it then?” Liam finally asked, voice quieter. Not gentler — just worn out. “We’re calling it even?”

Theo didn’t look at him. Didn’t blink. “You’re the one who wanted to yell,” he said, brushing harder than before. “You got what you came for.”

Liam didn’t respond.

Theo clenched his jaw. Focused on Buckshot. On the way the horse leaned into the touch like none of this mattered. Like the barn hadn’t just been carved open by years of things left unsaid.

Liam didn’t move.

Not right away.

Theo could feel him hovering behind him like a shadow with teeth. That restless, frustrated energy that always came with Liam when he was spiraling — pacing the edges of his own hurt, looking for something to blame.

And then Liam said, “Maybe it would’ve been easier if you’d just stayed gone.”

The words landed like a punch.

But Theo didn’t flinch. Didn’t give him the reaction he wanted.

He kept brushing.

One stroke. Two.

Like if he stayed focused long enough, he could pretend the ache in his chest wasn’t swallowing him whole.

Liam waited.

And when Theo didn’t answer — didn’t even look at him — Liam made a sharp, disbelieving noise. “God, you’re so fucking unbelievable.”

His boots scuffed against the dirt as he turned, storming away. Theo could hear the quick, angry steps fading toward the barn doors.

Then silence again.

Just the quiet snort of Buckshot.

Just the steady rhythm of the brush against his flank.

Just Theo, pretending he didn’t feel like he was bleeding out from the inside.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Maybe a minute. Maybe more. Long enough for the heat to crawl up his neck, for his hands to start trembling again, for the weight in his chest to anchor itself like a stone.

Then—

“Uh…” A cautious voice cut through the quiet. “You okay, Theo?”

Theo startled, the brush slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud. He whipped around, muscles tense, the edge of his flannel damp with sweat beneath his arms.

Alec blinked at him from a few feet away, wide-eyed and unsure, one hand half-lifted like he wasn’t sure whether to reach out or back off.

Nolan stood just behind him, arms crossed but face open, concerned. “We didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said quickly. “You guys were just—uh—really loud.”

Theo stared at them like he’d forgotten they existed.

Because he had.

His throat worked around a dry swallow. “How long have you—?”

“Whole thing,” Alec admitted, wincing. “Sorry. Nolan finished with Cassie and was helping me brush Tater Tot and he kept trying to eat my shirt, so we kind of….didn’t leave.”

Theo looked past them, and sure enough, the tiny Appaloosa was still tied near the tack wall, lazily chewing on a rope that had once been part of Alec’s hoodie.

Theo stared at them, jaw set, eyes dark and unreadable.

Then he exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp. "You've known me for what-three days? Maybe keep to your lane and stay out of mine."

Alec's shoulders dropped, his expression faltering. "We weren't trying to-"

"You don't know me," Theo said, voice low and even. "You think you do because I moved some hay and cracked a few jokes and didn't bite anyone's head off for a full twelve hours. But you don't. So don't stand there and act like you have any idea what's going on."

Theo’s words hung heavy in the dusty barn air, sharp and cutting, but the hurt on Alec and Nolan’s faces was unmistakable. Nolan’s smile faltered, eyes flicking downward, and Alec’s jaw tightened, his arms crossing a little tighter across his chest.

Theo’s throat clenched. The weight of his own bitterness hit him suddenly — not just at them, but at himself, at how desperately he wanted to push everyone away before they got close enough to see the cracks.

“Shit,” Theo muttered, voice rougher than he intended.

He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration bleeding into a raw edge. “I’m sorry. That came out harsher than I meant.”

Alec blinked up at him, eyes softening but still wary. “It’s okay. We get it.”

Nolan nodded slowly, voice gentle but steady. “Yeah. We get it. You don’t have to explain or fix anything right now.”

Theo exhaled, the tight knot inside him loosening just a fraction. He rubbed his face with both hands, swallowing the lump of guilt. The walls he’d built were strong, but they were starting to feel less like protection and more like a cage.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. Theo’s eyes linger on Alec and Nolan for a moment longer before turning back to Buckshot.

The old gelding stood patient and steady, unbothered by the tension swirling in the barn. Theo’s fingers found the brush again, hesitating briefly before resuming the slow, familiar rhythm along Buckshot’s neck.

Alec and Nolan stepped back without a word, giving Theo the room he needed. The scrape of the brush on hair filled the silence, grounding him in the moment.

Chapter 8: Dry Ground and Dusty Trails

Theo wasn’t used to people sticking around.

Not after the shouting. Not after the slip-ups. Not after the guilt came spilling out sideways and scraped raw against anyone close enough to catch the shrapnel.

But Nolan and Alec were still here.

Still brushing down horses like nothing had happened. Still cracking dumb jokes. Still tossing each other feed buckets and quietly filling water troughs while Theo worked in silence beside them.

It wasn’t like he was used to being comforted — hell, he wasn’t even sure if this was comfort — but it was something. Something quiet. Something steady. Something that didn’t look at him like he was a time bomb waiting to blow.

He could live with that.

“Hey,” Alec called, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve as he set the curry comb back in the bucket. “You ever ride bareback?”

Theo glanced over. Buckshot was done — brushed, cleaned, coat glinting dull gold in the afternoon sun that filtered through the barn slats. He looked peaceful. At ease. The same couldn’t be said for Theo, but that was his own fault.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Why?”

Alec shrugged. “Just figured we’ve got time, and it’s nice out. We finished early, and Nolan said he’d race me, but I don’t think Tater Tot’s got the heart for it.”

“Hey,” Nolan objected from across the barn. “You leave my short king alone.”

Theo snorted, the sound escaping before he could stop it. It was almost a laugh. Almost.

Alec grinned like he’d won something. “Come on. You in?”

Theo looked at Buckshot, then at the two of them — expectant, hopeful, probably a little stupid — and sighed.

He wasn’t in the mood.

But he also wasn’t in the mood to go back to the bunkhouse. To sit in the silence with the cravings clawing at his ribs and the hangover thick behind his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to stare at the bed and count the bottles still hidden in the crawlspace.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Alright.”

Theo led Buckshot out by the lead rope, the old gelding calm as ever, ears flicking lazily. He hadn’t ridden bareback in decades. And Buckshot wasn’t a small horse, either. Not exactly graceful, but sturdy, dependable.

“You need a leg up?” Nolan asked, half-serious, half-teasing.

Theo shot him a look. “Do I look like I need help?”

“You look like you’ve got cracked ribs,” Nolan replied. “Forgive me for assuming you’d like to not make them worse.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Still, Theo ignored the ache in his side and got one hand on Buckshot’s withers, a fistful of mane, and launched himself up in one smooth, practiced movement. It wasn’t perfect — his foot slid for a second — but he got up and settled with a grunt, legs draped easy along the horse’s sides.

Buckshot barely twitched.

Alec let out a low whistle. “Okay, that was kinda badass.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “It’s just riding.”

“Yeah, but you made it look cool. I almost fell trying to get on Tater Tot last week and he’s basically a fat goat with spots.”

Nolan, who had already mounted Cassie, looked over. “Fat goat? That’s rude.”

Alec just grinned and swung himself up onto his own horse — some chestnut gelding with a white blaze and attitude for days. He barely got settled before the horse shifted beneath him, ready to move.

Theo nudged Buckshot forward with a click of his tongue, and the old horse moved, steady as ever. Smooth under him, like he remembered. The bareback pad wasn’t there, but the warmth of the horse, the movement, the soft creak of the fence line as they passed — it helped. Grounded him.

“So,” Alec said, trotting up beside him. “You used to ride a lot?”

“Yeah,” Theo said. “Before.”

“Before what?” Nolan asked, too casual.

Theo didn’t answer. And Nolan didn’t push.

Buckshot’s body moved fluidly beneath him — solid, alive. Every muscle rolled with careful precision, each step slow and deliberate over the uneven ground. The absence of a saddle meant Theo felt everything: the warmth of the horse’s back under his thighs, the subtle sway of hips with each stride, the small adjustments Buckshot made to keep his balance and carry Theo without hesitation.

It was all motion and instinct — no noise in his head, no pull toward the bottle, no static scraping the inside of his ribs. Just the steady rhythm of hooves on dry earth, the muted creak of leather from Alec’s bridle, the occasional snort or flick of a tail as they cut through low afternoon light.

Theo sat tall, back straight, legs loose but firm along Buckshot’s sides. He remembered this. Not the specifics — not the names of dressage terms or whatever fancy crap Jenna used to mutter at Liam during shows — but the feeling. The unspoken language. Trust and balance. Horse and rider.

Buckshot’s thick mane lifted slightly in the breeze, and Theo leaned forward just enough to press his palm to the horse’s shoulder, steadying himself through a dip in the path. It felt like riding the tide — like each shift in Buckshot’s muscles was a wave beneath him, and all he had to do was keep breathing.

“Okay, I know I said it before,” Alec said, nudging his chestnut gelding closer, “but you really do look like some sort of cowboy right now.”

Theo snorted softly. “Do I need a hat?”

“You’d hate a hat,” Nolan chimed in. “You’d rip it off the second it made your hair stick up.”

Theo gave a quiet, dry laugh. “Not wrong.”

Alec let out a dramatic sigh. “Shame. You’ve got the broody stubble and the ‘don’t talk to me or my horse’ energy. It’s so Wild West.”

Buckshot flicked an ear back like he was unimpressed.

“I’m not broody,” Theo said.

“Literally just growled at us twenty minutes ago,” Nolan reminded him.

“I did not growl.” Theo deadpanned.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence again, following the worn trail along the fence line. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and dust lifted from their horses’ hooves with each step, catching golden in the sunlight. There was something nostalgic about it — like the kind of summer memory someone might have as a kid. Long days. Open air. Laughter. No deadlines or expectations.

Theo wouldn’t have called it peace, not exactly. But maybe something close.

“How long have you had Buckshot?” Alec asked eventually.

Theo glanced over. “He’s not mine.”

“Wait — really?”

“Yeah. Belongs to the ranch.”

Alec frowned. “But you ride him like you raised him from a foal or something.”

Theo shrugged. “He just doesn’t give me shit.”

“High praise from you,” Nolan said. “You know he almost bit Liam last week?”

Theo smirked, patting Buckshot’s neck. “Good taste.”

That earned a laugh out of both of them.

They reached the far end of the field, where the fence gave way to a narrow dirt path through the trees. The horses picked their way over fallen branches and half-hidden rocks, careful and sure-footed. Theo let Buckshot take the lead, trusting the gelding’s judgment more than his own at this point.

Everything slowed.

The sound of leaves rustling overhead, the rhythm of hoofbeats softened by earth. The chatter quieted, not because they ran out of things to say, but because the silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

Theo’s body moved naturally with Buckshot’s — his hips swaying gently with each step, his hands low and steady in the horse’s mane. Every now and then, Buckshot tossed his head or sidestepped a root, but Theo was ready. No panic. No second-guessing.

He felt here. Present.

Not drifting in that half-numb space where the craving lived. Not caught in the endless loop of mistakes and shame and trying to outrun his own skin. Just riding. Just being.

Alec let out a low whistle from behind him. “You’re kind of magic when you’re up there, man. I mean it.”

Theo shook his head but didn’t argue.

“Seriously,” Alec pressed. “It’s like—you’re a completely different person on a horse. Calmer. Like you’re not holding your breath all the time.”

Theo didn’t answer right away. He just kept one hand in Buckshot’s mane, the other loose at his side, letting the gelding guide them over the uneven path.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s easier, I guess.”

“Easier how?” Nolan asked, trotting up on Theo’s other side, Cassie’s hooves tapping lightly against the dry trail.

Theo paused, like he might not answer. Then, softly: “They don’t lie. Horses. They don’t pretend they’re okay when they’re not. Don’t hide stuff behind words. They just show you what they feel. Right away.”

Alec was quiet, for once.

Nolan didn’t joke, didn’t deflect. He just nodded, gaze flicking to Buckshot. “Yeah,” he said. “That makes sense.”

And it did — to Theo, at least. There was a quiet kind of honesty in the weight beneath him. Buckshot didn’t expect him to talk. Didn’t ask for anything except balance and direction. Didn’t judge him for the fight in the tack room or the drink he shouldn’t have had or the hole he kept crawling back into.

The horse just walked. Solid and steady and there.

“You ever think about doing lessons?” Nolan asked after a while. “Like, teaching? You’d be good at it.”

Theo gave a dry laugh. “Me? Teaching kids?”

“Not just kids,” Alec said. “I mean, sure, that too, but like… teens? Adults?”

Theo glanced at them both, mouth twitching. “I’m not exactly the patient type.”

Nolan arched a brow. “I dunno. You’ve been pretty chill with us.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “You two don’t count. You’re like… barn mold.”

“Excuse me,” Alec said, scandalized. “We’re delightful.”

“You’re loud,” Theo corrected. “And nosy.”

“You love it,” Nolan said confidently.

Theo didn’t answer, which, to them, was probably answer enough.

They kept riding for a while, the trail looping back toward the open field behind the barn. Buckshot picked up his pace a little, sensing the shift in direction — the familiar tug of routine that always meant home.

Theo didn’t fight it. Just leaned forward slightly, letting the horse move.

The air was warmer now, sun starting to dip low in the sky. Long shadows stretched across the trail, and dust kicked up in soft gold clouds beneath their hooves. Every few steps, Alec’s horse tossed his head, clearly wanting to run, and Alec kept a gentle hand on the reins, murmuring nonsense under his breath like it might work.

“You gonna let him go?” Nolan called.

“Eventually,” Alec said, but didn’t sound convinced. “I’m not in the mood to eat dirt today.”

Theo smirked. “He’s just testing you.”

“I know,” Alec groaned. “He’s been testing me all week. Yesterday he tried to sidekick the hose.”

Nolan snorted. “That’s ‘cause you sprayed him in the face.”

“I was rinsing his legs!”

Theo listened to them bicker, the faint sound of it curling around him like warmth. Not suffocating. Not demanding. Just there — like background noise to something softer. Something safer.

He hadn’t had that in a long time.

Theo glanced sideways at Alec, a slow, sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Race you back to the barn?” His voice was low, half-teasing, but underneath there was a spark — a flicker of that old fire he hadn’t felt in ages.

Alec’s eyes lit up immediately. “You’re on.”

Nolan chuckled and kicked his horse into a gentle trot, watching the two like they were about to start some kind of showdown. Theo felt the muscles in Buckshot tense beneath him, sensing the sudden change in energy. The horse shifted forward, ready, steady, solid.

Without thinking twice, Theo leaned forward, pressing his weight into Buckshot’s withers — his thighs gripping the horse’s warm, muscled sides. The absence of a saddle meant every subtle movement, every ripple of muscle, every quick step was amplified under him. The horse’s skin was slick and warm beneath his palms, and the steady thrum of hooves against the earth filled the air.

Buckshot responded instantly, picking up his pace into a steady canter, then into a full run, powerful and unrestrained. Theo’s breath caught in his throat as the wind rushed past, whipping his flannel shirt open, tangling his hair against his forehead. The ground blurred beneath them, golden dust rising in soft clouds with every thunderous hoofbeat.

There was a freedom in the speed, a sharp contrast to the slow, dragging weight in his chest. Here, on Buckshot’s back, with nothing but the rhythm of the run and the burning in his legs, the world narrowed to this one, perfect moment. Nothing else mattered — not the past, not the fights, not the drink that still whispered from some dark corner inside him.

Alec’s chestnut gelding surged beside him, faster than usual, eager and wild. Alec leaned forward too, determination written across his face. But Theo felt something old and familiar coil in his gut — the thrill of a challenge, the heat of competition.

He pushed Buckshot harder, riding every muscle, every step, every breath. The old horse answered, muscles rippling beneath Theo’s hands, hooves pounding in a steady drumbeat that seemed to echo through Theo’s entire body.

Ahead, the barn came into view, sunlight casting long shadows across the open field.

Alec’s voice was loud, filled with effort and laughter. “You’re going down, old man!”

Theo didn’t answer. He just dug his heels in, urging Buckshot faster, riding with the smooth confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The wind tore at his face, the steady pounding in his chest no longer pain but fuel.

They crossed the invisible finish line at nearly the same moment, but Theo’s steady, practiced grace pulled him just ahead — a whisper of victory. Buckshot slowed with a gentle snort, stepping in a measured rhythm as Theo eased himself back upright, breath ragged but exhilarated.

Alec laughed, pulling up beside him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Okay, okay — you win. Bareback and all. That was…impressive.”

Theo just smiled, running his fingers through his hair as a soft laugh left his lips.

Nolan’s laughter floated back to them from behind, a warm, easy sound that made the tightness in Theo’s chest loosen just a bit more.

For the first time in a long time, the rush of running, the weight of the horse beneath him, and the soft, teasing voices of these two kids felt like something close to healing.

Buckshot shifted beneath him, breathing hard but content, and Theo let his hand fall to the horse’s neck, fingers threading gently through the coarse mane. His legs ached from the ride — no saddle meant every movement hit deep — but it was the kind of ache that felt earned, clean.

Alec was still panting beside him, his gelding huffing dramatically like he’d lost something monumental. “Next time,” Alec said, voice light. “Next time I’m bringing a damn saddle rocket.”

Theo rolled his eyes, a real laugh slipping out before he could stop it — not sharp or bitter, not some shield to push people away. Just a laugh. Simple. Honest.

He leaned down and gave Buckshot a firm pat on the shoulder, murmuring something low and fond — and when he looked up again, something in the distance caught his eye.

The barn doors had opened. Mason stepped out first, ducking to avoid the edge of the frame as he said something over his shoulder. Brett followed, brushing hay from his sleeves, half-listening, half-scanning the yard like he always did — calm, patient, that quiet alertness he never really turned off. And trailing behind them, about five steps back, was Liam.

Theo stilled for a second. Just watched.

Liam’s head was tipped toward the sky, squinting into the late afternoon light. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders relaxed, mouth moving like he was talking but not trying too hard to be heard. His hair was messy — not styled, not flattened by sweat or stress or a helmet — just wild and sunlit, and he looked… normal. Tired, maybe. But not tense. Not wired.

And more importantly, the sight of him didn’t hit Theo like it had that morning — like a gut punch or a sucker hit to the chest.

There was no twist of shame. No flinch of resentment.

He blinked, like that might shake it loose, then let his gaze drift back to Alec and Nolan without another glance.

Alec had just dismounted and was dramatically stretching his legs, groaning like a cartoon character. “I swear my ass is gonna be bruised for a week.”

Nolan rolled his eyes, walking Cassie in a slow circle. “Your ass is fine.”

Alec grinned. “You checking me out again, buddy?”

Nolan turned faintly pink. “No,” he muttered. “Shut up.”

Theo laughed — and this time, when it rose up in his chest, it didn’t feel like it had to compete with the weight of everything else. It didn’t feel borrowed or careful. Just loud and light and his.

He reached down, gave Buckshot one more pat, and nudged him toward the others.

Brett jogged toward them from the barn, long strides kicking up little puffs of dust as he crossed the field. His brows were knit tight at first, shoulders tensed like he was ready to intercept a problem — but the second his eyes found Theo, he slowed.

His gaze settled on Theo’s face — the faint smile still lingering there, the soft laugh lines near his eyes, the casual way he sat Buckshot like it was the most natural thing in the world — and Brett’s whole posture shifted.

Relaxed. Relieved.

Like some part of him had been braced for the worst and finally realized it wasn’t coming.

Theo noticed it — the way Brett’s shoulders eased, how his mouth ticked up in something that wasn’t quite a grin but close. Familiar.

Alec noticed too, glancing between them and smirking. “You’re late. We already won the race and bruised our asses.”

Brett rolled his eyes as he came to a stop beside them. “I was helping Mason lock up the feed room. Someone left it open.”

Alec shot Nolan a look. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Nolan scoffed. “You think I’d leave fifty-pound grain bags unattended? Please. I have trauma.”

Theo snorted under his breath. Brett’s eyes flicked to him again at the sound, softer this time. He didn’t say anything, just stepped closer and gave Buckshot a brief pat, his hand brushing Theo’s knee in the process — grounding, casual, but intentional.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Meant just for Theo.

Theo didn’t answer right away. He looked down at Buckshot’s ears, still perked. At the dust in the air, the way Nolan was still subtly pink from Alec’s teasing, the faint soreness in his legs from the ride.

And then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

Brett’s gaze lingered for a second longer. Then he nodded too, like he’d heard what Theo wasn’t saying.

Theo slid down from Buckshot’s back in one smooth motion, boots hitting the dry earth with a quiet thud. His legs protested slightly — stiff from riding bareback and adrenaline — but he didn’t mind. Buckshot immediately turned his head, nudging at Theo’s shoulder with his soft nose, persistent and affectionate.

“Alright, alright,” Theo murmured, reaching up to scratch behind the gelding’s ears. “You want a medal or something?”

Buckshot huffed, then nosed under his arm like he was demanding more attention. Theo laughed — sharp and surprised, the sound crackling out of him before he could think to mute it. It pulled another glance from Brett, who was still watching him like he didn’t quite trust the moment to last, like any second now Theo might disappear again.

He stood there in the dusty glow of sunset, hair mussed from the wind, cheeks flushed from the ride, grinning he was the happiest he has ever been.

A pair of footsteps approached behind them, lighter than Brett’s but more cautious. Mason came into view first, a crooked smile already on his face as he took in the scene.

“You guys looked like actual cowboys out there,” he said, clapping Nolan lightly on the back. “Very Yeehaw Renaissance of you.”

Alec groaned. “I told you to stop saying that.”

Mason smirked. “You love it.”

Theo turned slightly at the sound of another pair of boots behind them — slower, quieter.

Liam.

He trailed Mason by a few steps, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable. His eyes flicked briefly over the group, pausing just a beat longer on Theo before glancing away again.

Theo didn’t speak.

Neither did Liam.

Theo let his gaze drift back to Buckshot, who was still busy trying to chew on the hem of his shirt. He pushed the muzzle gently away with a small grin.

“Okay, cowboy,” Alec said, stepping up beside him with an exaggerated limp. “Time to hose these monsters down before they roll in the dirt and make all our hard work pointless.”

“I’m not hosing anything,” Nolan muttered. “Last time Cassie kicked water into my face and I almost swallowed a fly.”

“That’s because you were humming at her like a Disney princess,” Alec teased.

Mason snorted. “I knew I heard ‘Let It Go.’”

Nolan glared. “You’re all the worst.”

Theo just chuckled under his breath and followed them toward the wash racks, trailing one hand along Buckshot’s neck. Brett fell into step beside him, close but not crowding, and for once, Theo didn’t mind the company.

He didn’t feel like he needed to be alone. Not right now.

And the bottle — the weight of it, the whisper of it — didn’t feel so loud anymore.

Chapter 9: Wires and Whiskey

Notes:

This chapter contains depictions of alcohol use and relapse, emotional dysregulation, self-destructive behavior, and self-inflicted physical harm (punching objects), and implied depression. Please read with care.

The sky was a dull grey, clouds stretched thin across the horizon like someone had tried to smudge them away and failed. The air hung heavy with humidity, thick enough to cling to the back of Theo’s neck as he dragged a rake across the paddock gravel, each scrape like nails on a chalkboard in his head.

He was exhausted.

Not just from the day.

From the week.

The whole damn thing.

Liam hadn’t said a single word to him since Sunday. Not one. Not even a grunt. Not a glance. Not when they passed in the feed shed, not when they’d both grabbed brushes from the tack wall at the same time, not even when Buckshot had kicked the fence and Theo had instinctively stepped in front of him like muscle memory.

Silence.

Like Liam had taken a pair of scissors and cut Theo clean out of his world.

And fine. Fine. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he hadn’t earned the right to expect anything else. But every time Liam didn’t look at him, something in Theo’s chest pulled tighter — like his ribs were laced with wire, one strand away from snapping.

And then Brett.

Brett, who was supposed to have his back. Brett, who had always looked at him with that kind of patience that made Theo hate himself less. Brett, who caught him that morning with the flask Theo thought he’d hidden better. Just one drink. That’s all he’d let himself have. A single burn to take the edge off the shaking.

But Brett had seen.

Brett had followed him around the back of the barn and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, voice sharp but quiet — the way Brett always got when he was mad but trying not to be.

“What the hell was that, Theo?”

Theo had blinked at him, squinting into the sun. “It’s not a big deal.”

“One drink is one too many,” Brett snapped.

“I only had one.”

“That’s still drinking.”

“Yeah. And?”

Brett’s jaw clenched. His eyes were wild with disappointment, the kind Theo couldn’t stomach. “You promised you were done.”

“No,” Theo said. “You assumed I was done. I said I’d try.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to cheat when you’re upset.”

Theo had laughed. It wasn’t funny, but it came out anyway. “You sound like a guidance counselor.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You do this again,” Brett warned, stepping closer, lowering his voice to a hiss, “and I’m telling Derek.”

Theo’s face went cold. “You wouldn’t.”

Brett didn’t even blink. “Try me.”

Theo had turned and walked away before he did something stupid. Like scream. Or cry. Or throw the flask at Brett’s head and storm off like the wreck he actually was.

Now, hours later, the rake felt heavier than it should. His hands ached. His teeth hurt from clenching them too long.

The paddock gate screeched on its hinges as he opened it, letting Nolan lead one of the younger horses inside. Theo didn’t remember which one — they all blurred together sometimes when his head was like this. Noise and sweat and people watching him like he might shatter.

He stepped to the side, rake slung over one shoulder like a weapon he didn’t know how to use, and caught the edge of the gate too hard when he moved. It bounced off the post, smacking into the horse’s flank.

The gelding jerked. Ears pinned flat. Hooves scraped the ground in a frantic backpedal and Nolan swore as the lead line slipped.

Theo reached for it too fast. The horse reared slightly, not full height, but enough to make his stomach drop — enough to see the flash of whites in its eyes, and Nolan’s startled gasp as the gelding whipped around and bolted out the still-open gate.

The sound of hooves on gravel echoed like gunfire.

Alec’s voice called something from across the yard. Theo couldn’t hear what. Couldn’t think past the rush of heat in his face.

Cora and Brett appeared seconds later, eyes sharp, boots skidding to a stop.

“What the hell happened?”

Theo didn’t answer.

Nolan did. “The gate—he hit it, it slammed—”

“I didn’t mean to,” Theo snapped.

“I didn’t say you did,” Nolan said softly, eyes wide.

But Brett was already looking at him — not like he was mad.

Like he was disappointed. Again.

Like that was worse.

Theo’s fists clenched around the rake handle. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Brett asked, voice careful.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Sharp-edged.

Theo dropped the rake.

The clang of it hitting the gravel made the horse still tied to the post shuffle nervously, but Theo didn’t flinch.

“I’m done,” he said.

“Theo—”

“No. Screw this.”

He turned, stalked off before anyone could stop him. He heard Cora call his name, faint and unsure, but didn’t turn back. Didn’t want to see Brett’s face. Didn’t want to see Alec watching from the barn door like he was waiting for someone to tell him who was right.

Theo stormed past the last fence post and cut across the field, ignoring the way the tall grass grabbed at his legs. The sky cracked faintly overhead — thunder in the distance, or maybe just in his chest. It didn’t matter. He kept walking, fists still clenched, jaw locked tight. The whole world was hot and small and spinning, and he couldn’t breathe past it.

He needed to hit something.

Break something.

Feel something that wasn’t shame or disappointment or that hollow pressure behind his eyes like tears were clawing to get out but couldn’t.

He reached the far pasture, the one where the old training barrels were left stacked beside the faded fence. One of them had been rusting for years, dented from a summer of rodeo drills. Theo didn’t even think before stepping toward it, chest heaving.

He drew back and punched.

Hard.

Metal rang out under his knuckles. Pain bloomed instantly — bright, sharp, grounding.

But not enough.

He hit it again.

And again.

His breathing was ragged now, sweat soaking the back of his shirt. The barrel rocked and toppled over on its side, rolling a few feet before it came to rest against the cracked fence. Theo followed it and kicked it as hard as he could, throat raw with the scream he didn’t let out.

It wasn’t just the horse. It wasn’t just Brett or Liam or the flask.

It was all of it.

Everything.

The weeks of trying, of trying so damn hard — to be good, to be better, to deserve this place, this second chance. And the moment he slipped, even a little, it was all eyes on him again. All that trust, dangling by a thread like it had never been real in the first place.

He was so goddamn tired.

He sank down onto the grass beside the barrel, breath coming in shallow bursts. His hands shook — blood already starting to smear across the knuckles, knotted bruises forming under the skin.

He looked down at them.

And then he laughed. Just once.

It came out broken.

The wind picked up, brushing through the grass like fingers. Clouds swallowed more of the sky, muting the sun, but the heat hadn’t gone. It just stuck to him, thick and wrong, like everything else.

He rubbed his hands against his jeans, trying to get the blood off. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to feel like this. Didn’t want to be this kid anymore — the one who snapped, who lashed out, who couldn’t keep it together.

But he was.

And no matter how many rides or bareback runs or gentle moments he carved out of his days, it always circled back.

The ache in his chest deepened, settling into his bones like a cold, unyielding weight. Theo’s eyes traced the jagged line of the horizon, the clouds thickening, gray and swollen.

He wiped his knuckles on his jeans again, grit grinding under his nails. His body was trembling — not just from the bruises or the rawness of the punches — but from the storm inside him, the fight that wouldn’t quit.

He had to escape it.

He stood up slowly, the grass crunching under his boots, heavy and wet. His legs were weak, but his mind was sharper now, fueled by something fierce and desperate.

Back near the barn, the old wooden door creaked. Theo paused. No one called out, no voices. Just the distant clip of hooves and the low murmur of the ranch settling into afternoon quiet.

But for him, there was no quiet.

He needed to find something, anything, to smother the noise.

A faint memory tugged at him, one he’d locked away for years — a dark corner behind the tack room where a hidden panel concealed bottles forgotten by time. When he was nine, that stash had been a secret thrill, a dangerous treasure. Now it was something more. An escape hatch.

He pushed off toward the barn, the sky breaking overhead with the first fat drops of rain. The sky opened, cold and unforgiving. Theo didn’t care.

Inside, the smell of hay and leather wrapped around him. His fingers fumbled along the rough wooden walls, searching for the loose panel. When the wood shifted, revealing the hidden cache, his breath hitched.

He grabbed a bottle without looking. Glass cool and familiar in his shaking hand.

He unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. Fire scorched his throat and burned down into his chest. His legs buckled, and he barely caught himself on the rough plank floor.

Another swallow.

Then another.

The world narrowed to the sharp heat in his belly and the dull roar in his ears. His vision blurred, and the cold sweat slicked his skin.

He sank down against the wall, the bottle rolling from his fingers onto the straw-strewn floor. The taste was bitter, but it was relief. A slow drip of numbness spreading through his veins.

The bitter burn curled through him again, sharp and relentless, and still, he reached for the bottle. His fingers trembled violently, but the pull was stronger than his hesitation. Each swallow was a little rebellion — a little surrender — a little voice saying, just one more.

The world around him blurred into a dull haze, the edges softened by the creeping fog in his mind. The barn’s rough wooden walls seemed to close in, but the fire in his chest pushed back against the cold loneliness, even if just for a moment.

His breath hitched with each gulp, the liquid setting his nerves aflame. The warmth was temporary, but it was better than the cold that had been settling beneath his skin for weeks.

He pressed his back harder against the wall, knees drawn up, face slick with rain and sweat and tears he refused to admit were there. The taste of whiskey lingered bitter on his tongue, sharp and acidic, but somehow it grounded him. A cruel comfort.

His hands shook too much to hold the bottle steady, so he tilted his head back, letting the liquid spill past his lips and down his throat, burning all the way. The pain was a tether to reality, a reminder that he was still here — even if barely.

Time slowed. The sounds of the rain outside dimmed behind the ringing in his ears. The pounding of his heart felt distant, swallowed by the roaring in his skull.

He swallowed again. And again.

The room tilted, the floor felt like it was shifting beneath him, but he stayed where he was, anchored by exhaustion and the unspoken promise that if he just drank enough, the storm inside might finally calm.

His vision darkened at the edges, the sharp corners of his world blurring into shadow. The bottle slipped from his fingers, clinking softly on the floor, but he didn’t reach for it.

He didn’t care.

Chapter 10: Drowning Doesn’t Always Look Like Water

Summary:

Content warning: this chapter contiasns alcohol use and relapse, emotional dysregulation, vomiting, self-inflicted physical harm (punching objects), implied depressive episodes, and dissociation. Please read with care.

The rain had settled into a steady rhythm, soft and unyielding, draping the pasture in a wet gray haze that blurred the edges of the world. It was quiet except for the patter of droplets and the distant creak of the barn settling into night. The air smelled thick — damp earth, wet hay, and the faint metallic tang of old wounds.

Theo lay crumpled near the fence, the cold dirt seeping through his soaked jeans, mixing with the rough texture of grass and broken twigs. His body felt heavy, disconnected — like he was a marionette whose strings had been cut loose. Rain trickled down his face, cold and relentless, but he barely registered it.

His knuckles throbbed, raw and swollen, smeared with dark streaks of dried blood. He didn’t remember what he had punched — a post, the ground, the barrel he had toppled earlier. Didn’t care. The sharp sting had been a welcome echo against the numbness swallowing him whole.

The whiskey burned like fire in his veins, spreading heat and haze, but the sharp edges of guilt and shame never quite dulled. They lurked beneath the surface, gnawing at the corners of his mind even as his vision swam and the world tilted sideways.

When he vomited in the dirt, the bitter taste of bile and alcohol filled his mouth. He tasted everything that had been bottled inside him for so long — the anger, the loneliness, the quiet ache of wanting to disappear. His body convulsed weakly, but he was too spent to lift his head fully. The rain washed over him like a slow, cold tide, blending with his tears, with the dirt, with the ruin he’d become.

Somewhere beyond the haze, the barn doors closed with a soft thud. Footsteps approached, hesitant, urgent. Theo didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

Not even when Liam’s shadow fell over him.

Liam’s voice cut through the fog in Theo’s mind, sharp and close, but somehow distant, like he was hearing it from underwater. “Come on, man. Get up. You’re—”

The words blurred into static.

Theo tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like they belonged to someone else. They trembled violently, muscles refusing to obey. His stomach churned again, tighter this time, and before he could stop it, the bitter flood spilled over, burning through the rain-soaked dirt beneath him.

He barely managed to turn his head away. The taste was sharp, unforgiving, dragging him further down.

“Shit.” Liam’s voice was low but frantic now, a lifeline he couldn’t quite reach. “Theo, please.”

But Theo was drowning — in the burn, in the sickness, in the dark swirl of everything he’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

He lay back against the cold earth, rain mingling with sweat and tears he didn’t have the strength to wipe away. His chest heaved, shallow gasps filling the empty spaces inside his head.

Liam’s voice rose, cracking with desperation. “Theo, come on. You’re scaring me. Get up. Please.”

Theo’s limbs twitched weakly but made no effort to obey. The cold seeped into his bones, matching the emptiness spreading inside him. His chest rose and fell erratically, each breath shallow, ragged, like he was fighting to keep something alive—maybe himself.

Liam crouched closer now, hands trembling as they hovered over Theo’s slick, dirt-streaked skin. “Don’t do this. Don’t just lie here.”

Theo’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, but he didn’t respond. No pleading gaze, no silent apology. Just a vacant stare that made Liam’s chest tighten like a fist.

“Talk to me,” Liam urged, voice breaking. “Say anything. You’re not alone, man. You’re not—”

A harsh cough tore from Theo’s throat, cutting through the rain’s steady drizzle. His body convulsed, the dry heave twisting him painfully as nausea clawed up again. This time, he managed to turn his head before the bitter flood spilled out once more.

Liam caught his face gently, wiping the mess away with trembling fingers, but Theo barely felt it. His eyes fluttered shut again, exhausted, empty.

“God, Theo,” Liam whispered, voice thick. “You’ve gotta stop this. You gotta.”

Theo’s mouth opened slightly, no words coming out. His head lolled weakly against the sodden earth, soaked through to the bone.

Liam reached out, fingers curling beneath Theo’s chin, trying to tilt his head so he wouldn’t choke. The cold slicked Theo’s skin, making every movement sluggish, like wading through thick molasses.

The rain pooled in Theo’s lashes, tracing slow rivers down his pale cheeks. His breath was shallow, irregular, like a flickering candle struggling to stay lit.

“Come on, Theo,” Liam said, voice steady despite the panic flashing across his face. “You have to get up. You can’t just lie here.”

Theo’s eyelids fluttered open again, heavy and unfocused.

Liam gritted his teeth, forcing calm into his voice. “I’m not leaving you out here. You’re better than this. You’ve got to fight it. Get up with me.”

Theo’s hands twitched weakly at his sides, fingers curling into the wet grass, but there was no real effort. His legs lay splayed and still, and his body barely responded.

Liam slid forward, wrapping an arm under Theo’s shoulders, the other beneath his knees, trying to lift him. Theo’s weight was heavier than Liam expected — like the alcohol had tethered him to the ground, dragging him down.

“Help me, man,” Liam said, voice barely above a plea. “I can’t do this alone.”

Theo’s head lolled again, the faintest tremor shaking his body as if he wanted to resist but had nothing left to give.

Liam adjusted his grip and hauled, muscles straining as he managed to get Theo into a sitting position, rain dripping from his hair and clothes.

Theo hated it.

Hated how his limbs betrayed him, how his body felt like a hollow shell, too heavy and numb to obey even the simplest command. His muscles quivered beneath Liam’s grip, an unwelcome reminder of how completely he’d lost control.

He wanted to fight it — wanted to rise up and tell Liam to back off, to leave him alone. But the alcohol had knotted itself deep inside him, a thick fog that dulled every edge of resistance.

Liam’s voice softened, patient but firm. “Come on, Theo. You can do this. Just lean on me.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, a shudder running through his body as he forced himself to meet Liam’s steady gaze. And slowly, agonizingly, Liam helped him to his feet, supporting more of Theo’s weight than he wanted to admit.

Theo’s legs wobbled like freshly cut saplings, knees threatening to buckle with every tentative step. For a moment, his mind was a blur of spinning thoughts and cold fire. Then, painfully, like dragging a knife across raw skin, clarity began to seep through the fog.

“I… I’m fine,” Theo rasped, voice cracked and uneven, but finally words — words that were real, or close enough. “Just leave me… alone.”

Liam’s eyes flashed with something fierce, frustration boiling beneath his worried gaze. “Fine? You call this fine? Look at you.”

Theo stumbled, but Liam caught him before he fell. “Come on, I’m taking you to the showers.”

“No.” Theo tried to pull away, but his limbs betrayed him again, weak and uncooperative.

“Yes.” Liam’s voice was sharp, but urgent. “You smell like hell, and you’re barely standing.”

Theo’s chest tightened. He hated the way Liam’s hands gripped him — like he was holding on to something precious, something slipping away. He hated the pity that hung behind those eyes, and maybe most of all, he hated that he needed it.

The argument spiraled then — low, angry words spat between ragged breaths as Liam hauled him through the muddy yard.

“Why do you even care?” Theo snapped, voice brittle with pain. “You think—“

“That’s not the point!” Liam cut him off, dragging him harder.

Theo’s foot caught on a root, and Liam’s grip tightened, pulling him forward with a force that sent Theo crashing into the barn wall.

Theo gasped, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. His back pressed hard against the rough wood, splinters digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Liam’s hands framed his face now, steadying him. His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but it struck deeper than any shout. “You think I’m just gonna watch you throw yourself away? Like you don’t mean anything?”

Theo’s jaw trembled. He wanted to shove Liam off, to break free, to disappear all over again. But his body felt too broken for that fight. Instead, he stayed frozen, caught between the sharp sting of anger and the raw ache of something else — something he refused to name.

Without another word, Liam tightened his grip on Theo’s arm and started pulling him toward the barn. Theo stumbled, barely able to keep up, his legs shaking with exhaustion and intoxication. The rain slicked ground made every step precarious, but Liam was relentless, dragging him through the muddy earth with an urgency that brooked no argument.

Inside the barn, the air was thick with the scent of hay and damp leather, heavy and close. The cold light from a single bare bulb flickered overhead as Liam led him to the showers — an old metal stall with peeling paint and rusted pipes.

Before Theo could protest, Liam yanked the lever, unleashing a sharp spray of cold water that hit Theo’s chest and face like a shock. The icy cascade sent a jolt through his skin, stealing what little warmth he had left.

Theo gasped, sputtering, but Liam wasn’t done. He shoved him fully under the torrent, water streaming over his soaked hair, running down his bruised shoulders, mixing with the rain still clinging to his clothes.

For a moment, Theo’s whole body went rigid, numb with shock, the cold biting through the alcohol fog and forcing his mind to scrape itself raw and awake.

Liam’s voice was low, tense with something close to desperation. “You can’t keep doing this. You won’t survive it.”

Theo blinked water from his eyes, swallowing hard, but he doesn’t say anything.

Chapter 11: Underneath The Surface

The cold water still poured down over him, cutting through the heat of shame that clung to his skin like a second layer. His shirt was soaked, his jeans heavy with mud and rain, and his knuckles throbbed with a steady ache. He leaned against the wooden slats of the barn shower stall, barely upright, letting the icy spray drill into the back of his neck.

He didn’t ask Liam to stay, but the other boy hadn’t moved far. He stood nearby, just out of the water, arms folded, jaw tight. The silence between them was sharp. Not quite angry. Not forgiving, either.

Theo couldn’t meet his eyes.

Every time he tried, something twisted deep in his chest — not the kind of pain you could punch out or drown in whiskey. Something worse.

His breath hitched, just once.

Then the door slammed open.

Footsteps stormed across the barn floor. Theo didn’t have to look to know who it was. He felt it — the weight of Brett’s anger pressing in before the voice even hit him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Liam tensed beside him, but it was Theo who answered, head still down, voice slurring slightly as he muttered, “Go away, Brett.”

“Yeah, I tried that. And look where it got us.”

Theo winced at the sound of his best friend’s voice. Brett wasn’t just angry — he was disappointed. Scared. And that cut deeper than the vomit, the bruises, the pounding in his skull.

“Jesus, Theo…” Brett moved closer, boots skidding slightly in the water on the concrete. “Are you drunk right now? What the hell were you thinking?”

Theo pressed his forehead to the wood, wishing it would just swallow him whole. “Didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“No. You didn’t,” Brett snapped. “But you sure as hell earned one.”

Liam shifted. “Back off, Brett. He doesn’t need this right now.”

Brett rounded on him, voice rising. “Oh, he doesn’t? He doesn’t need someone to call him on his shit when he almost fucking drinks himself into a coma?”

Theo flinched, barely audible, but Liam caught it. “You don’t think I’m trying to help him?”

“No,” Brett barked. “I think you’re trying to save him like it’s your job. And maybe you forgot, but I’ve been doing that for years.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. The water kept coming. Cold. Relentless. He hated it.

“Stop talking like I’m not right here,” he muttered.

“Then act like it,” Brett snapped. “Don’t lie in a field half-dead with your stomach full of poison, Theo. Don’t make me find you like that.”

Theo’s teeth clenched. “I didn’t ask to be found.”

“You never do,” Brett said bitterly. “You just kill yourself a little more and hope no one notices.”

That shut him up.

He turned, barely able to keep himself upright, still soaked, still sick, vision blurred at the edges.

“You think I want this?” Theo’s voice cracked, low and hoarse. “You think I like waking up wondering how long I can go before I screw everything up again?”

Brett opened his mouth, but Theo didn’t stop.

“You think I like being the fucking liability every time someone lets me close?”

Liam’s voice was soft but firm behind him. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

Theo sagged forward. He caught himself on the edge of the stall, chest heaving.

Brett didn’t speak right away. His mouth was open, but his voice caught behind his ribs, trapped somewhere in the thundering pressure of his chest. His breath was sharp — not from anger anymore, but from something closer to fear. Real, suffocating fear. The kind that had claws. The kind that clung.

Theo didn’t look up.

He couldn’t.

Not when his best friend — the one person who’d stayed this long — was looking at him like that.

Like he was losing him.

Like he already had.

“Theo,” Brett said finally, and his voice cracked, thick and frayed around the edges. “Don’t say shit like that.”

Theo gave a bitter huff of breath, still slumped forward. “Why not? It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” Brett snapped, stepping closer. His wet hoodie clung to him, hair plastered to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re not a liability.”

Theo’s head tilted, ever so slightly. His breath shuddered out of him.

“Don’t,” he said, voice tight. “Don’t turn this into some therapy session.”

Brett knelt in front of him anyway, one hand steady on Theo’s knee — not forcing, just grounding.

“I’m scared for you,” Brett said, barely above a whisper now. “Do you get that? I’m scared I’m gonna find you one day and it’ll be too late.”

Theo finally met his eyes.

They were wide, wet, and cracked open.

All the fight bled out of him in an instant. The snarl in his chest, the acid that curled up his throat, the trembling anger that had kept him walking this long — it all sank like a stone.

And what was left?

Nothing but the kind of hollow that echo gets lost in.

Theo stayed there, breathing like each inhale might cut him open. Brett didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. The silence between them was quieter than any apology.

The barn lights buzzed faintly above, casting long shadows across the wet floor. The cold from the concrete seeped through Theo’s jeans, up his spine, making him twitch. His skin burned in places — from the vomit, the bruises, the cold, and the weight of everything that had finally caught up.

He hated how still Brett was. How patient. Like he knew how close Theo was to splintering, and he wasn’t going to be the one to push. And maybe that was worse. Maybe patience hurt more than yelling did.

Theo shifted slightly in the shower stall, legs pulled awkwardly beneath him. The water had turned off a while ago, but he hadn’t moved since. His soaked clothes clung to him like guilt — heavy and cold. The chill had set into his bones now, making his jaw tremble, his hands curl uselessly in his lap. A full-body shiver rattled through him.

Brett finally glanced back over his shoulder.

Liam was still at the edge of the barn, leaning against the wooden post, arms crossed — eyes sharp, but tired. Not angry. Just… done.

“He’s freezing,” Brett said quietly, rising with a grunt and stepping aside.

Liam nodded. “I’ll grab him something dry.”

Theo didn’t watch him leave, but he listened to the retreating footsteps. And then the silence again.

Brett sat on the edge of the stall wall this time, not touching him, just there — legs dangling, hands gripping the edge like they might ground him too.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Brett muttered finally, not looking at him. “I thought— I don’t know what I thought.”

Theo leaned back against the wall. Water still dripped from the ceiling, or maybe from him. It was hard to tell.

“I didn’t mean for it to get that bad,” he said, voice rough, his throat raw from the vomiting and shouting. “I just kept drinking and… it didn’t feel like much. Then it was too much.”

Brett nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s how it happens.”

They fell quiet again.

When Liam came back, he was carrying a stack of folded clothes — sweatpants, a dry shirt, thick socks. He crouches in front of Theo without hesitation.

“Here,” he said. “Put these on before you freeze to death.”

Theo blinked at the bundle like it wasn’t real. His hands twitched once before reaching out, weak and slow.

Then, with zero ceremony or hesitation, he started stripping.

Liam swore under his breath and spun around immediately. “Jesus, man—warn someone.”

Brett let out a sharp, almost disbelieving laugh. “You’re still a trainwreck.”

Theo, halfway out of his shirt, shrugged. “Still drunk. A little shower isn’t gonna fix that.”

His jeans peeled off with difficulty, sticking to his legs. He swayed once, braced a hand on the wall, and managed to not fall on his ass. The air hit his skin like a slap, but the sweatpants were warm — and dry — and smelled faintly like Liam. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. And he hated how he noticed it.

By the time he got the shirt on, Brett was tossing him a towel from somewhere. He caught it clumsily and rubbed it through his hair, more to do something than to dry off.

Liam turned around again, cautious. “You decent?”

Theo didn’t answer. He just sat there, hair dripping, shirt hanging loosely over one shoulder, hands quiet in his lap. Brett stepped back into view, studying him again — not like a puzzle to solve, just someone he knew well enough to recognize when the cracks were too deep to patch over.

No one spoke.

Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes blank and unfocused.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. But Brett saw it anyway — the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers curled against his palms like he was trying not to shake.

Brett shifted his weight, tone gentle but too practiced — the kind people used when they were trying not to sound like they were walking on glass. He knelt again, closer this time, not touching Theo, just crouching in his line of sight.

“You should come back to the bunkhouse,” he said quietly. “Nolan and Alec are waiting for you.”

Theo didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. His hands curled tighter in his lap, the slow tremble of his fingers still betraying the buzz of exhaustion and cold that hadn’t fully worn off.

Brett turned his head slightly toward Liam. “You can go, man. I’ve got him.”

That was when Liam stiffened.

His arms crossed over his chest, jaw setting like a vice. “No.”

Brett blinked. “Liam—”

“No,” he repeated, sharper this time. “You didn’t see him out there.”

“I’ve seen this enough before.”

“I found him in the field, Brett.” Liam’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. “He was on the ground. Alone. Soaked. Puking his guts out and barely breathing. Don’t tell me to leave.”

Theo flinched slightly at that — not from the volume, but from the words. His head dipped lower.

Brett stood slowly. “I’m not saying this isn’t serious. I know it is. You think I’m not pissed he drank this much again?”

Liam’s hands flexed at his sides. “Then don’t act like this is nothing.”

“I’m not.”

“You kind of are,” Liam shot back. “You’re trying to usher me out like it’s a bad date and you’re cleaning up the mess.”

Brett’s jaw tightened. “I’m trying to not have two people hovering over him when he can barely sit upright. He doesn’t need the noise right now.”

“He doesn’t need to be alone, either!”

“I’m not leaving him alone!”

Theo’s voice broke through the rising tension — hoarse, raw.

“Stop.” It was barely more than a whisper, but it cut them both off instantly.

He lifted his head, slow and heavy, eyes shadowed and bloodshot, but focused now. Barely.

“You’re both exhausting.” Theo’s voice was low, rough around the edges but clear. “I’ll go with Brett.”

He shifted slightly, using Brett like a crutch, leaning into the solid presence beside him as if it might hold him upright. His legs still wobbled under the weight of the night, the storm inside, and the bitter burn of too much whiskey.

Liam’s jaw clenched, eyes searching Theo’s face like he wanted to argue, to demand otherwise, but the exhaustion in Theo’s gaze stopped him. There was no fight left to draw out. No energy for a battle that neither of them could win.

“Fine,” Liam said, voice tight but resigned. “I’ll go.”

Theo let out a breath that was half relief, half resignation.

Brett stepped closer, sliding an arm under Theo’s shoulders again, steadying him like he always did when Theo couldn’t hold himself together.

Brett’s grip was firm but gentle as he helped Theo to his feet, steadying him when his legs threatened to buckle again. Theo’s body sagged into Brett’s side, leaning heavily, his head low and movements sluggish. Every step toward the bunkhouse felt like wading through thick fog, but Brett never let go.

The path was muddy from the rain, the smell of wet earth and hay clinging to everything. The soft crunch of boots on gravel echoed faintly as they moved in silence, the night quiet except for the steady rhythm of their steps.

When they reached the bunkhouse, the door creaked open before Brett could knock.

Alec and Nolan were already there, faces lined with worry but lighting up with relief at the sight of Theo leaning on Brett.

“You okay?” Alec asked, eyes wide and searching.

Theo gave a tired, shaky nod but didn’t meet their gaze. Nolan stepped forward, offering a water bottle, but Theo shook his head, voice barely audible.

“I’m… fine.”

Brett shot him a sharp look, but said nothing. Instead, he guided Theo inside, settling him on the edge of the bed with a careful ease.

Alec and Nolan stayed close, their eyes flicking between Theo and Brett like they were waiting for any sign that things might take a turn for the worse. They shifted awkwardly, like a pair of worried ducklings unsure of how to help but desperate to be near.

Brett moved with quiet efficiency, disappearing into the corner closet to pull out a stack of extra blankets. He tossed them onto the bed, careful not to disturb Theo too much.

“Here,” Brett said softly, draping the blankets over Theo’s hunched shoulders. “Try to get some rest.”

Theo didn’t respond, just sagged deeper into the pillows, eyes half-closed but still restless.

Alec swallowed hard and glanced at Nolan, who gave a slight nod, as if silently agreeing they should give Brett some space to handle this.

Brett crouched down beside the bed again, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere, alright?”

Theo’s lips twitched faintly, the barest ghost of a grateful smile flickering before it faded.

Chapter 12: The Breaking Point

The morning light came slow and weak, filtering through the thin curtains of the bunkhouse in pale streaks. Theo’s head throbbed in time with the dull ache in his stomach, each pulse a harsh reminder of the night before. The blankets were tangled around him like a suffocating weight, damp from the lingering chill and the sweat that clung to his skin.

He lay still for a long moment, the fog in his mind thick and unrelenting. The taste of bitter whiskey and sour bile lingered at the back of his throat, and every breath felt heavy, weighed down by regret and exhaustion.

Theo shifted, groaning low, and tried to push himself upright. His muscles protested with a dull, uncooperative ache. His hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the bed, and for a moment, the world spun just enough to make him close his eyes again.

He was barely awake when the bunkhouse door creaked open, and the familiar sound of heavy boots echoed in. His stomach twisted.

Derek.

Theo froze, heartbeat stuttering like a warning drum.

Derek’s silhouette filled the doorway, tall and imposing, eyes sharp as they scanned the room. There was no softness in his expression, no hesitation in his stance.

“Theo,” Derek said, voice low and heavy, like a storm about to break. “We need to talk.”

Theo’s throat tightened. He nodded slowly, forcing himself out of bed, legs weak but moving on instinct. The room felt colder, emptier than it had before, the weight of what was coming pressing down hard.

They stepped outside into the biting morning air, the ranch stretched out behind them in muted shades of dawn. The earth was still damp from last night’s rain, the sky a hard gray. Derek’s jaw was set, eyes locked on Theo like he was measuring how much he could take before snapping.

“I heard from Liam,” Derek said, voice flat but cutting. “About the drinking.”

Theo’s chest tightened like a vise. He wanted to say it wasn’t true. To tell Derek he could handle it. That it wouldn’t happen again. But the words caught in his throat, heavy with shame.

Derek’s eyes didn’t soften. “You know the rules. This isn’t some game. You put yourself — and everyone else — at risk. I can’t have that.”

Theo swallowed, voice rough when he finally spoke. “I didn’t mean for it to get like this.”

“That’s not enough.”

Derek’s gaze bore into him, cold and unyielding. “I want you gone, Theo. This isn’t a daycare where we clean up your messes and pretend everything’s fine. You’re a liability. A risk. And frankly, I’m done with it all.”

Theo’s throat tightened painfully, the sharp edge of those words cutting deeper than any argument. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every disappointment, every failed promise stacked behind them.

But then Derek’s eyes flicked away, briefly clouded with something unreadable — hesitation, maybe? Or doubt?

“Peter talked me down,” Derek said finally, voice low but firm. “He says you’ve earned one more chance. One. But you’re walking on thin ice.”

Theo’s heart thudded painfully, hope and dread clashing in his chest.

“You want to stay here?” Derek continued. “Then you’re going to get sober. No excuses. No slips.”

Theo nods.

Derek’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unforgiving. “Peter and Cora already took every last drop of alcohol off this property. You’re not gonna find anything to sneak anymore. If you want to stay, you’ll be answering to one of them. Breath tests, random checks — whatever it takes.”

Theo stayed silent, the words settling like stones in his gut. The thought of being watched, tested, controlled — it felt suffocating, like shackles tightening around him.

Derek’s voice softened just a fraction, though the edge remained. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just know this: I’m serious. No more bullshit.”

Theo swallowed again, voice low and steady when he finally spoke. “I get it.”

Derek gave a curt nod. “Good. Now go inside and get yourself together.“

Theo stumbled back into the bunkhouse, the weight of Derek’s ultimatum pressing on him like an unbearable stone in his chest. The air inside felt thick and still, the faint scent of damp wood and stale smoke wrapping around him like a shroud.

His head throbbed with every shallow breath, a relentless pulse that echoed the pounding in his temples. The remnants of last night’s haze clung stubbornly to his mind, blurring the edges of his thoughts and dragging him down into a fog where even the simplest tasks felt monumental.

He glanced down at the clothes Liam had handed him last night — damp, clinging awkwardly to his skin, heavy from sweat. The memory of that rough, cold shower was still sharp, but now every movement was a chore. His fingers trembled as he reached to tug off the wet shirt, the fabric sticky and cold against bruised skin. Each motion sent sharp jolts of discomfort through his limbs, a reminder that his body was far from ready to cooperate.

A breath caught in his throat when he spotted the shirt Brett had left out for him — an old, faded tank top, stretched thin but soft from years of wear. It was too big, had hung loosely on his frame every time he wore it, the fabric falling off one shoulder like a worn comforter. Theo hesitated before pulling it on, the rough cotton scratchy but familiar.

Buttons came undone with slow, clumsy fingers, and pants unzipped and slid off with difficulty, the ache in his joints making every move feel like dragging a weight. He collapsed onto the edge of the bed as the last layer came off, bare skin prickling with cold air. His knees shook when he tried to stand again, and he gripped the mattress, breath shallow and uneven.

Minutes passed in a haze of exhaustion and self-loathing as he forced himself to dress in the fresh clothes Brett had left. The tank clung to him awkwardly, but it was the only thing between his skin and the chill that crept through the thin walls.

His hands brushed the bruises on his knuckles, tender and throbbing, and a bitter laugh escaped him. This was his mess, his brokenness laid bare. And now, the threat of being kicked off the ranch — of losing whatever fragile foothold he’d found — hung over him like a shadow, darker than the dawn outside.

The door creaked open quietly, and Brett stepped inside, holding a plate balanced carefully in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. The smell of toast, eggs, and something faintly herbal—tea, brewed just right for the kind of hangover that left your head pounding and your stomach twisting—filled the cramped room. Brett’s eyes flicked over Theo, worried but trying not to show it.

“I figured you might not be ready to get up for food yet,” Brett said, setting the plate down gently on the small wooden table. He placed the mug beside it and pulled up the chair from the desk without asking, sitting down across from Theo. “Peter made this tea. Said it might help.”

Theo nodded slowly, too tired to speak, but grateful. He picked up the toast, dry and simple, and took a small bite. The food felt strange in his mouth—heavy and plain—but it was something. A tether back to the world.

Brett watched him for a moment, then leaned back, fingers interlaced over his stomach. “You’ve got a plan?”

Theo chewed slowly, swallowing hard. The room felt too small, too quiet, but he needed this — needed to say it aloud to someone who wouldn’t judge or panic.

Theo’s gaze dropped to the chipped tabletop, the rough grain like a lifeline under his fingertips. He swallowed again, the dry taste of the toast mixing with the sharp sting of the morning’s regret.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice hoarse and low. “I’m gonna try. I have to.”

Brett’s eyes softened, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. “Trying’s not the same as doing, you know.”

Theo let out a shaky breath. “I know.”

Brett nodded, not pushing. “I get it. It’s a hell of a climb.”

Theo picked at the toast, nibbling the edges, slower now. The lump in his throat loosened a little, just enough for the ache to shift beneath the surface. Brett didn’t say anything more, just sat with him, steady and patient.

When Theo finally set the plate down, Brett gave a small, encouraging smile. “You done?”

Theo nodded, wiping his hands on the hem of his tank top. His limbs still felt heavy, like they belonged to someone else, but there was a flicker of something—maybe resolve—sparking behind his tired eyes.

Brett stood, stretching out the stiffness in his legs. “You ready to see Buckshot? I think he’s been missing you.”

Theo hesitated, the thought of the barn and the horses feeling both like a balm and a headache.

“Yeah,” Theo said, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The air outside was cool and crisp, the morning rain having given way to a fragile light that filtered through thinning clouds. Theo’s steps were slow and unsteady, each one a small battle as Brett fell into step beside him, offering silent support.

The barn doors creaked open with a familiar groan, a comforting sound in the stillness. The rich scent of hay and leather wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

Halfway there, the gravel crunch underfoot was suddenly joined by faster footsteps.

Mason and Corey appeared, their faces tight with concern the moment they caught sight of Theo.

“Mornin’, man,” Mason said carefully, stopping just short. His eyes flicked from Theo’s pale face to the loose tank and the dark circles under his eyes. “You alright?”

Corey stepped closer, voice softer. “We heard about last night… You good?”

Theo managed a small nod. Brett gave a quick, pointed look — a silent reminder that Theo didn’t need to explain more than he was ready for.

Theo’s throat tightened as he opened his mouth, the words stuck somewhere between hesitation and exhaustion. Before he could say anything, the barn doors swung wide again, and Liam stepped out, leading Buckshot by the reins.

The old horse’s ears pricked forward the moment he saw Theo. Without hesitation, Buckshot slipped free from Liam’s grip and trotted straight toward him, hooves soft on the gravel.

Theo’s breath caught, a flicker of warmth threading through the fog in his mind. Buckshot nuzzled against his side, heavy and familiar, grounding in a way no words could.

Theo sank down slowly onto the edge of the gravel path, one hand reaching up to scratch behind Buckshot’s ears. The horse leaned into the touch, a steady presence against the turmoil in Theo’s chest.

“Hey, old friend,” Theo murmured, voice rough and low.

Buckshot let out a soft snort, shifting closer to nuzzle Theo’s cheek.

Liam lingered nearby, eyes searching. “You okay?” he asked cautiously, voice gentle but laced with something that stung — concern or guilt, maybe both.

Theo’s gaze snapped up, sharp and bitter. “Does it look like I’m okay?” His voice was low, edged with something cold. “You telling Derek? That was a hell of a move.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, the weight of his choice settling between them like a stone. “I had to. Someone had to.”

Theo’s laugh was hollow, tinged with anger. “Yeah, well, thanks for that.”

Theo’s fingers absently traced the coarse mane along Buckshot’s neck, the familiar texture grounding him even as the tension crackled in the air around them. Buckshot’s warm breath fogged against his cheek as the horse leaned in, nudging gently for more contact.

Liam shifted uneasily, eyes darting between Theo’s tight jaw and the old horse’s steady calm. Mason and Corey hovered a little off to the side, their posture awkward, like they weren’t sure how to step into whatever was happening between them. the silent storm brewing between the two. Mason’s hands rubbed nervously at the back of his neck while Corey’s brows knit in concern, but neither spoke up.

Brett let out a long, exasperated sigh, stepping closer to Theo and shooting him a sharp look. It was one of those glances that said play nice without wasting words. Brett’s eyes held something like tired patience — the kind that came from knowing Theo well enough to understand his walls but also knowing those walls could burn everything down if left unchecked.

Theo caught Brett’s look but said nothing. He didn’t want to play nice. Not now. Not with Liam.

Instead, his gaze flicked back to Buckshot, and he sighed, the sound more weariness than anger. “Liam,” he said quietly but firmly, “I’m going to ride Buckshot again. Give him some exercise.”

Brett nodded without a word, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He moved over to the tack room, already thinking ahead. “I’ll saddle Pollywog,” he said softly. “Keep you company.”

Theo glanced up, the faintest flicker of gratitude hidden behind his guarded expression. He didn’t want company — not really — but Brett was always something steady and constant.

Liam lingered, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but he said nothing more. Mason and Corey shifted uneasily and began to drift away, sensing their presence wasn’t needed, or wanted.

Theo reached down, running a hand along Buckshot’s neck, feeling the horse’s muscles ripple beneath his fingers. The old horse snorted again, impatient and eager, ready despite the quiet morning.

Theo shifted his weight onto the horse’s back with a practiced ease, ignoring the saddle altogether. Buckshot’s warmth beneath him was a familiar anchor, steady and grounding against the swirl of his thoughts. The damp grass brushed against his boots as he adjusted his legs, bareback riding the way he always did when he needed to feel something real.

Brett emerged from the barn, swinging up onto Pollywog — a brown paint mare with a glossy coat speckled with patches of white. Pollywog tossed her head, stepping forward with quiet confidence, perfectly matching Brett’s calm energy.

Liam watched from the edge of the paddock, tension tightening his jaw. His eyes flicked between Theo and Brett as they started to move away at a slow trot.

“You want me to come with you?” Liam asked, voice hesitant but edged with worry.

Theo didn’t look back, voice flat but low enough for only Liam to hear. “No. I’ll manage.”

Liam’s gaze lingered on Theo’s stoic profile, torn between wanting to push and knowing better. He swallowed, then nodded once, stepping back as Brett and Theo moved farther into the pasture.

Chapter 13: Aesthetics

Notes:

I have to thank maxity once again for these beautiful moodboards

Chapter 14: Trapped In Static

Notes:

Content Warning: Alcohol withdrawal, severe anxiety, panic, self-harm, emotional distress, intense anger, physical violence (self-inflicted), graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood.

The mornings came earlier now. Not because Theo wanted them to, but because sleep had started turning on him. It was never deep anymore, never the kind that wrapped him up and kept the world away. Instead, it broke apart into restless dozing, fragments of half-dreams that slipped into sweat-soaked wakefulness.

The first time it happened, he thought maybe it was just the tail end of the hangover. But by the second day, there was no denying the truth — this was what it looked like when his body realized the alcohol wasn’t coming back.

He sat on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The early light coming through the window made the dust in the air look like static. His T-shirt clung damp to his skin, sticky in the hollow between his shoulder blades. His mouth tasted like copper and something sour, and no matter how much water he drank, it didn’t cut through the dry, stale film coating his tongue.

Every muscle felt wrong. Not sore in the way a hard day of work made him sore — this was jittery, twitchy wrong, like his body didn’t know how to hold itself together. His legs bounced restlessly without him telling them to. His fingers drummed against his knees before curling into fists.

The shaking came next. It started small, barely a tremor in his hands, but within minutes it spread — up his arms, into his shoulders, down his spine. His jaw clenched to stop his teeth from chattering, but that only made his temples ache.

By the time he dragged himself into the kitchen, the smell of coffee was already thick in the air. Brett was at the counter, stirring something in a mug, glancing up just long enough to take in Theo’s pale skin and dark eyes.

“You look like hell,” Brett said, voice even but not unkind.

Theo grunted in response, sliding into a chair at the table. He didn’t want sympathy. Didn’t want the way Brett’s gaze lingered like he was counting the seconds until Theo collapsed.

The coffee helped — a little — but not in the way he hoped. It made the tremors worse, hands rattling against the mug as he brought it to his lips. His stomach rolled after a few sips, and he set it down with a sharp clink, shoving it away like the problem was the drink instead of him.

The anger didn’t arrive like a sudden clap of thunder — it seeped in slow, bitter, and acidic, until every sound, every movement felt like sandpaper on his nerves. By midmorning, it was sitting in his chest like a coiled spring, just waiting for something to set it off.

That something came when Corey passed through the barn, carrying an armful of folded blankets. He was careful — Corey was always careful — but his foot caught the edge of the water bucket Theo had been using to soak tack brushes.

The bucket tipped, the water sloshing across the dusty floor in an uneven wave.

Theo froze. For a split second, he thought he could let it slide, maybe even laugh it off. But the next heartbeat slammed the thought out of him. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Seriously?” His voice cut through the barn, sharper than he intended, but he didn’t pull it back. “Watch where you’re fucking walking!”

Corey blinked, startled, glancing down at the mess like maybe it wasn’t as bad as Theo was making it. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t fucking clean this up, does it?” Theo snapped, already yanking a rag from the wall. The movement was too fast, too jerky, the rag slipping from his fingers before he even got to the spill.

Corey stooped to help, murmuring an apology, but Theo’s hands were already shaking with the effort to hold the words back. Every muscle in his shoulders was wound tight, his pulse hammering like he’d just been shoved.

Corey didn’t linger after that. The blankets were gone in seconds, and so was he.

But the anger didn’t go with him.

It was still there, humming under Theo’s skin, waiting for the next thing. It didn’t have to wait long.

Nolan was over by the tack room door, sorting through bridles, when Theo asked if he’d seen the spare girth strap. Nolan hesitated, frowning in thought, and for the brief pause it took him to form a sentence, something in Theo just… snapped.

“What?” Theo barked, striding across the aisle, hands flexing against his sides. “Spit it out, Nolan! I don’t have all day!”

Nolan flinched like he’d been slapped. “I—uh—I think it’s hanging by the feed room—”

“Then say that,” Theo cut him off, the words hot and bitter in his mouth. “Don’t just stand there like you’ve got fucking nothing in that goddamn head of yours.”

As soon as it was out, guilt slammed into him. Hard. But it didn’t matter. The damage was already done — Nolan’s mouth had gone tight, his eyes slipping to the floor as he muttered something and moved away.

Theo stood there, hands still shaking, feeling like his whole body was humming with static.

He hated this. Hated the way every little thing felt like a personal attack, hated that the smallest delays or mistakes could make his chest feel like it was going to split open. It wasn’t even about Corey’s spill or Nolan’s hesitation — it was the way his nerves felt raw, like every inch of him had been stripped down to bare wire and left sparking.

Theo was still vibrating with the leftover heat of it when Liam’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

“Hey—uh—have you seen my gloves? The leather ones?” Liam asked, casual, like this was just another slow barn morning.

But in Theo’s head, it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t slow. It was one more demand. One more thing. One more fucking question in a day that already felt like it was trying to peel his skin off.

He turned on Liam so fast the younger man actually stopped mid-step.

“Do I look like your personal lost-and-found?” Theo’s voice was a whip crack, sharp enough to echo off the barn walls. “If you can’t keep track of your own shit, maybe don’t come to me like I’ve got nothing better to do than clean up after you.”

Liam’s mouth fell open slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. “Theo—”

“No,” Theo cut him off, the words tearing out before he could stop them. “Don’t ‘Theo’ me. I’ve been running around this place since sunrise, I’m sweating my ass off, my hands won’t stop shaking, and you want me to stop everything so I can help you find a pair of gloves? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Something in Liam’s expression shifted — from confusion to hurt. The kind that came slow, like a bruise blooming under the skin. He didn’t answer right away, just stared like maybe if he looked long enough, the person in front of him would change back into the one he recognized.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Brett’s voice cut through the air, steady but edged. He moved in between them, one hand held slightly out toward Theo like you might with a skittish animal. “Theo. Breathe. Now.”

Theo’s fists curled tight, nails digging into his palms. “Don’t tell me to breathe, Brett. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Brett shot back, tone still low but more forceful now. “You’re snapping at everyone who gets within ten feet of you. You’re wound so tight you’re about to break something.”

Theo laughed, but it wasn’t humor — it was bitter, ugly. “Oh, what, you want me to be all sunshine and rainbows while my whole fucking body feels like it’s being ripped apart from the inside?”

Even Brett faltered at the sheer heat in Theo’s voice. For half a second, the barn went so quiet that the only sound was Theo’s ragged breathing.

Liam still hadn’t moved, his eyes locked on Theo like he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or scared. Maybe both.

Brett’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even. “Calm down, Theo.”

Theo’s head snapped toward him, a low, dangerous sound vibrating in his chest. “Calm down?” he growled, the words dripping with venom. His eyes flashed with something wild, barely contained, like a dam ready to burst. “You think telling me to calm down is going to fix everything? That I’m just gonna roll over and submit to you like I’m some fucking dog?”

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh that scraped out of him more like a snarl. His shoulders trembled, every muscle drawn tight like wire. “It’s not gonna do a fucking thing. It’s not gonna fix anything. It’s not going to make anything better.”

“Yes, it will,” Brett said firmly, still holding that steady, anchoring tone. It was the same one he used when Theo was on the verge of breaking — low, solid, patient — the kind of voice that was meant to tell you there was still something you could grab onto before you drowned.

“It won’t!” Theo’s voice cracked, the raw edge of it cutting deeper than any scream. “It never fucking does!” His hands went to his head, fingers clawing through his hair like he could dig the pain out by force. “And all of you think it’s easy, that it’s so fucking easy. But you don’t know the half of it!”

His breathing was coming in uneven bursts now, chest heaving like he’d run a mile uphill. The air around them felt hot, heavy with the tension pouring off him. Liam still hadn’t spoken — hadn’t even moved — but his eyes were glued to Theo, wide and dark with something between shock and concern.

Theo’s voice dropped lower, but it was no softer. “You think I’m just being an asshole for no reason? That I want to feel like this? My skin’s crawling, my head’s pounding so hard I can’t think straight, my whole body’s shaking, and it’s not because I’m mad — it’s because I’m losing it, Brett. And no amount of ‘calm down’ is gonna stop that.”

Theo’s hands were trembling so hard now that his fingers barely seemed like his own — twitching, unsteady, like they belonged to someone else entirely. The heat under his skin wouldn’t let up; it felt like his blood was boiling and freezing all at once, sweat clinging to the back of his neck while a cold shiver raced down his spine.

“I can’t think,” he ground out, his voice raw, almost hoarse. “It’s like there’s this… this buzzing in my head, and it won’t fucking stop. I can hear my own heartbeat in my teeth. My muscles hurt, my stomach’s turning inside out, and I can’t make it shut up—”

He swallowed hard, the taste of bitter frustration thick in his mouth, voice breaking with the weight of the confession. “Because without the fucking alcohol, I feel like I’m trapped in a body that’s slowly dying. And all my body does is scream at me for not being able to give it the relief it needs.” He looked up then, eyes burning, wild and hungry. “You don’t have any clue what it’s like to have your mind scrambled — every one of your thoughts twisted until you can hardly tell what’s real and what’s just your own goddamn imagination.”

The heat under his skin felt like a relentless storm, sweat slicking his forehead even as cold shivers ran down his spine. His trembling hands trembled harder, fingers twitching like they were trying to claw their way free of his control.

He paced a shaky step, then another, like the barn itself was closing in, suffocating him. The anger surged again, raw and jagged, not aimed at anyone but burning all the same.

“It’s pain, Brett,” he spat out, voice ragged. “It’s every goddamn nerve in my body screaming for something I can’t give it. And when you tell me to calm down, when you act like it’s all in my head — you’re just denying me the one thing that actually quiets it.”

Brett’s eyes didn’t waver, but his voice softened, careful as if stepping on fragile ground. “Theo, I get that it hurts. I know it’s hell right now. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, a bitter laugh bubbling up that had no humor in it. “You don’t get it, Brett. You say that like it’s some kind of fucking choice. Like I woke up one day and decided to be a goddamn mess.”

His voice cracked, but the fury didn’t ease — it twisted tighter, more desperate. “I’m not just ‘hurt’ or ‘struggling.’ My whole goddamn body is rebelling. It’s shaking like it’s trying to tear itself apart. My head won’t shut off, every noise, every shadow feels like it’s about to snap me in two. And you want me to talk about it like it’s a goddamn chat over coffee?”

He shoved at the wall beside him, fists pounding into the rough wood, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped inside yourself — to want to scream, to scream so loud it drowns out the madness, but the madness just fucking laughs back.”

Theo’s body trembled violently, rage and desperation twisting inside him like a storm. Without thinking, he slammed his forehead hard against the rough wooden wall. The impact sent a sharp jolt through his skull, but the pain was a small release compared to the pain swirling inside. He slammed again — a sick, hollow thud — and then again, blood trickling down his face, hot and sticky.

Still, the madness in his mind didn’t pause. His voice was raw, ragged, bleeding out alongside the crimson streaks. “It doesn’t stop,” he rasped, voice cracking with every word. “This… fucking torment.”

His knees buckled under him, but he didn’t stop. He brought his head down again, harder this time, flesh meeting wood in a sickening thump that echoed in the stillness. His hands shook so badly it was a struggle just to keep from collapsing fully.

“I’m locked inside this cage,” he whispered, voice nearly breaking, “and every second, every goddamn second is a fight just to keep from tearing the bars down with my own hands.”

Blood ran down his temples and mixed with sweat, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t care. The physical pain was the only thing that could scratch the surface of the hell clawing through his body and mind.

The sickening thuds grew louder, each slam more desperate and frantic than the last. Theo’s forehead collided with the wood again and again, pain blossoming and radiating through his skull.

His breath came ragged and uneven, a frantic rhythm battling with the ache pulsing through his body.

Brett’s eyes widened in panic. “Theo, stop—” he lunged forward, voice sharp and urgent.

Liam mirrored him, stepping quickly between Theo and the wall, hands trembling as they reached out to grab his shoulders. “Come on, Theo, please—stop!” Liam’s voice cracked with fear.

But Theo’s body was trembling too violently, too uncontrollably, and his mind was a cyclone of pain and rage. His hands clawed at the wall for balance, but the next slam came harder, his head smashing with bone-cracking force. Blood splattered across the rough planks, trickling down in stark, vivid lines.

Brett caught him mid-motion, grabbing hold of Theo’s wrists, struggling to pull him away from the wall. “No! No, Theo — please!”

Liam wrapped his arms around Theo’s torso, holding him tight, though Theo twisted and jerked like a wild animal trapped. His face was contorted in anguish, sweat and blood dripping down as his breath hitched and gasped.

“It hurts, I can’t—” Theo choked out, voice breaking under the weight of the torment, eyes wild, almost manic.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” Brett said softly but firmly, voice shaking with fear and exhaustion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

Theo’s body trembled violently as Brett and Liam wrestled to pull him away from the wall. His fingers dug into the rough wood with desperate strength, but finally, his limbs slackened, surrendering to their grip.

Liam, still holding onto him, began to take a step back — but his foot caught on a loose stone buried in the gravel. He stumbled forward, crashing hard onto the ground, arms still wrapped tightly around Theo’s shaking frame.

For a breathless moment, neither moved. Liam’s chest heaved beneath Theo’s head, his arms instinctively curling around him like a shield. Theo’s eyes fluttered open just enough to meet Liam’s wide, terrified gaze, and in that fragile second, the wild panic dimmed, replaced by raw, shivering exhaustion.

Brett’s voice cut sharply through the stunned silence. “I’m going to get Cora. Stay with him, Liam.” His tone was quick but steady, laced with urgency as he hurried away.

Liam nodded wordlessly, tightening his hold just a little to keep Theo from slipping further into the dark corners of his own mind.

Chapter 15: Fractures and Fixes

Notes:

Content Warning: blood, injury treatment (stitches)

The barn’s heavy wooden doors creaked open with a low groan, the sound sharp in the otherwise still morning. Brett’s footsteps pounded with urgency across the gravel as he ushered Cora in, her face set with quiet determination. In her hand, she carried a weathered first aid kit, its leather strap worn soft from years of use.

Theo sat slumped against the rough barn wall, his head a mess of blood and bruises. The crimson streaks traced jagged paths across his temple and cheek, the deep gashes raw and angry. His breathing was shallow, lips parted slightly as if the effort to inhale hurt, his body trembling with exhaustion and pain.

Liam didn’t waste a second. “Cora, thank God. We need help here.”

Cora knelt beside Theo without hesitation, eyes scanning his injuries with practiced care. She pulled on a pair of disposable gloves from the kit and gently pushed back Theo’s damp, blood-matted hair, exposing the worst of the wounds.

Theo flinched, a faint groan escaping him, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers twitched weakly at his sides, still trembling from the lingering tremors of withdrawal and the shock of his own self-harm.

Alec and Nolan had followed Brett, the sound of shouting and crashing drawing their attention. They stepped inside now, faces pale, expressions a mix of horror and disbelief at the state Theo was in.

“Oh, god,” Nolan whispered, stepping forward slowly, his eyes wide with shock.

Alec’s jaw clenched tight, fists balled at his sides. “What the hell happened to him?”

Theo’s gaze flickered up toward them, and despite the blood dripping down his temple, the ragged breath, and the shaking hands, he managed a weak, crooked smile.

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, voice cracked and rough. “Don’t freak out.”

Nolan swallowed hard, voice breaking. “You’re not fine, Theo. You’re bleeding… you’re hurt.”

Theo gave a dry laugh that was more bitterness than humor. “Doesn’t change much.”

Cora’s hands moved with deliberate care, pulling antiseptic wipes from the kit and dabbing carefully at the cuts. The sting made Theo flinch slightly, but she held his gaze with steady kindness.

“We’re going to clean you up and get those stitches done, okay?” Cora said softly, eyes gentle as they search Theo’s face.

Theo just nodded, fingers twitching nervously as Cora carefully cleaned the deeper cuts on his temple. The antiseptic burned sharply against the raw skin, causing his eyes to flutter shut for a moment, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his gaze to Liam, who had settled back beside him, concern etched deep in his face.

Without thinking, Theo reached out and grasped Liam’s hand, his fingers curling tightly around the warmth.

Cora was already unpacking the suturing kit, the metallic clink of tools clicking softly in the quiet barn. She glanced at Theo, waiting for a signal to proceed, her eyes calm and unflinching.

Theo’s gaze flickered briefly to Alec and Nolan, who still stood a few feet away, stiff and awkward like they wanted to help but didn’t know how. Their wide eyes were glued to the fresh blood staining his temple, their faces drained of color.

As Cora prepared the needle, Theo caught Alec’s pale, wide-eyed gaze. The kid looked like he was about to bolt or burst into tears — or maybe both.

Theo forced a small, dry smile, his voice rough but steady. “Hey, you two don’t have to stand there looking like you just saw a ghost. I’m not gonna die, promise.”

Alec’s jaw twitched as he met Theo’s eyes, nodding slowly but still visibly shaken. “It’s just… it’s hard seeing you like this, man. You don’t look okay.”

Theo let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, not exactly my best look, huh?”

The two younger guys exchanged a glance, the tension in their shoulders easing just a fraction. Nolan cleared his throat and asked quietly, “Do stitches hurt?”

“Like hell,” Theo admitted, wincing as Cora gently stretched the skin around one cut, prepping it for the needle. “But it’s better than the alternative — letting it get infected and possibly needing surgery later. Can’t permanently damage my beautiful face.”

Nolan huffed out the smallest laugh at that, though his voice was still tight. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.”

Theo smirked faintly, though it was short-lived when Cora swabbed at the gash again. The antiseptic burned like fire under his skin, sending a shiver through his shoulders. He tightened his grip on Liam’s hand without thinking, the pressure making Liam glance at him with quiet concern.

“Deep breath,” Cora murmured, her voice calm, almost maternal. “I’m going in.”

Theo’s jaw locked. The sharp pinch of the needle broke through the haze of pounding in his head, the tug of the thread pulling the skin together making his stomach roll. He let out a slow, deliberate exhale through his nose, determined not to flinch too hard.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, “forgot how much I love getting stabbed in the head.”

Brett let out a short, unfiltered laugh — the kind that sounded half like disbelief and half like he just needed to break the tension. But it died quickly, swallowed by the way he kept pacing, running a hand through his hair like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream or punch something.

“Leave it to you to make jokes while you’re bleeding all over the floor,” Brett muttered, his voice tight, almost irritated, though anyone listening closely could hear the worry threaded underneath.

Theo gave him the smallest shrug he could manage without making Cora’s job harder. “Better than whining about it.”

Brett stopped mid-step, shooting him a look that was sharp but also exhausted. His mouth opened like he was about to say something else — something heavier — but he shut it again, shaking his head before resuming his restless pacing.

Cora, meanwhile, didn’t even look up from her work. “You two can argue later,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind as she pushed the needle through another patch of torn skin. “Right now, I need him still.”

Theo’s grip on Liam’s hand tightened again, the thread tugging at his skin sending a fresh ripple of nausea through him. He focused on the feel of Liam’s thumb rubbing circles against his knuckles, grounding him more than he’d admit out loud.

“Almost there,” Cora murmured. Her voice was steady, but Theo could hear the unspoken urgency beneath it — the kind that came from knowing someone had bled too much already.

Across the barn, Alec shifted on his feet, glancing between Brett’s pacing figure and the way Theo sat hunched against the wall. Nolan looked like he wanted to say something but was afraid of making the wrong noise.

Theo caught their expressions again and forced out a rasp of humor. “What? You guys look like you’re at my funeral. At least wait until I’m actually dead to start crying.”

Nolan shook his head quickly, muttering, “Not funny,” but there was a faint tremor in his voice — the kind that suggested he was trying to keep it together.

Brett just exhaled sharply, dragging both hands down his face before muttering under his breath, “You’re impossible.”

Theo smirked faintly, but the motion made the stitches pull, and he winced hard enough for Cora to shoot him a warning look.

Cora’s hands stayed steady to the very last stitch, but Theo could feel every pull, every tug of thread like a hot wire dragging through his skin. His pulse pounded in his ears, the world narrowing to the needle’s bite and the faint metallic smell of blood mixing with antiseptic.

By the time she tied off the last knot, his muscles had gone rigid from holding still, and the tension finally broke into a shaky exhale. The room swam a little — or maybe it was just the light overhead — and he realized somewhere along the way he’d stopped holding himself upright.

Most of his weight had slumped into Liam’s side, his shoulder pressing firmly against Liam’s chest. Liam didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he adjusted without a word, his free arm moving around Theo’s back in a subtle, steady anchor.

Theo let his head tilt slightly, the dull throb in his temple radiating into the base of his skull. The haze of pain and exhaustion was heavy, thick enough to make his thoughts sluggish. He barely registered the soft scrape of a chair leg as Cora sat back to clean up, or the way Nolan and Alec whispered quietly near the barn door.

What he did notice — what cut through the fog — was the sensation of fingers threading gently through his hair. Slow, deliberate, careful to avoid the stitches. Liam’s touch was light, almost absentminded, but each pass sent a muted ripple of relief down Theo’s spine.

Theo’s eyes slipped half-closed, the fight in his body finally easing just enough to let the pain dull to a background roar. He could still hear Brett pacing somewhere close by, the faint creak of boots on the old barn floor, but Liam’s steady breathing beside him drowned most of it out.

Cora’s voice broke through the quiet, low but firm. “He shouldn’t stay out here. It’s cold, and that floor isn’t helping. He needs to be in bed.”

Brett’s pacing stopped mid-step. His head snapped toward her, eyes flicking from Theo to the barn door like he was already calculating the quickest route. “Bunkhouse?”

Cora nodded, stripping off her gloves with a snap. “Yeah. He’s stable enough to move, but don’t jostle him. Keep his head supported — stitches are fresh.”

Brett was already crossing the distance, boots thudding softly against the worn wood. Liam glanced up at him but didn’t move, his arm still steady around Theo’s back.

“Alright, big guy,” Brett said gently, crouching down. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Theo groaned faintly, half-protest, half-exhaustion. “I can walk,” he mumbled, though his words slurred slightly, giving away just how little strength he had left.

Brett gave him a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Yeah, sure. And I can grow wings. Let’s not test either theory tonight.”

Without waiting for another protest, Brett slid one arm under Theo’s knees and the other around his back, easily lifting him in a smooth motion. Theo’s body went rigid for a second, startled by the sudden shift, before his head instinctively dropped against Brett’s shoulder.

“Careful with his head,” Liam reminded, voice quiet but edged with something akin to protectiveness.

“I know,” Brett said, adjusting his hold just enough to keep Theo’s temple from brushing against him. He glanced at Cora, who gave a small approving nod, then at Liam. “You coming?”

Liam stood immediately, close enough to keep pace beside them. He didn’t reach out — Brett had him secure — but his gaze never left Theo’s face, watching for the smallest sign of discomfort.

Theo let out a slow, uneven breath, eyelids fluttering. “Don’t… drop me,” he muttered, almost too soft to hear.

Brett huffed out a quiet laugh. “Not a chance, man.”

Theo’s head shifted slightly against Brett’s shoulder, his words coming out in a low, sluggish murmur.

“This….this feels weird,” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying for a smirk. “You….you gonna carry me over a threshold next?”

Brett’s mouth curved into a grin despite the tension in his shoulders. “What, like a bride? Sure. You want me to find you a veil too?”

Theo’s laugh was breathy and short-lived, cut off by a faint wince when the motion jostled his stitches. “Veil’d….be a nice touch. Maybe….flowers, too.”

Liam shot him a sidelong look — the kind of half-exasperated, half-worried expression that said only you would be bleeding and still try to crack jokes. “You’re delirious,” Liam muttered, although his voice was soft.

Theo’s eyes opened just enough to find him in the dim barn light. “Delirious or…
charming?” he slurred.

“Definitely delirious,” Liam replied, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Brett chuckled under his breath, adjusting his grip as they stepped out into the crisp night air. “Well, if you pass out, I’m not kissing you awake. Just saying.”

“Coward,” Theo whispered, the word barely more than air. “Liam would kiss me.”

Brett eased open the bunkhouse door with his free hand, stepping inside carefully so as not to jostle Theo too much. The warm, muted glow of the single overhead light spilled over the small room, casting long shadows against the worn wooden walls.

He shifted Theo gently, lowering him onto the narrow bed with practiced ease. Theo’s body sagged immediately, heavy and spent, molding against the thin mattress. His head lolled slightly, but Liam reached out instinctively, catching it before it could fall.

Theo’s eyelids fluttered, the fight draining out of him as the exhaustion crashed down in waves. Liam settled on the edge of the bed, one arm wrapping lightly around Theo’s shoulders while the other threaded through the soft, tangled mess of his hair, fingers moving in slow, soothing motions. He said nothing, letting the quietness hold the space between them.

Brett knelt beside the bed, setting the small medical kit on the floor. “Cora said she cleaned and dressed the wounds well enough for now, but if anything feels off, we need to get her back or call a doc.”

Theo’s voice was barely audible, thick with fatigue and pain. “Thanks…for…helping.”

Alec and Nolan hovered near the door, still tense but quieter now, watching with a mix of relief and lingering concern. Nolan wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, finally breaking the silence. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?”

Theo shook his head faintly. “Just… want… quiet.”

Brett glanced toward the door, then back at Liam and Theo. “We’ll keep it down. You get some rest, man.”

Theo’s eyes closed, the steady warmth of Liam’s hand grounding him against the spinning haze.

Chapter 16: The Language Between Eyes and Ears

It had been a quiet couple of weeks since Cora’s needlework had left a neat line of stitches above Theo’s temple. The tenderness had faded to a dull ache, the kind that still made him wince if someone brushed too close, but the headaches were mostly gone. He’d stopped flinching when Liam got too near his left side and had even returned to splitting chores without anyone breathing down his neck.

Mostly.

The morning air carried the sharp bite of early frost, the kind that seeped into the ground and made the horses’ breath fog like steam. The sun was still low, spilling gold light over the fence posts and turning the frost-covered grass into a field of tiny diamonds.

Theo wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the south paddock that day — that was Nolan and Alec’s territory, since they were still learning to work with the newer arrivals Peter and Cora had brought in. But the moment he heard the sharp, warning thump of hooves against wood, he knew something was off.

It came again, louder this time — a hollow, vibrating crack against the paddock fence. He didn’t think; his feet were already moving.

By the time he rounded the gate, Nolan was too close. Far too close.

The chestnut mare in front of him — bigger than the others, her coat slick and muscle-packed — had her ears pinned flat, nostrils flaring like twin storm clouds. Her hindquarters were turned toward Nolan, the tense set of her body screaming a threat even Theo could read from twenty feet away.

Nolan’s arm was stretched out with a feed bucket, his brow furrowed in confusion instead of fear.

“Don’t—” Theo’s voice came out sharper than intended. He was already in motion, cutting across the space between them before the mare could lash out.

The kick came a split second later, a blur of movement and raw power. Nolan froze — wrong move — but Theo’s hand closed on the back of his jacket and yanked him sideways, pulling him clear just as the mare’s hoof sliced through the space where his ribs had been.

The sound of air cutting around that much muscle was like a slap in the face. Nolan stumbled, almost dropping the bucket, his eyes wide and breath coming fast.

“Jesus—” he started, but Theo was already between him and the horse, one palm lifted in a steady, open gesture.

“Back up,” Theo said, voice low but steady, eyes locked on the mare. “Slowly.”

Nolan did as he was told, his boots crunching over frost.

The mare’s head lifted a fraction, but her ears stayed pinned. Theo’s focus sharpened to a point — ears, eyes, the tight roll of muscle in her shoulders. She wasn’t just irritated. She was nervous. Cornered. Her weight was shifting from front to back, her tail flicking in a quick, tight rhythm.

“You see that?” Theo asked without looking back. “Ears pinned back, tail snapping, and she’s leaning on her back feet like she’s getting ready to launch. Her head’s up but not relaxed — look at her jaw. She’s grinding her teeth. That’s not just ‘bad mood.’ That’s a warning.”

Alec, who had appeared at the fence line and caught just enough to understand something had gone wrong, froze mid-step. His gaze darted from the mare to Theo, then to Nolan, and back again.

“What did I do?” Nolan asked, voice pitched higher than usual.

Theo didn’t answer right away. He let his stance shift, turning his shoulder toward the mare instead of facing her square. His hands stayed low, open, and he kept his eyes moving — checking her ears, watching the set of her front legs, the ripple of her shoulder muscles. He gave her more space, stepping just enough to the side so she had a clear line to move away from him if she wanted. Her head dropped an inch, and though her tail still twitched, it slowed — not much, but enough for him to notice.

“You went in too fast,” Theo said finally, keeping his voice even, not sharp. “Too straight at her, like you were marching in with a plan. To her, that’s a predator move. You didn’t give her a second to figure you out or decide if you were safe. She’s new here — she doesn’t know your scent, your voice, nothing.”

Nolan’s brow furrowed. “So…I scared her?”

Theo gave a small shrug. “You pressured her. There’s a difference. Fear makes them bolt. Pressure makes them fight or defend. You went straight into her space without reading if she was inviting you in. She didn’t kick because she’s mean — she kicked because she was telling you to back off.”

Alec stepped closer to Nolan, still looking rattled. “I didn’t even know horses… thought like that.”

“They think with their whole body,” Theo said, and even he felt the strange weight of the words as they came out. It wasn’t something he’d read in a book — it was just there, clear in his mind like it had always been. “Ears, tail, eyes, breathing…it’s all part of the conversation. They don’t just ‘do’ something. They tell you before they do it. You just have to listen.”

The mare’s ears twitched, the left one flicking forward toward the sound of his voice. Her tail quieted. She shifted her weight onto all four feet again, a subtle loosening in her jaw signaling the tension bleeding off.

Theo took another slow step back, not turning away, giving her the choice. She blinked once, twice, and then lowered her head a little further, the fight in her body easing.

“You see that?” he murmured, tilting his chin toward her. “That’s her telling me she’s not gonna swing again. She’s not happy yet, but she’s not coiled to explode.”

Nolan looked between Theo and the mare, still pale. “I…wouldn’t have known any of that.”

“You will,” Theo said, not as reassurance but as a fact. . “You just haven’t been paying attention to the right things.”

He shifted his stance again, keeping one shoulder turned toward the mare so he wasn’t squaring off. “Watch my feet,” he said, glancing at Nolan and then Alec. “I’m not walking straight at her. I’m angling in. Gives her room to move away if she wants. Horses don’t like feeling trapped — you box them in, they’ll fight you to get out.”

The mare’s ears flicked toward him again, her head still low but her eyes following every shift he made. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice going softer for her. “I’m not here to take over your space. Just sharing it.”

He took a slow step forward, explaining as he went, “I’m keeping my hands low, fingers loose. High hands mean I’m about to grab or strike — she doesn’t need that right now. And see where my eyes are? I’m not burning holes in her face. Predators stare. Horses watch from the side.”

Nolan nodded faintly, his breathing still uneven. Alec’s brow furrowed as he tracked the little adjustments Theo made — the way he shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, the way his hips stayed angled, not square.

Theo took another step, then stopped when the mare’s tail gave a single, slow sweep. “There — did you see that?” he asked without turning. “Not the same as before. That’s not an ‘I’m gonna nail you’ swish. That’s more like… she’s thinking about it. Testing me. Seeing if I’m worth trusting.”

He gave her a moment, then inched forward until he was within arm’s reach. “Now, this is the important part,” he said, his voice lowering again for the mare. “I don’t just grab her. I let her know I’m here.” He lifted his hand slowly, palm down, fingers relaxed, stopping halfway. The mare stretched her neck just enough to sniff his knuckles.

“That’s her saying ‘okay,’” Theo said quietly, though he was still talking to the boys. “She didn’t pin her ears. She didn’t back up. She closed the gap herself. That’s trust starting.”

He let his fingers brush lightly along the side of her jaw, moving slow, always in her line of sight. “Good girl,” he said again, and this time the words were softer still, almost an instinct more than a choice.

Then, without looking back, he added for Nolan and Alec, “Every movement means something to her. Yours and hers. You rush? She rushes. You tense up? She tenses up. If you stay calm and give her choices, nine times out of ten, she’ll choose to meet you halfway.”

The mare’s eyes softened, her breathing deeper now, the edge gone from her stance. Theo stepped back again, letting her keep the win.

“Alright,” he said, glancing finally at the boys. “Your turn to try. But you follow exactly what I just did — and if she says ‘no,’ you listen.”

Nolan hesitated at first, hands shoved into the front pocket of his sweatshirt like he was worried about what they might do on their own.

“Hands out,” Theo said, the words quiet but leaving no room for argument. “You keep ’em in your pocket, she’ll think you’ve got something to hide.”

Nolan pulled them free, fingers curling nervously.

“Loosen up,” Theo added, keeping his tone even. “You’re not here to wrestle her. Think like you’re saying hi to a skittish kid. No grabbing, no crowding.”

The mare’s ears flicked toward Nolan, then back to Theo, and he let his voice drift her way. “It’s alright, girl. He’s just learning. be patient, okay?”

He gave a slight nod toward Nolan’s feet. “Angle your body — yeah, like that. Don’t square up. You look bigger than you are when you do that, and she’ll wonder why you’re posturing.”

Nolan’s shoulders dropped a fraction, some of the stiffness easing.

“Good,” Theo murmured, watching the mare’s tail. “She’s not winding up. Keep your eyes soft. Don’t laser in on her face — look just past her shoulder.”

Nolan inched forward. The mare shifted her weight, head tilting slightly, and Theo’s voice followed it. “Easy. That’s her checking you out. Don’t rush the answer.”

When Nolan stopped, unsure, Theo said quietly, “Now offer your hand — low, slow. Let her meet you.”

The mare stretched her neck, nostrils flaring as she sniffed Nolan’s fingers. Theo’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile. “That’s it. Let her decide. You don’t take, you get given.”

When the mare didn’t pull away, Theo said, “Good girl,” and this time the mare’s ears flicked forward at his voice, like she was starting to pair the sound with safety.

Nolan glanced over his shoulder, uncertain, but Theo’s focus didn’t waver from the mare.

“Stay with her,” he said. “If you break eye contact now, she’s gonna think you got spooked.”

Nolan turned back, swallowing.

“Good. Now — shift your weight back, just a hair. You’re telling her she can leave if she wants.”

The mare blinked slowly, nostrils flaring again, and didn’t move away.

“That’s her saying she’s fine where she is,” Theo murmured. “You got a window. Use it. Try brushing your fingers along her muzzle — light, like you’re barely there.”

Nolan’s touch was hesitant, but the mare’s jaw stayed loose. Theo gave a single approving nod. “That’s all you need to do. First meet-and-greet’s done.”

A quiet scuff of boots sounded behind them, but Theo didn’t turn. He didn’t have to — he caught the faint, steady scent of Peter before the man’s shadow stretched across the ground. Another, warmer one trailed a second later — Liam.

Neither said a word, both hanging back just outside the pen.

Theo kept going as if nothing had changed. “Step away the same way you came in. No sudden moves. She’ll remember you more for how you leave than how you showed up.”

Nolan did as told, and when he finally cleared the distance, Alec muttered, “That…was actually kinda cool.”

“That,” another voice drawled from the fence line, “was unexpected.”

Brett. He’d shown up somewhere between Alec’s last sentence and now, leaning with one arm hooked casually over the top rail, eyes bright with a grin he didn’t bother hiding. He looked between Theo and the mare like he’d just walked in on some secret he already planned to tease Theo about later.

Theo ignored him, motioning for Alec to take his turn. “Same thing. Don’t reinvent the wheel — just copy me.”

As Alec moved forward, Theo kept his tone even, almost lazy. “Don’t lead with your feet — let your shoulders guide you. Animals read body language before anything else.”

The mare’s ears twitched toward Alec, and Theo added softly for her benefit, “One more, girl. This one’s learning too.”

Brett leaned closer to Alec, murmuring, “You got the easy job. He already did all the hard work for you.”

Theo shot him a look sharp enough to make Brett’s grin widen. Still, there was a flicker in Brett’s expression — pride. The kind that said that’s my best friend

Peter and Liam stayed quiet, but Theo could feel their eyes on him — watching every move, every word, like they were seeing a side of him they hadn’t expected.

He didn’t acknowledge it. His attention stayed on Alec and the mare, and when Alec finally managed to earn a slow, cautious sniff, Theo’s voice softened again.

“Good. Now back out the same way. Always leave the door open for the next time.”

Theo waited until Alec had taken three slow steps back before he turned toward the mare again. His voice dropped low, warm enough to soften the air between them.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along the side of her neck. “Handled them like a champ, huh? I knew you would.”

The mare exhaled through her nose, leaning into the touch for a second before flicking an ear. Theo smiled—small, fleeting, but there.

Behind him, Peter finally spoke, his voice carrying that blend of smug and genuine that always made people second-guess which was which. “You’ve got good hands, Theo,” he said. “Not just with the touch — your timing, your tone. She trusts you.”

Theo froze for a fraction of a second—because praise wasn’t exactly Peter’s default setting—but he only gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. “Just paying attention.”

Liam shifted beside Peter, still watching Theo with a faintly incredulous look. “Didn’t know you were that much of a sweet talker.”

Brett barked a quiet laugh from where he still leaned on the fence. “Sweet talker? Back in the city, he was the sweetest talker. Didn’t matter if it was a person, a dog, or some stray cat — Theo could charm anything with a pulse.”

Theo shot him another flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting not to smirk. “Gonna ruin my reputation if you keep talking like that.”

“Pretty sure you just ruined it yourself,” Liam said, eyes flicking toward the mare still standing loose and relaxed in the pen. “She’s in love with you already.”

Brett grinned wide, nudging Liam with a knowing smirk. “Who isn’t in love with Theo, though? Devilishly handsome, charming as hell — he’s got it all. Except maybe a warning label.”

Theo’s reaction was instant — a sharp flick of his middle finger aimed squarely at Brett’s smug face. “Shut up, man.”

Liam held up his hands, grinning to defuse the tension. “Alright, alright, enough roasting. Theo, seriously, you’ve got skills. I didn’t expect to see you this calm and… well, sweet with the horses.”

Theo shrugged, the muscles around his jaw still tight but the smirk never quite leaving his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

Peter stepped forward, eyes fixed on the mare as she nuzzled softly against Theo’s outstretched hand. “You practically tamed her on your first try. She needs a name, don’t you think? You’re the one she listens to.”

Theo looked down at the mare, the quiet dignity in her eyes, the way her body relaxed under his touch. Something flickered behind his gaze — a hint of something softer, something like pride.

“Name her?” he echoed, voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” Peter said, folding his arms with a small smile. “You’re the one who calmed her down. Might as well be yours.”

Theo’s fingers drifted through the mare’s mane thoughtfully, eyes tracing the curve of her neck as she stood quietly beside him.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice low but steady. “I’ll call her… Clover.”

The group blinked, a beat of silence before Liam nodded approvingly. “Clover is cute.”

Brett’s grin widened as he leaned casually against the fencepost. “Clover, huh? Didn’t peg you for the lucky charm type, Theo.”

Theo shot him a sideways glance, lips twitching with amusement despite himself. “Better than naming her something like ‘Rage’ or ‘Disaster,’ don’t you think?”

Peter smirked, crossing his arms. “Maybe Clover’ll bring you some luck too, huh? Could use it.”

Theo’s eyes flicked to the sky, where the late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light over the paddock.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “Maybe luck is exactly what I need.”

Chapter 17: Golden Hour

Notes:

This was my favourite chapter to write

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the open fields. After the mare—now officially Clover—had settled quietly in her stall, the buzz of the barn softened to a calm murmur. Peter and Brett were loading up the truck, gearing up for their trip into town to pick up supplies, leaving the quieter corner of the ranch to Theo and Liam.

Theo stretched out a hand, brushing loose strands of hair back from his face. “So, what’s the plan now? I’m not exactly good at just sitting around.”

Liam smiled, the familiar warmth in his eyes making the tight coil of exhaustion inside Theo loosen just a bit. “We’re fixing that broken fence along the north pasture. It’s been loose for a while. Thought it could use some attention.”

Theo eyed the leaning fenceposts warily. “Yeah, that one. Heard it’s been a problem for a while.”

Liam shrugged. “Better now than later. Besides, it’s not so bad. I’ll show you the ropes.”

The two headed down the dusty path toward the fence, the soft crunch of their boots syncing with the gentle hum of cicadas hidden in the tall grass. Theo’s limbs still felt heavy from the weeks of fighting his own body, but with Liam beside him, the weight seemed a little easier to bear.

Liam’s fingers curled around the weathered plank, nails caked with dirt. “First thing,” he said, pulling the board free with a satisfying creak, “is to make sure the posts are solid. If the posts are loose or rotted, no amount of nailing is going to keep this fence standing.”

Theo crouched beside him, brushing the loose soil away from the base of a leaning post. “Looks like this one’s about ready to fall over.” His voice was rough, but there was a spark of focus in his eyes that Liam hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Exactly,” Liam nodded. “We’re going to dig around it, pack the dirt tight, maybe add some gravel if we have it. That’ll keep it sturdy.”

They shifted tools from one hand to the other — a hammer, a crowbar, a small spade Liam had borrowed from the shed. Liam demonstrated each step, patient and clear, not rushing. Theo followed, muscles aching from unfamiliar work but driven by the rhythm and Liam’s quiet encouragement.

“Now, when you nail the boards back on,” Liam said, holding up a long, rusty nail, “you want to start at the top and work your way down. It helps keep everything tight. You don’t want gaps where a horse could squeeze through.”

Theo tapped the nail into the wood with a few solid hits of the hammer, each strike ringing out against the quiet evening. “Okay, got it. Top down, tight.”

Liam chuckled softly. “You’re a quick learner.”

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky with streaks of pink and orange. Sweat beaded on Theo’s forehead, mixing with the dirt smudged along his arms and cheeks. The steady work was tiring but somehow grounding, a welcome distraction from the churn of his mind.

“Try not to rush the hammer,” Liam advised, stepping back to watch Theo’s form. “It’s about control, not brute force.”

Theo slowed, adjusting his grip. “Feels weird not to just swing as hard as I can.”

“That’s the difference between breaking the board and breaking the nail,” Liam teased, eyes sparkling with quiet amusement.

His grin then widened as he watched Theo’s awkward but determined hammer swings. “You know, for a guy who’s been through hell lately, you’re surprisingly steady-handed.”

Theo snorted, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his dirty forearm. “Yeah? Maybe I’m just channeling all this frustration into becoming a fencing expert.”

Liam laughed, the sound easy and warm — something Theo hadn’t heard directed at him since he got to the ranch.

The last nail slipped home with a satisfying thunk, the board now firmly secured against the post. Liam stepped back, squinting as the fading sunlight cast long shadows over their handiwork.

“Looks solid,” Liam said, nodding appreciatively. “Not bad for your first fence repair.”

Theo gave a tired but genuine smile, wiping sweat and dirt from his forehead. “Guess all those years of smashing things came in handy after all.”

Liam’s smile softened, his gaze lingering on Theo with something like concern beneath the easygoing tone. “Hey… how are you really doing? I mean — with everything.”

Theo shrugged, eyes dropping to the ground for a moment. “You mean besides being covered in dirt and almost killing myself with a hammer?”

Liam’s expression didn’t falter. “Yeah, I mean how you are. Not just today or right now, but…you know, the whole thing.”

Theo swallowed hard, the knot tightening in his chest. The question wasn’t new, but hearing it so gently, so openly, made something fragile stir inside him.

“I’m… managing,” he said finally, voice low. “Some days are worse than others. But it helps — this. Having something to do, something to focus on.”

Liam nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful but quiet. He didn’t press further.

After a moment, he shifted his weight and glanced up toward the horizon, where the sky was a blaze of gold and soft purple.

“There’s this spot I found when I was fifteen,” Liam said, voice gentle, almost hesitant. “It’s out past the east ridge — not too far, but far enough to feel like you’re somewhere else. Good view of the sunset. Maybe… you want to go? Get away from here for a bit?”

Theo blinked, surprised by the offer. The exhaustion and tension were still thick in his limbs, but something about the idea — quiet, simple — pulled at him.

“Yeah,” Theo said softly, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They moved toward the tool shed in a slow, easy rhythm, the sounds of the ranch settling into evening quiet around them. The soft scrape of wood and metal echoed as they gathered the hammers, nails, and loose boards, stacking everything carefully into place. Their movements were unhurried, the work almost meditative after the tension of the day.

Theo wiped the sweat from his brow again, the cool evening air brushing over the damp skin, bringing a faint relief. Liam worked beside him, a calm presence, methodical and steady as he sorted through the tack and bridles.

Once the tools were stowed away, Liam reached for Cassie’s saddle, lifting it with practiced ease. “I’ll get her ready,” he said over his shoulder, moving toward the stables with a quiet confidence.

Theo followed, heading for Buckshot’s stall. The old horse greeted him with a soft nicker, pressing his nose into Theo’s palm as he reached out. Theo ran a hand down Buckshot’s neck, feeling the familiar warmth beneath his fingertips, the steady heartbeat grounding him in the moment.

He grabbed the saddle and bridle, his hands steady as he moved through the motions of tacking up.

The sun had slipped lower, the sky deepening into streaks of lavender and gold as they finished saddling the horses. Liam was already mounting Cassie when Theo swung up onto Buckshot’s back, the familiar creak of the saddle settling beneath him.

The rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt road filled the space between them, steady and unhurried. The evening air was cooler now, brushing against Theo’s face and tugging lightly at his hair. The scent of dry grass and sun-warmed earth lingered in the breeze, mixed with the faint, sweet aroma of wild sage.

For a while, neither of them spoke — it wasn’t uncomfortable, just quiet. The kind of silence that felt like it belonged, letting the sound of the wind and the soft creak of leather speak for them.

It was Liam who broke it, his voice low, almost like he was afraid to disturb the peace around them. “Do you remember… when we’d sneak out past the fence at night to catch fireflies?”

Theo smiled faintly at the memory, his gaze fixed ahead. “We were convinced they’d grant wishes if we caught enough of them.”

“You told me you were gonna wish for a motorcycle,” Liam said with a small laugh. “I said I was gonna wish for a dog.”

Theo shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You got the dog. I never got the motorcycle.”

“You didn’t need one,” Liam said, glancing at him briefly. “You already knew how to run off and disappear without it.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they landed with a strange weight. Theo didn’t answer right away, letting the sound of the horses fill the pause. “Yeah,” he said eventually, his tone quieter. “Guess I was already good at leaving.”

Liam’s expression softened, and he looked back toward the trail. “We were happy then, though. At least…I was. Even if it was just for those few weeks.”

Theo’s fingers tightened on the reins, the nostalgia mixing with something heavier in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “Me too.”

Liam was quiet for a long moment, the rhythmic clop of hooves on the packed earth filling the space between them. The light was fading now, painting the ridge in deep shadow while the last ribbons of gold clung stubbornly to the horizon.

“You ever…” Liam hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, “…miss me? After you left?”

Theo’s throat tightened, and for a second he thought about brushing it off — making a joke, keeping it light — but the truth came out instead, low and rough. “Yeah,” he said. “More than I wanted to.”

Liam’s eyes flicked toward him, searching his face in the dimming light, but Theo kept his gaze fixed ahead. “I used to think about the summer all the time. About you. About how simple everything felt back then. I didn’t… I didn’t have much else worth holding onto.”

Liam’s grip on the reins loosened, his posture relaxing just enough to let the silence feel less brittle. “I missed you too,” he admitted. “Didn’t really make sense to me at the time — why it hurt so bad when you didn’t come back the next summer. I just knew it felt like losing my best friend.”

Theo huffed a faint laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we didn’t really know how to stay in each other’s lives, huh?”

Theo shifted in the saddle, the leather creaking under him. “Why were you so mad about me coming back, anyway?”

Liam didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked like he was chewing on the words, weighing whether they were worth saying. Finally, he let out a breath that seemed heavier than it should’ve been. “Maybe… maybe it’s because it took you getting in trouble with the law to get you back here.”

Theo’s brows drew together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Liam said, his tone even but not without an edge, “you could’ve come back any summer. You could’ve called, written—hell, you could’ve shown up out of nowhere like you used to do when we were kids. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly, you’re here because a judge decided it.”

Theo’s grip tightened on the reins, knuckles pale in the dim light. “You think I wanted it to happen like this?”

“I don’t know what you wanted,” Liam said, not looking at him. “All I know is…you didn’t come back on your own.”

Theo’s grip on the reins didn’t loosen, but he forced himself to unclench his jaw. The words he wanted to spit out — defensive, sharp-edged — sat bitter on his tongue. He swallowed them down.

“I don’t want to fight,” he said finally, the words flat but not without weight.

Liam’s eyes flicked toward him, but his expression stayed unreadable. “I’m not trying to fight either.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The faintest twitch at the corner of Liam’s mouth. Not quite a smile, but maybe the ghost of one. “Guess I’m just…still figuring out how to talk to you again.”

Theo huffed, but it was softer this time, less like a shield and more like the start of something careful. “Yeah. Same.”

They let it go, the tension between them thinning into something almost fragile. The silence that followed wasn’t the sharp-edged kind anymore — it was looser, shaped by the steady rhythm of their horses’ hooves and the low sigh of wind through the grass.

The ridge came into view ahead, its crest brushed with the last gold of the day. The horizon was painted in slow-fading fire—orange bleeding into pink, pink dissolving into the deepening blue of night.

Liam nudged his horse forward, and Theo followed. By the time they reached the top, the whole valley sprawled out beneath them—patchwork fields, thin silver threads of creek water, the far-off shimmer of the barn’s roof catching the last light.

The horses stood side by side, their breaths mingling in the cooling evening air. Buckshot nickered softly, shifting his weight, while Cassie mirrored the movement, her dark eyes calm and steady.

Theo’s gaze drifted over the valley, the colors bleeding into a soft, dusky purple, but his attention kept flickering back to Liam. The way the fading light caught the soft curve of Liam’s jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders easing as he watched the horizon.

Liam’s voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper. “I’m glad you came back.”

Theo’s heart stuttered in his chest, the simple words hanging in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. He swallowed, searching for a reply that wouldn’t break the delicate moment.

“Me too,” he finally breathed, voice rough but sincere.

Their eyes met then, and the world seemed to contract until it was just the two of them — the warm dusk, the quiet valley, and the slow steady beating of their hearts. Liam’s fingers twitched at his side, the faintest sign of a nervous energy. Theo’s hand itched to reach out, to close the small distance, but he stayed still, the tension between them humming with possibility.

The horses shifted closer, their sides nearly touching, as if mirroring whatever was blooming in the space between Theo and Liam. The soft rustle of their movements was the only sound aside from the gentle wind.

Liam’s gaze softened, and he took a slow breath, as if gathering courage. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured, voice warm and low.

Theo’s breath caught. “Me too.”

Theo shifted slightly in his saddle, the worn leather creaking softly beneath him. Without thinking too much about it, he edged a little closer to Liam, the space between them narrowing until their shoulders touched.

Liam matched the movement, leaning in just enough to catch the faint scent of Theo’s hair — earthy, a little smoky from the day’s work. Neither pulled away; neither spoke for a moment, just letting the closeness settle around them like a soft blanket.

“Remember how we used to talk about running away together?” Liam’s voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as if sharing a secret meant only for them.

Theo smiled, eyes still fixed on the darkening valley. “Yeah. We thought the world was smaller back then. Like if we just kept running, we’d never have to worry about anything else.”

Liam’s breath hitched slightly, and he glanced over at Theo, his expression open, vulnerable. “Maybe it still is. Maybe it’s just about finding the right place to stop.”

Without thinking, without giving himself time to hesitate or overanalyze, Theo leaned in just a fraction more. His fingers curled instinctively around the reins as his lips brushed lightly against Liam’s, tentative at first — soft, searching.

Liam didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, closing the tiny distance that remained, his hand finding Theo’s knee as if anchoring himself.

The world seemed to still around them, the fading light of the sunset casting a soft glow over everything as their lips met again — this time with more certainty, more need. The kiss deepened slowly, each second stretching out like the warm summer evening itself.

Their breaths mingled, the subtle rise and fall of their chests syncing in the quiet dusk. The horses shifted beneath them, but neither moved away, as if they understood what was unfolding above.

Time blurred; the softness of Liam’s lips, the warmth spreading through Theo’s chest, the gentle pressure of their bodies leaning into each other.

Theo’s fingers slid from the reins, hesitating just a breath before tracing the line of Liam’s jaw with a delicate touch. His palm cupped the side of Liam’s face, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone.

The kiss deepened again, slow and tender, as if they were discovering something they’d been missing for far too long. Theo could feel the steady heat of Liam’s skin beneath his hand, the subtle shift of Liam leaning closer, matching his rhythm perfectly.

Every small movement felt electric — the press of lips, the slight catch of breath, the soft exhale mingling between them.

Liam’s fingers found their way to Theo’s neck, tilting his head ever so slightly as the kiss deepened — the warmth of the setting sun casting long shadows, their silhouettes merging like two halves finally being pierced together.

When they finally broke apart, breaths mingling in the cool evening air, Theo’s forehead rested gently against Liam’s.

Liam’s breath hitched softly as they parted, his eyes half-lidded, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss. His hand lingered on Theo’s neck, fingers warm and steady against the cool dusk.

“You taste like cigarettes,” Liam said quietly, a teasing edge to his voice, though his gaze held something tender and real.

Theo’s cheeks flushed, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guilty,” he admitted softly, voice rough but amused. “Bad habit.”

Liam shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. “Well… it suits you, somehow.”

Theo’s smirk softened into a smile.

Liam’s hand moved to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind Theo’s ear, his thumb brushing softly over the curve of his jaw.

“Let’s just stay here a little longer,” Liam whispered, voice low, hopeful.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Theo muttered back, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and the valley darkened around them.

Chapter 18: A Quite Stirring At Dawn

The morning light was softer than usual, hazy with a thin layer of mist clinging to the pasture. Dew clung to the grass in tiny beads, sparkling under the sun’s slow rise. Theo pulled his jacket tighter against the lingering chill, the scent of damp earth and hay filling his lungs. He hadn’t slept much — not from bad dreams, but because his mind had replayed last night’s kiss over and over like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the way Liam’s gaze had softened, the faint curve of his mouth when he teased him about the cigarettes.

Now, standing at the fence line, Theo forced himself to shake it off. If he thought about it too much, he’d start looking for Liam in every direction, and the last thing he needed was to get caught staring like an idiot.

“Theo,” Nolan called, striding up with a halter slung over his shoulder and a rope in hand. His hair was still damp from the quick rinse in the bunkhouse “You ready to work, or are you just gonna stand there and look pretty?”

Theo arched an eyebrow. “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Nolan shot back, though he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips.

Alec appeared behind him, lugging a saddle that looked just a little too heavy for his lanky frame. He gave Theo a nod, then glanced out toward the small corral where two young horses circled slowly, tossing their heads.

“Cora says we’re starting with the chestnut,” Alec said. “She’s the jumpiest of the bunch. Figured you’d want to try your hand.”

Theo eyed the mare. She was beautiful — all muscle and restless energy, with an almost defiant tilt to her head as she pawed at the dirt. “What makes you think I want to?”

“Because you’re good at it,” Nolan said simply, looping the rope through his hands. “Even if you pretend you’re not.”

Theo didn’t answer, but he fell into step beside them toward the corral. The air was cool, but the sun was bright enough now to warm the back of his neck as they approached the gate.

Cora stood inside, leaning casually against the fence rail, one hand resting on the top post as she watched the mare move. She glanced up as Theo entered.

“Morning,” she said, her voice low but not unfriendly.

Theo nodded in return. “Morning.”

Her gaze flicked from him to the chestnut. “She’s been a handful since day one. Doesn’t trust people. Doesn’t like pressure. But…” Cora’s eyes returned to Theo, assessing. “You’ve got a way about you. Horses pick up on that. You can calm her down better than the rest of us can.”

Theo wasn’t used to compliments that weren’t backhanded. His first instinct was to deflect, but something in Cora’s steady tone made him pause. “I’ll try,” he said finally.

Cora’s mouth quirked in something like approval. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Nolan opened the gate just enough for Theo to slip inside, rope in hand. The chestnut’s ears flicked back at his approach, her muscles tense. Theo slowed his steps, keeping his body language loose, the way he’d seen Cora do countless times.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and even. “Not here to hurt you.”

The mare shifted sideways, keeping him in her line of sight. Theo mirrored her movement, not closing the gap too quickly. He could feel her indecision — the readiness to bolt paired with a growing curiosity.

Minutes passed in quiet circling. Nolan leaned on the fence, watching, while Alec adjusted the saddle in his arms. Cora stood still, letting Theo work.

When the mare finally stopped moving, her breathing steadying, Theo eased closer, extending his hand. She snorted once, but didn’t back away. His fingers brushed her neck, and he felt the ripple of muscle beneath her skin.

“There you go,” Theo said softly.

It wasn’t until the halter was secured and she accepted the first tentative strokes along her flank that Theo let himself exhale fully.

“Not bad,” Cora said behind him, and there was genuine praise in her voice now. “You’ve got patience. That’s half the battle.”

Theo glanced over his shoulder at her. “Thought the battle was not getting kicked.”

“That’s the other half,” she said dryly, though her smile lingered a moment longer than usual.

Before Theo could respond, Nolan let out an exaggerated whistle from the fence. “Look at you,” he said, grinning like Theo had just won Olympic gold. “Horse whisperer in the making.”

Alec, still holding the saddle like it was some ceremonial trophy, nodded eagerly. “I’m serious, dude. You didn’t even flinch when she flicked her tail at you. That was like… cowboy movie level calm.”

Theo raised a brow. “You’re both easily impressed.”

“Easily impressed?” Nolan scoffed. “No, man, that was skill. Pure skill. You had her eating out of your hand — literally — well, okay, not literally, but you could’ve if you had food.”

Alec leaned on the fence post, eyes wide with faux awe. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Theo shot him a flat look. “Plenty.”

Theo shook his head, turning back to the mare, trying to hide the fact that, annoyingly, the praise was… nice. He wasn’t used to it—especially not when it came so freely, with no strings, no suspicion.

“You’re ridiculous,” Theo muttered.

“Ridiculously right,” Nolan countered. Alec nodded like they’d rehearsed it.

Liam’s footsteps came up quietly behind them, and when he stepped into the circle of light near the gate, Nolan and Alec fell silent, their grins fading into curious glances.

“Hey,” Liam said softly, his eyes immediately finding Theo’s. There was something in the way he looked at him — a mix of urgency — that made Theo’s skin prickle.

“You got a minute? Alone?” Liam asked, voice low.

Theo’s heart thudded a little harder, the easy atmosphere with Nolan and Alec slipping away. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, exchanging a quick glance with the two boys, who just shrugged and gave him encouraging nods.

He followed Liam toward the barn, the soft rustle of hay and the faint smell of leather greeting them as they stepped inside. The wide wooden doors creaked shut behind them, muffling the sounds from outside

Before he could say a word, before either of them could speak, Liam stepped forward and closed the small distance between them.

No warning, no soft build-up, just a sudden, desperate press of lips against lips.

Theo’s breath hitched, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, his body stiffening for a fraction of a second.

The shock melted away as his instincts kicked in, and he leaned forward, tilting his head to meet Liam’s lips. His hands rose, fingers tangling in Liam’s hair.

Liam pulled back almost as quickly as he had kissed him, his breath warm against Theo’s cheek.

Theo stood frozen, heart pounding so loud he was sure Liam could hear it too. His hands slowly slipped from Liam’s hair, falling to his sides like they’d suddenly forgotten what to do next.

Liam’s lips curved into a crooked smile, mischievous and soft all at once. “Guess I still know how to keep you on your toes even a decade later,” he teased, voice low.

Theo barely managed a shaky laugh, still reeling from the sudden surge of the kiss. Before he could say anything else, Liam winked and turned away, his footsteps already fading toward the barn’s exit.

Left standing in the quiet shadows, Theo swallowed hard, a mix of confusion and something like exhilaration swirling inside him.

Brett’s footsteps echoed softly against the barn’s wooden floor, breaking the heavy silence like a stone tossed into still water. He appeared in the doorway just as Liam’s figure disappeared outside.

His eyes immediately locked onto Theo, who was still standing frozen where Liam had left him. Brett’s brow furrowed as he took in the expression on Theo’s face — somewhere between dazed and caught off guard.

“You good, man?” Brett asked, crossing his arms but clearly trying to hide the concern behind a casual tone.

Theo blinked, the weight of the moment crashing back down on him. He forced a shrug, trying to settle the rapid thumping of his heart. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Brett wasn’t convinced, his gaze sharpening like he wanted to press further. But something in Theo’s guarded silence made him hold back.

“Alright,” Brett said finally, stepping closer. “If you say so.”

Theo gave him a small, tight smile, eyes flickering toward the barn doors Liam had just exited. “Just… leave it.”

Brett nodded slowly, but the look he gave Theo was loaded with unspoken questions. Without another word, he clapped Theo on the shoulder. “Well, have fun with your thinking.”

Theo watched Brett’s retreating figure disappear toward the stables, the quiet thud of his footsteps fading into the distance.

Theo took a deep breath, letting the rush of adrenaline ebb as Brett’s footsteps faded away. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the lingering buzz from the sudden kiss and Liam’s quick exit. Then, with a subtle shake of his head, he pushed the moment aside and headed back toward the paddocks where Nolan, Alec, and Cora were waiting.

The afternoon light had softened further, and the horses were calmer now, moving with quiet grace in their pens. Nolan was pacing nervously near a gate, while Alec was fiddling with some leather straps, clearly eager for Theo’s return.

“Hey, you okay?” Nolan asked, looking up as Theo approached.

“Yeah,” Theo said, forcing a steadier tone. “Let’s get back to it.”

Alec didn’t look quite convinced. He trotted over with that inquisitive kid-energy that never quite quit. “So… what did Liam want? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

Theo glanced down, then back up, meeting Alec’s curious gaze. He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing important. Just wanted to talk.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “That all?”

“Yeah,” Theo said firmly, already shifting his focus back to the mare, who was watching them cautiously. “Now, let’s get her used to the saddle. Nolan, you want to help?”

Nolan nodded quickly, grateful for the distraction, and the three of them turned their attention back to the horses.

Cora watched Theo carefully as he eased the mare forward, his patience and calm settling over the group like a steadying force. When the mare finally accepted the saddle without flinching, Cora’s approving smile was genuine.

Just as Theo was settling the saddle onto the mare, the familiar figure of Derek appeared at the edge of the paddock, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Storm’s coming in fast,” Derek warned, eyes scanning the darkening sky. “Better round up the horses and get everything secured.”

Cora nodded sharply, already moving toward the others to spread the word.

Theo exchanged a quick glance with Nolan and Alec, who were already gathering themselves to help.

“Let’s get to it,” Theo said, voice steady despite the sudden urgency.

The sky rumbled softly overhead, a low warning as the first breeze stirred the grass.

Chapter 19: Storm on The Ridge

The sky cracked open with a violent flash, lightning tearing through the gathering clouds like a jagged blade. The sharp, electric scent of ozone filled the air, setting every nerve on edge. The distant rumble of thunder quickly grew into a roar, and with it, the calm they’d known moments before shattered.

Theo’s heart lurched as the first horse neighed loudly, muscles tensing, ears swiveling toward the sky. Nearby, Nolan froze, eyes wide as the sky suddenly lit up again, brighter this time and much closer.

“Come on, we’ve got to move faster!” Cora shouted, her voice sharp with urgency as she pushed toward the gate.

Theo grabbed the mare’s reins, pulling gently but firmly to lead her toward the barn, but the animal’s panic was contagious. The mare jerked her head, her body suddenly rigid, and before Theo could steady her, she bolted forward, dragging the rope taut like a bowstring.

“Whoa! Easy!” Nolan tried to catch up, but the mare’s hooves pounded hard against the dirt, sending clouds of dust into the air.

Alec was shouting for the others, but his words were swallowed by another thunderclap that split the sky with terrifying force. Lightning struck a tree near the edge of the pasture, splintering it instantly. The loud crack sent every horse into full panic.

Chaos exploded.

Horses everywhere neighed and stampeded, some breaking free of their enclosures. Tater Tot whinnied frantically, trying to bolt in the opposite direction, while Clover reared back, eyes wide, refusing to be caught.

“Round them up!” Derek bellowed, already running toward a group of horses racing toward the far fence.

Theo didn’t hesitate. Heart pounding, muscles taut, he broke into a run after the mare, calling her name softly even as the storm unleashed its fury. Rain began to fall, fat heavy drops pelting down, mixing with dirt and sweat on his skin.

The world had tipped into chaos — horses scattering in every direction, the roar of thunder drowning out every other sound, flashes of lightning illuminating frantic faces and desperate hands reaching out to grasp at reins and halters.

Theo’s lungs burned, legs pumping as he wove between animals, grabbing at a startled colt’s neck, pulling him back from crashing into the fence. Nolan and Alec were everywhere at once, shouting directions, corralling strays.

“Over here! This way!” Cora’s voice rang out, steady and commanding amid the madness.

Theo’s grip tightened on another mare’s halter as she finally slowed, muscles trembling but no longer trying to escape.

Theo didn’t let up. He gently guided the trembling mare through the barn doors, the wooden frame creaking as he pushed it open against the wind. The colt followed, still jittery but calmer now that he was close to Theo.

The heavy doors thudded shut behind them, muffling the storm’s roar to a dull growl. The warm, familiar scent of hay and leather wrapped around Theo like a fragile sanctuary.

For a moment, he let himself breathe, relief flickering through his chest.

Then a sudden, cold panic gnawed at his gut.

He scanned the dimly lit stalls, voice cracking as he called out, “Buckshot? Buckshot, where are you?”

The barn was filled with restless shuffles and the nervous breaths of the horses Theo had just brought inside, but there was no answer from his old, steady companion.

“Shit,” Theo muttered under his breath, heart sinking as he rushed toward the open side of the barn, where the storm’s fury seeped in.

Outside, rain was slanting down harder now, lightning flaring across the sky, illuminating the empty pasture where Buckshot should have been.

“Where the hell are you?” Theo shouted, panic rising as he scanned the wet grass, muscles tensing to sprint out after him.

His mind raced through every worst-case scenario — Buckshot trapped, hurt, lost.

Theo’s eyes darted across the soaked pasture, rain plastering his hair to his forehead.

Without hesitation, Theo sprinted toward the stable again, ignoring the mud sucking at his boots. He grabbed Cassie’s halter, the only horse that hadn’t joined the stampede, her wide eyes calm and steady amid the storm’s madness.

“No time for saddle,” Theo muttered, tugging the halter over her head and looping the lead rope around his wrist. He swung a leg over her back, gripping her mane to steady himself as the rain poured harder, cold and unforgiving.

The moment he settled on her back, adrenaline surged through him, urging him forward, muscles coiled to chase down Buckshot.

Liam came running through the downpour, rain plastering his hair and clothes, his boots squelching in the mud. His eyes locked on Theo, who was already gripping Cassie’s mane, ready to burst out into the chaos again.

“Hey!” Liam called out, voice strained over the storm’s roar. “Where the hell are you going?”

Theo glanced over his shoulder, his expression grim, eyes wild with worry. “Buckshot’s loose. He’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to find him.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his face. “You can’t just ride out alone like this. It’s dangerous — with this storm, with everything.”

Theo’s grip on the reins didn’t falter. “I don’t have time to wait.”

Liam opened his mouth to argue, but Theo cut him off with a quick, sharp look.

Without another word, Theo flicked his heel lightly against Cassie’s side. The mare jolted forward, hooves pounding the soggy ground as they surged into the storm, rain lashing against Theo’s face, blurring the world into streaks of gray and green.

Theo rode hard into the storm, rain hammering down in relentless sheets, blurring the edges of the world into a swirling haze of gray and mud. Cassie’s hooves sunk into the soaked earth with each powerful stride, muscles flexing under Theo’s weight as they pushed through the wet pasture, following every sound, every shadow that might be Buckshot.

The thunder rumbled low and constant, shaking the air with each rolling boom. Lightning flashed overhead, slicing the darkness in stark, fleeting bursts that illuminated the twisted shapes of trees bowed under the wind. The storm showed no mercy — rain stung Theo’s skin, plastered his clothes to his body, chilled him to the bone despite the furious pace.

He called out, voice hoarse and raw, shouting Buckshot’s name over the roar of the tempest, but all that answered was the wind and the distant crack of thunder.

Minutes bled into hours. Theo circled the property again and again, eyes straining to catch any sign of the old horse in the blinding rain. Each time the storm’s fury seemed to relent, it only swelled again, fierce and unpredictable. Cassie’s sides heaved beneath him, but neither horse nor rider faltered — not while Buckshot was out there, somewhere, vulnerable and alone.

The fields felt endless, a soaked wilderness of mud and tangled grass, each inch covered in water and shadows. Theo’s fingers tightened around the reins, knuckles white, heart pounding in his chest with every flash of lightning that split the sky and every crash of thunder that followed. His lungs burned from the cold air and the urgency driving him forward.

The rain blurred his vision, stinging his eyes and washing tears he didn’t realize were there. Every sense was heightened, every sound magnified — the pounding of hooves, the crack of branches snapping under the weight of the storm, the distant whinny of frightened horses, and above it all, the relentless thunder like a war drum in his chest.

Theo’s breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming beneath the cold wet weight of his soaked clothes. Cassie’s legs trembled but she pushed on.

They splashed through puddles, the mud sucking at her hooves as she strained against the storm’s fury.

A sudden crack — a lightning bolt striking perilously close — made Cassie flinch and bolt forward, sending Theo’s heart into his throat. He tightened his grip, whispering reassurances as the mare galloped across the soaked earth. Ahead, a dark shape flickered among the trees.

“Buckshot?” Theo shouted, voice hoarse and cracking with desperate hope.

The shape darted between the blurred outlines of trees, shifting like a ghost caught in the storm’s fury. Theo urged Cassie harder, eyes narrowing through the rain as he tried to focus.

“Buckshot!” he called again, voice cracking with urgency.

The horse ahead turned its head sharply, eyes wide and wild. It wasn’t Buckshot.

Theo’s heart dropped.

The unfamiliar horse pawed at the muddy ground, nostrils flaring as it stamped in place, clearly just as spooked by the storm as every other animal on the ranch.

“Hey, easy,” Theo murmured, voice softer this time, trying not to startle it further. He eased Cassie closer, speaking in low, soothing tones.

The horse backed away cautiously, and Theo cursed under his breath. This wasn’t Buckshot, and the storm wasn’t easing up.

He scanned the dark horizon, rain blurring the world into a gray haze, searching for any sign of the old horse still out there, somewhere in the storm.

Cassie shifted beneath him, muscles tight, sensing his tension. Theo took a steadying breath, swallowing the rising panic.

“Come on, Buckshot,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

The storm’s rage was starting to wane—the thunder rolling off in long, distant growls, the lightning flashing less frequently—but the sky was still bruised purple and swollen with clouds.

Every shadow between the trees, every rustle in the soaked underbrush, set his nerves on edge. His voice was hoarse from calling, throat raw, but he refused to stop.

“Buckshot!” The name tore out of him, desperate, almost pleading.

Cassie’s steps slowed as they crept along the edge of the pasture, hoofbeats muffled by the thick mud. Theo’s heart sank heavier with each passing minute that brought no sign of the steady, familiar gait he knew so well.

Lightning flashed again—a brief, brilliant slash that revealed nothing but trembling branches and wet grass.

Theo gritted his teeth and scanned the horizon, willing the old horse to appear. But the storm was retreating, leaving behind a damp, uneasy silence pierced only by the occasional rumble of thunder and the drip of rain from heavy leaves.

The first hints of dawn were pale and uncertain, barely warming the cold air around them.

Cassie shifted restlessly beneath him, and Theo gave a soft, tired pat to her neck.

The damp earth beneath them squelched with every careful step Cassie took, the mud clinging to her hooves as if reluctant to let her go. Theo’s muscles ached from hours of riding, every joint stiff and protesting, but exhaustion was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not yet.

His eyes swept the fields once more, straining against the thinning light for any flicker of movement, any familiar shape. The rising sun cast a faint glow on the horizon, washing the sky with pale pinks and grays that did little to ease the heaviness settling in his chest.

The heavy scent of wet grass and earth mingled with the cool morning air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped cautiously, breaking the uneasy silence that followed the storm.

Theo exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the chill. “Come on, Buckshot,” he murmured, voice raw and ragged. “You’ve gotta be out here somewhere.”

Cassie snorted softly, as if understanding the urgency, and nudged forward again. They pushed through a thicket, branches dripping with rainwater that splattered on Theo’s jacket. The world felt vast and empty without Buckshot’s steady presence beside him.

A flicker of movement caught Theo’s eye — a dark shape at the far edge of the woods — but as they approached, it dissolved into shadows and mist. Another false hope.

Lightning cracked overhead, a distant rumble following closely behind, reminding him the storm wasn’t fully gone yet. He tightened his grip on the reins, steadying Cassie.

Theo’s heart hammered with a mix of fear and determination. He couldn’t leave without finding Buckshot — not after everything.

But the pasture remained silent, empty, save for the lingering whispers of the storm’s retreat.

The first true light of morning stretched across the sky, soft and hesitant, but Buckshot was still nowhere to be found.

Chapter 20: The Dark Edge

Notes:

This chapter contains VERY graphic descriptions of animal injury/death, intense emotional distress, nausea and vomiting, grief and trauma, and themes of loss and helplessness, along with dissociation. Readers who may be sensitive to vivid scenes of suffering, trauma, or emotional breakdown are advised to proceed with caution.

The dawn stretched across the sky in pale, uncertain hues, washing the world in a fragile light that barely warmed the cold earth beneath. The rain had finally stopped, but the land was slick and soaked, every leaf and blade of grass dripping with the storm’s remnants. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet earth and the faint metallic tang of something else — something darker.

Theo urged Cassie forward, the mare’s muscles still tight beneath him but obedient as he scanned the pasture once more. His throat was raw from hours of calling, his limbs exhausted from the endless search, but a stubborn knot of dread twisted deeper in his gut. The familiar shape of Buckshot was nowhere to be found.

He circled back toward the tree line where the mare’s hooves had disturbed the muddy earth earlier, a faint set of tracks partially erased by the storm’s onslaught. His eyes narrowed, catching the broken twigs and disturbed leaves — signs of a struggle.

Cassie whinnied softly, her breath steaming in the cool morning air as she paused, ears pricked and alert. Theo’s pulse quickened.

He dismounted with careful movements, the wet ground cold and unforgiving beneath his boots. Cassie nickered softly, nuzzling his side, but Theo’s focus was elsewhere, drawn forward by an unshakable smell of blood.

His boots pressed into soft, churned-up soil as he moved cautiously toward the edge of the trees. There, tangled in the dense underbrush and half-hidden by the morning mist, was the unmistakable form of Buckshot.

The horse lay sprawled awkwardly on the ground, his once strong and steady frame broken and still. The coarse, familiar strawberry coat was matted and soaked, streaked with dark crimson that glistened in the early light. The air was thick with the coppery stench of blood and something fouler — the raw, brutal scent of violence.

Theo’s stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin despite the chill.

Buckshot’s side was torn open in a jagged, ragged wound, flesh shredded and muscles exposed beneath slick layers of glistening, broken skin. Rivulets of dark blood pooled beneath the horse, seeping into the saturated earth, staining the grass with a sickly red.

The horse’s legs were twisted unnaturally, one rear hoof bent at a cruel angle, and strips of flesh hung loose like shredded cloth. Deep puncture wounds marked the flank, brutal and raw, as if something massive — something fierce and wild — had clawed and bitten with savage intent.

Theo’s breath caught sharply as the full horror of the sight slammed into him. His knees buckled, and before he could stop it, his stomach heaved violently. A harsh, guttural retch tore from his throat, hot bile burning his throat and spilling onto the cold, wet earth.

The taste was bitter and metallic, mixed with the lingering coppery tang of blood, making his mouth clench in revulsion. His hands trembled as he gripped a broken branch for support, knuckles white against the rough bark, but it did little to steady the wave of nausea crashing over him.

The guttural sounds echoed in the stillness, raw and uncontrollable, each heave wracking his body with desperate force. His vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes, mingling with the rain and sweat that clung to his face. He could taste the salt, the acrid sting of fear and grief, the overwhelming weight of helplessness crushing down on his chest like a physical force.

Cassie shifted beside him, whickering softly, sensing his distress but unsure what to do. The mare’s warm breath brushed his soaked sleeve as Theo’s body convulsed once more, bile spilling over the muddy ground, mixing with the dark, wet soil and the vivid blood soaking into the earth beneath Buckshot.

Theo finally collapses onto the damp earth, his body shaking with silent sobs, the raw, wrenching sound tearing from deep inside him. Tears streamed freely, mingling with the rain still clinging to his skin, carving clean tracks down his dirt-streaked face.

Each sob was a jagged shard of pain, jagging and relentless, tearing through the fragile shell he’d tried to hold up all night. His hands clawed at the cold, soaked earth beneath him, fingers digging into the mud as if trying to grasp something solid, something real to hold onto.

The world around him blurred, colors and shapes dissolving into a swirling haze as the storm’s final whispers faded into a suffocating silence. His breath came in uneven, gasping pulls, the sharp sting of tears burning in his eyes, mixing with the rain and grime that coated his face.

But then, slowly—almost imperceptibly—the sharp edges began to dull. The tears ran dry, the sobs quieted into ragged breaths, and a hollow numbness seeped into his limbs. It wrapped around him like a thick fog, dulling the raw pain to a cold, distant ache.

His body sagged further into the earth, heavy and spent, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The ground beneath him was cold and unforgiving, soaking through his clothes, chilling his skin beneath the rain-soaked layers. Yet he barely noticed, as if he’d drifted far away from himself — beyond the reach of feeling or thought.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, breath shallow and jagged, each inhale a labor, each exhale a surrender to the weight pressing down on him. The world around him — the wet grass, the bruised sky, the sharp scent of blood and broken earth — faded into a gray blur, distant and unreal, as if he were watching from somewhere outside his own body.

Inside, something fragile had shattered. The quiet resolve he’d clung to all night dissolved, leaving a hollow emptiness that echoed with every memory of Buckshot — his steady gait, the soft nicker, the warmth of his presence. It was like losing a piece of himself, a tether to a past that was slipping away, now stained with blood.

He wanted to scream, to rage against the cruelty of it all, but the sound never came. Instead, the ache settled deeper, cold and unyielding — a raw wound beneath his skin that no tears could heal. The numbness was a shield, a dark sanctuary where the pain could be muted, if only for a little while.

The numbness thickened, wrapping itself tighter around his mind and heart, dulling the sharp edges of grief into a heavy, leaden weight. Theo’s eyes stared blankly upward, tracing the bruised sky smeared with streaks of fading storm clouds, the pale morning light struggling to break through.

His fingers twitched weakly against the cold earth, as if testing the limits of sensation, but the numbness held firm, shutting down every desperate impulse to feel, to move, to fight. Sounds dulled—distant and muffled, as if he were submerged beneath thick, heavy water. His own breathing sounded alien, hollow and echoing in his ears, detached from the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His body felt impossibly distant, a foreign vessel that belonged to someone else. The weight of his limbs was gone, replaced by a strange, floating sensation, like drifting through space tethered only by fragile threads. He could see the soaked grass beneath him, but it felt unreal, a painted backdrop rather than something tangible.

Time stretched and warped, minutes folding into hours, each second melting away without meaning. He watched himself from above, a silent observer to the scene unfolding below — his face pale and drawn, eyes glassy and unfocused, lips parted slightly as if trying to speak but unable to form words. The raw ache in his chest was muffled beneath layers of thick fog, distant and unreachable.

The coppery scent of blood clung to the air, but it seemed muted, like a faint trace of perfume on an old photograph. His mind floated, slipping between shards of memory and fragments of the present, none quite real enough to grasp.

The storm’s remnants whispered around him, the soft patter of dripping leaves and the distant call of startled birds barely registering in his drifting consciousness. Sounds lost their sharp edges, melting into a dull hum that seemed to pulse from somewhere far away.

His thoughts fragmented, scattering like shattered glass in slow motion. Faces, voices, moments—all flickering and fading, elusive as smoke slipping through fingers. He caught brief flashes: Buckshot’s steady nicker, the frantic pounding of hooves, the jagged lightning tearing the sky apart—but each image slipped away before it could settle.

Theo’s breathing felt mechanical, like a machine running on autopilot, disconnected from the turmoil burning inside. His limbs tingled with a numb energy, neither cold nor warm, just… absent. The world was both impossibly vast and crushingly small, a silent void where time ceased to matter.

Chapter 21: White Noise

Notes:

This chapter contains themes of severe emotional dissociation

The sky had shifted from bruised purples to the washed-out gray of late morning, but Theo hadn’t noticed. He was still on the ground, still where he had been when the numbness first took hold, his knees drawn slightly toward his chest, his back pressed against the cold earth. The air was thick with the damp scent of rain-soaked dirt and the faint copper tang of blood — Buckshot’s blood, his blood. The storm had left behind a quiet so unnatural it felt wrong, like the world was holding its breath.

He hadn’t moved.

The curve of Buckshot’s body lay just beyond his reach, the horse’s form collapsed in a way that seemed impossible for something so strong. The dark, glassy eyes stared at nothing. Theo’s gaze had been locked on them for…minutes? Hours? He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing or just mimicking the motion out of habit.

The world had narrowed into a muted smear of color and sound. Grass, sky, shadow. Distant wind. His body felt impossibly far away — flesh and bone reduced to an image he was watching from somewhere high above. The wet cold of the ground didn’t touch him anymore.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

They started faint, somewhere on the edge of the field, growing closer in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Then came a second set — quicker, uneven, crunching over mud and dead leaves with none of the first’s patience.

Theo’s eyes tracked movement without really thinking about it. Two figures broke the tree line: one tall and lean with the sharp grace of someone dangerous, the other shorter, all tension and hurried strides.

Liam.

Theo blinked once, slow. The sound around him seemed to dip and surge — Liam’s voice carrying through the fog like something underwater.

“Theo—”

It was too loud, too sharp against the edges of his detachment. He flinched without meaning to, shoulders tensing as if to fold in on themselves.

Liam was already moving faster, breaking into a run. Peter hung back, eyes scanning the scene with something unreadable — caution, maybe calculation. He didn’t come closer right away, like he was gauging the situation before stepping in.

Liam didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees in front of Theo, mud splashing against his jeans. “Theo. Hey — look at me.”

Theo’s gaze drifted past him, unfocused, sliding over Liam’s face like it wasn’t anchored to anything. The movement felt mechanical, his body obeying no one’s orders — least of all his own.

The edges of Liam’s voice wavered against the fog in Theo’s skull, not quite breaking through. Words rose and fell, fractured into meaningless sound. His body felt like it was sitting in the middle of an echo chamber, everything bouncing back hollow and delayed.

Liam’s hands hovered for a second before landing — warm, solid, trembling just slightly where they gripped Theo’s upper arms.

“Hey,” Liam said again, quieter now, like the volume might scare him further away. “Theo, you’re freezing.”

Theo’s eyes blinked slow, mechanical. Not at Liam, not at anything, really. His peripheral caught the way Liam’s gaze darted sideways, following the invisible thread that tethered Theo’s attention to something else.

Buckshot.

The moment Liam’s eyes landed on the horse, Theo felt the air around them change — a sharp intake of breath, a silent recoil that cracked through the numb haze for just a second. Buckshot’s body looked wrong against the wet earth, legs folded in an unnatural sprawl, chest unmoving. The blood pooled beneath him had already begun to darken, coagulating into a thick, tar-like stain that spread into the grass.

Theo didn’t need to see Liam’s face to know it hit him hard. Liam’s hands tightened fractionally, the tremor in his touch no longer subtle.

“What… what happened?” Liam’s voice was low but splintered at the edges. He glanced back toward Peter, like maybe the older man could fill in the blanks Theo wouldn’t.

Peter had moved closer now, boots sinking into the softened ground. His eyes flicked from Buckshot to Theo and back again, his mouth tightening. It wasn’t pity — Peter didn’t do pity — but there was a weight in his stare that said he understood exactly how far gone Theo was in that moment.

“He’s dissociating,” Peter said, tone flat but not unkind. “Been sitting here a while by the look of him.” His gaze sharpened, taking in the slackness of Theo’s posture, the faint tremor in his hands. “We need to get him checked out.”

Theo’s focus skated between them without sticking. The conversation felt like it was happening a room over, muffled by walls he couldn’t see.

Liam’s hands slid down to his wrists, thumbs brushing over skin that felt both too sensitive and not sensitive at all. “Theo, come on. Talk to me. Please.”

Theo opened his mouth, but nothing came. The words were gone, scooped clean out of his chest. Even if he could force one past his throat, it would sound wrong — too loud, too sharp in the quiet.

Liam leaned in until their foreheads were almost touching, his voice barely a breath. “You’re scaring me.”

The admission should’ve sparked something — guilt, comfort, anything — but all Theo felt was the faint static hum in the space where emotions usually lived.

Peter crouched down beside them, his boots pressing into the soft earth with a slow, deliberate weight. He didn’t crowd Theo, but he didn’t back off either. The older man’s eyes tracked Theo’s face with the kind of precision that could strip you bare without a single question.

“We’re not doing this here,” Peter said finally, voice low but carrying. “He’s hypothermic, shocky…whatever the hell else is going on in that head of his, it’s not gonna fix itself sitting in the mud.”

Theo’s gaze stayed fixed on the dark shape just beyond Liam’s shoulder. The curve of Buckshot’s neck looked wrong now, a strange bend where there should’ve been a smooth arc of muscle. The flies had started to gather, their low, lazy buzz blending into the static in Theo’s ears until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Peter’s eyes flicked to Liam. “We need to get him to Melissa. Or your dad. Whichever one’s closer and can handle this without turning it into a circus.”

Liam’s jaw worked, his expression shifting between fear and that stubborn brand of determination Theo had always hated for being so hard to ignore. “Dad’s home,” Liam said. “And he’s not…he won’t make it worse.”

The words slid right past Theo, but the tone landed somewhere faintly recognizable — the sound of someone trying to be steady while they were shaking inside.

“Theo,” Liam said again, hands still cupped around his wrists like he was afraid letting go would send him spinning off somewhere they couldn’t follow. “We’re gonna get you warm, okay? You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

Safe.

The word tasted hollow in his head. Buckshot hadn’t been safe. Whatever safety had existed here had already been gutted and scattered with the blood in the grass.

Peter stood, the movement breaking the fragile stillness. “Help me get him up,” he said, stepping in just close enough that Theo could smell the faint scent of leather and motor oil clinging to his jacket.

Liam shifted, one hand bracing against Theo’s back while the other stayed locked around his arm. “We’re gonna stand, alright? Just lean on me. Don’t fight it.”

Theo’s knees didn’t exactly cooperate, but Liam and Peter made up the difference, each taking more of his weight than he could track. His boots dragged through the mud, catching on clumps of grass, the cold air scraping over the damp fabric clinging to his legs.

Somewhere between the field’s edge, the smell changed — less copper and dirt, more dust and faint oil from Peter’s truck. The shift in scent only made the nausea tighten low in Theo’s stomach, but his body didn’t care enough to react beyond a faint, restless tremor.

Liam’s grip on him stayed constant, a tether in the middle of all the soft-focus blur. “Almost there,” he murmured, even though Theo hadn’t asked. “You’re doing good.”

Peter yanked open the passenger door, the creak of metal sounding almost too sharp in the thick fog of Theo’s senses. Liam guided him in, maneuvering until Theo was seated, knees bent awkwardly, hands limp in his lap.

The door shut, cutting off the wind and the view of Buckshot’s body. The absence should’ve helped, but instead it left a pressure in his chest — like someone had slammed a lid on something that was still moving inside.

Peter’s shadow shifted across the glass, a faint blur in Theo’s periphery as the driver’s door opened. He didn’t slide in.

Instead, Peter’s voice came low, clipped, almost bored if you didn’t know him — which Theo did, at least enough to hear the thread of calculation under it.

“Liam, you drive him. I’ll take Cassie into town. She’s still here, and leaving her isn’t an option.”

The quiet weight of Liam’s silence followed. Theo’s gaze stayed locked on his own knees, the mud-streaked denim and faint tremor in his legs feeling like they belonged to someone else entirely.

“Yeah. Okay,” Liam said finally.

Peter’s boots crunched on gravel as he stepped back, the sound fading until it was swallowed by the open air. Somewhere further off, Cassie gave a restless snort, hooves shifting against damp ground.

The driver’s door opened again, this time with the scrape of denim and the familiar shift of Liam’s weight. He slid in without slamming the door, like he was afraid of shattering whatever fragile thread was holding Theo upright.

Theo didn’t look up.

The keys jingled softly, then the low, mechanical growl of the engine filled the cab. The vibration ran under Theo’s boots, up through his legs, settling like a muted hum in his chest.

The seatbelt tugged gently against him — Liam’s doing. “Just…stay still,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The truck rolled forward, and the scenery outside blurred into streaks of gray and green, the motion too smooth to track, too far away to matter. Theo’s body swayed with the turns, but it was all background, like someone had dropped him behind a pane of glass.

Peter’s shape appeared briefly in the side mirror, Cassie’s reins in hand, before the distance swallowed them both.

The road curved, and Liam’s voice cut through again, softer than before. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, alright? Just hang on.”

The words didn’t seem to want an answer. Even if they had, Theo couldn’t have found one. His mouth felt like it belonged to a photograph.

The hum of the engine, the muted scent of leather seats and dust, the faint thud of Liam’s boot tapping an unsteady rhythm against the floorboard — it all stacked in his head like mismatched layers of sound and color.

Liam’s hand left the steering wheel for a second, hovering uncertainly before it found Theo’s.

Not gripping — not even really holding — just letting his fingers brush lightly over the back of Theo’s hand like he was testing the idea before committing. The touch was warm in a way that barely registered against the cold locked in Theo’s skin.

But some part of him knew that it was Liam.

The weight of that thought didn’t break the fog, but it shifted in it, like a faint ripple over still water.

Liam’s thumb moved once, a slow drag over the ridge of Theo’s knuckles. A point of contact in the white noise.

Theo’s gaze stayed fixed somewhere past the window, on the blur of fence posts and dry weeds flicking by. His eyes didn’t burn, his chest didn’t tighten. It was as if the feeling had been siphoned off somewhere else entirely, leaving him here, hollowed out and pliant under Liam’s quiet persistence.

“You’re here,” Liam murmured, almost like he was reminding himself as much as Theo.

The truck rattled over a patch of uneven road, the jolt moving Theo’s body but not his mind. Still, Liam didn’t pull away. His thumb traced that same slow arc over Theo’s skin again, steady, unhurried, the rhythm matching the soft thud of his boot against the floorboard.

Theo didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. But his fingers twitched — barely, almost imperceptibly — as though some distant impulse had tried to answer and then drowned halfway.

Liam’s hand shifted, his palm flattening against Theo’s for a moment before retreating back to the wheel. “Almost there,” he said quietly.

The hum of the engine filled the space between them. A dry smell of dust and sun-warmed metal curled in Theo’s nose. Everything felt too far away and too close at the same time.

Chapter 22: Sheltered Silence

Notes:

This chapter includes sensitive portrayals of dissociation and shock

The crunch of gravel shifted beneath the tires as the truck slowed, the familiar sound folding into the low rumble of the engine. Liam’s house rose ahead, the pale siding washed gold under the late light, the wide porch steps catching the lengthening shadows of the trees.

Theo barely registered it.

Liam’s hand was still there, resting against his, not pushing for more but not letting go. A quiet tether, stubborn as gravity.

The truck rolled to a stop near the drive’s edge. A few feet away, Peter’s rode in, Cassie’s reins swayed in his hand, her ears flicking as she sidestepped the sudden stillness. Peter didn’t bother looking toward the truck; his attention was locked on the mare as he led her toward a shady patch beneath a sprawling oak. He looped her reins loosely over a low branch and gave her flank a quick pat, the gesture efficient but not unkind.

Liam cut the engine. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the hum that came before it, the air pressing in close.

“Hey,” Liam said, low and even, leaning just slightly toward Theo. “We’re here.”

No answer.

Theo’s gaze was still fixed out the window, eyes tracking nothing, like they could only see past the edges of the day.

Liam’s jaw tightened. He didn’t try shaking him or calling his name again. Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, boots hitting the gravel with a dull crunch. A moment later, the passenger door swung open, bringing a wash of warmer air into the cab

Peter’s shape appeared beside him, brows drawn in faint irritation that didn’t quite mask the flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Is he okay?” Peter asked, his voice low but edged.

“Don’t know,” Liam said quickly. His hand was already at Theo’s seatbelt, easing it loose without the sharp snap of a buckle hitting plastic. “Help me get him inside.”

Peter stepped in closer, one arm sliding under Theo’s as Liam coaxed him out of the seat. Theo moved like someone half-remembering how to walk — not resisting, but not present enough to direct his own weight.

The air outside was brighter, harsher after the muted cab. Dust rose under their steps, clinging to the cuffs of Liam’s jeans. Peter’s hold was firm but measured, the kind of steadiness born from handling injured things that might bolt if pressed too hard.

They reached the porch in a few uneven steps, Liam keeping his body angled so Theo wouldn’t catch on the railing.

The front door opened before they could knock.

David stood there, framed in the doorway like the house itself had leaned forward to meet them. His gaze swept over the three of them in one sharp, unbroken line, catching on Theo last. Something in his expression tightened, the faintest crease between his brows.

“What happened?” he asked, voice quiet but carrying.

“He needs to sit down,” Liam said, sidestepping the question. His tone wasn’t defensive so much as urgent, the syllables clipped short.

David stepped back immediately, holding the door wider. The smell of wood polish and faintly of coffee curled out from the entryway, warmer than the air outside.

“Inside,” David said.

Liam and Peter maneuvered Theo over the threshold. His boots caught slightly on the lip, but Liam’s hand steadied his arm before he could stumble. The change in light made the interior feel almost dim, shadows stretching long across the polished floorboards.

“Couch,” Liam said, already steering him toward the living room.

David followed, his steps measured. “Do I need to call anyone?”

“No,” Liam said, sharper than intended. Then, softer: “Not yet.”

Peter eased his grip as they lowered Theo onto the couch, but he didn’t step back immediately. He watched Theo with the kind of stillness that suggested he was waiting to see if something would break loose — words, movement, anything.

Theo sat where they placed him, shoulders slightly hunched, hands resting limply against his thighs. His eyes had shifted from the faraway haze of the drive, but only enough to land somewhere in the space just past David’s shoulder.

David stayed standing for a moment, gaze moving between Liam and Peter like he was weighing whether to push for more details now or wait until Theo was out of earshot — though Theo had the sense his ears weren’t much use to him right now.

“What happened?” David asked again, slower this time.

Peter shifted his weight. “I was out near Miller’s ridge when the storm hit. We think Buckshot spooked bad and ran off. It…” His eyes flicked toward Liam, then away. “It didn’t end well.”

David’s jaw moved once, like he was locking something in place behind his teeth. “And Theo?”

“He was there.” Peter’s voice was flatter now, the words quick like he was trying to keep them from catching. “Didn’t move for a long while. We found him still with—” He cut himself short, the sentence dissolving. “He hasn’t said anything since.”

Theo heard the words like they were spoken through glass. They touched his skin but didn’t sink in.

Liam had dropped to sit on the couch beside him, close enough that the heat from his thigh seeped through the damp denim clinging to Theo’s leg. His hand rested just above Theo’s knee, thumb rubbing a slow arc over the fabric — small, steady movements, like he could coax something back into motion without asking for it outright.

David crouched in front of him, the way people do when they want to meet someone’s eyes without looming. “Theo,” he said, voice pitched lower than before, the cadence slowing into the steady rhythm of someone used to pulling people back from edges. “It’s David. You’re at Liam’s place. You’re safe.”

Theo’s gaze slid toward him, but not enough to focus.

“That’s good,” David murmured, as if the almost-look counted. His hands didn’t reach for Theo yet, but they hovered near, ready if needed. “You’re not hurt anywhere? No pain?”

The question hung between them. Theo thought about it — or tried to — but the answer was slippery, without shape.

“He’s freezing, Dad,” Liam said quietly, like it was a medical fact that demanded priority. “Hands are like ice.” His thumb pressed against the side of Theo’s knee again, more firmly now.

David nodded once. “Alright. Let’s get him warm first, then I’ll check him over.”

Theo’s eyes found the line of Liam’s wrist where it rested against his leg. The movement of Liam’s pulse was almost visible there, quick under the skin. He kept watching it until the shapes in the room blurred again.

David’s hand landed lightly on Liam’s shoulder. “Go grab him something dry. Sweats, hoodie, socks — thick ones.”

Liam’s touch lingered on Theo’s knee for a fraction longer before he pushed up from the couch. “Don’t move,” he told him, like Theo was in any danger of doing so. His voice was soft, though, not an order.

Peter, who had been leaning against the doorframe with an air of deceptive detachment, straightened. “I’ll get blankets.” He didn’t wait for an answer, disappearing toward the hallway that led to the linen closet.

David rose smoothly, crossing the living room toward the fireplace. The logs stacked neatly to one side caught in his periphery; he crouched, selecting a few with practiced efficiency. The scrape of wood against wood was loud in the stillness, punctuated by the soft thump as he set each log into place.

Theo’s eyes followed the motion without moving his head. The clink of metal as David adjusted the grate. The faint hiss when the first twist of kindling caught.

The sound of the fire growing — crackle, snap, pop — was strangely far away, even though it was happening just across the room.

Peter returned first, arms full of heavy wool and fleece. He didn’t speak, just set the stack on the arm of the couch beside Theo and began unfolding them with deliberate care, like each motion was meant to telegraph calm.

Liam came back moments later, a bundle of black and gray in his hands. His own clothes, from the smell of them — detergent sharp over the faint musk of something warmer, something that was just him.

David glanced at the bundle in Liam’s arms, then at Theo. His voice stayed low, even, like he didn’t want to jolt him.

“Liam, take him to the bathroom. Help him get changed and dried.”

Theo didn’t move. His gaze had settled somewhere around the fire again, unfocused, but the way his shoulders tightened was subtle and sharp, like the words had found him even if he didn’t react to them outright.

Liam shifted closer, the fabric of his jeans brushing Theo’s thigh. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning just enough into his line of sight. “We’ll just get you out of the wet clothes, okay? Then you can sit by the fire.”

Peter, already draping one of the blankets over the back of the couch, looked between them. “I can—”

“I’ve got him,” Liam cut in, quick but not sharp, his fingers brushing Theo’s wrist like as he glared at Peter.

The bathroom light was harsh after the muted glow of the living room. Liam shut the door behind them, the quiet click cutting off the muffled crackle of the fire.

Theo’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides. The wet denim clung stubbornly, cold in a way that bit through more now that he was aware of it.

Liam set the bundle of clothes on the counter, then turned back to him. “Do you want me to…?”

Theo blinked at him, like the words took an extra second to reach him.

“I’ll be quick,” Liam said finally, soft enough it could’ve been reassurance or permission. His hands moved slowly toward the hem of Theo’s jacket, giving him time to stop him if he wanted.

He didn’t.

The zipper rasped down, the sound too loud in the small space. Liam eased the jacket off his shoulders, careful not to jostle him more than necessary, then set it aside. The shirt underneath clung damply; Liam’s fingers hesitated at the hem, but Theo shifted enough to make it easier.

Liam didn’t say anything about the goosebumps rising along his arms, just reached for the sweatshirt waiting on the counter. “This one’s warm. I just got it out of the dryer.”

Theo didn’t answer, but his arms moved when Liam lifted the sweatshirt for him. The fleece inside was soft, a little worn in that way that meant it had been washed a hundred times.

The jeans were slower, stubborn against the drag of movement, but Liam kept it steady. When Theo was finally in dry sweatpants, Liam crouched to tug the cuffs down over his ankles.

Liam stayed crouched for a beat longer than necessary, his fingers smoothing the fabric over Theo’s ankle like maybe the small motion could anchor them both.

“Better?” His voice was quiet, almost tentative, but not the kind of tentative that was afraid of the answer — more like he just wanted Theo to know there wasn’t any rush.

Theo’s gaze was still on the tile, but there was a flicker in his eyes now, a faint shift like he’d remembered the room existed around him. His breathing had evened out some, though it was still shallow at the edges.

Liam straightened slowly, one hand finding the back of Theo’s neck. His palm was warm, thumb brushing idly along the tense line of muscle there. “You’re here,” he murmured, like it wasn’t just a fact but a reminder. “You’re with me. Fire’s going downstairs, Peter’s probably pretending he’s not worried, and Dad’s… well, Dad’s Dad.”

Theo’s throat worked, the smallest swallow, but no words followed.

“That’s okay,” Liam said, his thumb pressing lightly once, almost like a squeeze without the grip. “You don’t have to talk right now. Just… breathe. Okay? Just breathe.”

Slowly, carefully, Liam lowered Theo’s head, just an inch or two, enough to bridge the gap between their heights. Theo’s body didn’t resist — didn’t even react — but Liam felt the subtle slackening in the muscles beneath his palm.

His lips brushed softly against Theo’s damp forehead, warm despite the lingering chill clinging to his skin. The kiss was feather-light, more an anchor than a claim.

Theo’s eyelids fluttered as if trying to push through a fog, the faintest quiver running through his frame. Liam’s thumb brushed away a stray raindrop caught in the dark strands of hair plastered to Theo’s forehead.

“Just breathe with me,” Liam murmured, voice low, steady. “In…and out. In…and out.” His chest rose and fell in a slow, deliberate rhythm — a heartbeat Theo could follow, tether himself to.

For a few long seconds, there was only the sound of their breathing. Liam’s forehead rested lightly against Theo’s, a quiet promise written in the silence between words.

Then, a sharp, insistent knocking sliced through the fragile calm.

“Theo! Liam!” The voice was urgent, edged with worry — Peter’s voice, shaking with something deeper than impatience.

Liam’s jaw tightened, a flash of irritation crossing his face at the interruption.

With a reluctant sigh, Liam gently eased his forehead away from Theo’s and straightened up.

“Coming,” he called softly, shooting a quick glance back at Theo, who remained still, eyes heavy and unfocused.

Liam reached down, looping an arm carefully around Theo’s waist, steadying him as he helped him rise. Theo’s movements were slow, uncoordinated, as if he was still half underwater, but he didn’t resist.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Liam murmured, voice softer now, masking the sharp edge of annoyance. “We’ll check on you and then you can rest.”

They moved carefully through the narrow bathroom doorway, the sudden brightness of the hallway making Theo blink again, disoriented. Liam kept a firm hold on him, guiding each tentative step as Theo’s boots shuffled awkwardly against the floor.

Waiting in the living room was David, already crouched by the armchair with a portable blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope draped around his neck. His eyes flicked from the door to Theo and back again, concern tightening his features.

Liam led Theo forward, lowering him gently onto the edge of the chair. Theo’s head lolled slightly to the side, resting against Liam’s arm for a moment before he sagged further, as if all the weight of the night had finally settled in his bones.

David moved swiftly, pulling the cuff from his bag and wrapping it carefully around Theo’s arm. His hands were practiced, sure, even as his eyes never left Theo’s face — searching for any sign of awareness, any flicker of response beneath the glazed surface.

“Easy,” David said quietly. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Theo’s breath was shallow, irregular, and his fingers twitched once before settling still. Liam crouched beside him again, fingers still brushing softly over Theo’s wrist, feeling the faint pulse beneath the skin.

The cuff hissed softly as it inflated, the rhythmic squeeze pressing around Theo’s arm like a steady heartbeat. David’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened through the stethoscope, then exhaled.

“Blood pressure’s low,” David muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Likely from dehydration, shock… and probably the cold.”

Liam’s eyes darkened with worry, but he kept his voice calm as he rubbed small circles on Theo’s arm. “It’s okay, Theo, you’re okay.”

Theo’s gaze drifted to Liam’s face, blurry and distant, and then back down at the floor. His lips parted, as if trying to say something, but the words got caught somewhere deep inside.

David nodded slowly and began taking Theo’s temperature, hands gentle but firm. “We’ll need to get some fluids in you soon, and maybe some food when you’re ready.”

Liam swallowed hard, still holding Theo’s hand. The room was quiet except for the soft hiss of the cuff releasing and the occasional rustle of clothing.

David’s voice cut gently through the quiet, his eyes full of concern as he watches his son and Theo. “We should probably stay the night here. He’s not ready to be alone, and we need to monitor him closely.”

Peter nodded, his gaze flickering toward Liam before settling back on Theo, still slumped and distant. “Makes sense.

David glanced up the stairs. “Jenna’s asleep still, so we’ll need to keep things quiet.”

Liam’s hand tightened just a fraction around Theo’s fingers, grounding him again. He looked down, voice soft but firm. “Come on, I’ll get you to bed.”

Theo’s head lolled toward Liam’s shoulder, heavy and unresisting. His body moved only when Liam shifted his weight, lifting gently to help him to his feet. The room spun faintly around him, a slow carousel of light and shadow that made his knees wobble despite Liam’s steady grip.

The hallway felt colder, narrower, the walls pressing in as Liam guided him up the stairs. They reached the guest room, a small space with pale walls and a neatly made bed. Liam eased him down, arranging pillows beneath his head with practiced gentleness.

Theo’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion finally washing over him like a wave. Liam sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, brushing a damp strand of hair from Theo’s forehead, voice barely a whisper. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Then Liam slipped quietly from the room, closing the door behind him with the softest click.

From the hallway, Theo heard muted voices — Liam’s low tones blending with David and Peter’s in the living room below, words indistinct but filled with obvious concern.

Chapter 23: Into The Fire

Notes:

This chapter contains intense depictions of alcohol abuse, self-destructive behavior, and substance use as a coping mechanism.

The house was steeped in quiet, a fragile calm that settled deep in the walls and clung to the lingering traces of fear and exhaustion. But inside Theo’s chest, something brittle cracked free, a restless pulse that refused to be quelled by soft words or careful hands.

Liam’s voice echoed faintly from downstairs, weaving through the narrow hall and down the stairs — low and measured as he spoke with his dad and Peter. The words were muffled, indistinct, drifting upward like smoke that couldn’t quite reach him.

Theo lay on the guest room bed, the thin mattress barely cushioning the ache beneath his ribs. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with fatigue but not yet ready to surrender to sleep. The softness of the pillow against his cheek was a dull comfort; the room felt too still, too small, a cage with shadows for bars.

A pulse of something raw and restless pushed at the edges of the numbness, threading its way through the fog clouding his mind. Movement. Escape.

His fingers twitched at his side. Slowly, carefully, Theo shifted his body, feeling the weight of Liam’s sweatshirt against his skin. The warmth was a tether, but it also felt like a chain he needed to slip free from.

The voices below were distant — Liam’s calm, David’s steady, Peter’s low — and they gave Theo enough space. Enough time.

He slid off the bed, the room tilting gently as he stood, boots scraping softly on the worn hardwood floor. His legs were unsteady, each step slow, deliberate, like walking on the edge of a dream that was fracturing.

Theo moved toward the window, the early dawn pale and fragile beyond the glass. The sky was a soft wash of blues and grays, the world still quiet beneath the thick hush of morning.

He lifted the window latch, the metal cold under his fingers. The frame groaned softly as he pushed it open, letting in a faint breeze that stirred the damp strands of hair across his forehead.

Outside, the yard was drenched in the soft light of early morning, the grass slick with dew and the remnants of the storm. The world was still asleep — still unaware of the shadow slipping away from the safety of warmth and watchful eyes.

Theo climbed through the narrow opening with a careful ease that belied the chaos in his mind. His feet hit the earth quietly, the soft mud cold against his soles through his worn boots.

He paused a moment, catching his breath, heart pounding a slow, uneven rhythm beneath his ribs. The fog inside him had thinned but not lifted, the world still distant and slightly unreal.

The road stretched out before him, empty and inviting. The streetlamps flickered low, their glow fading with the coming light.

Theo’s footsteps were silent, swallowed by the thick mist curling along the edges of the town. The houses stood dark and silent, shuttered windows like closed eyes.

His mind was a fractured map, memories and urges colliding beneath the haze. The cold and the loneliness twisted together, sharp and raw.

Theo’s feet moved almost automatically, the cold mud pressed against his bare soles barely registering through the dull fog settling in his mind. His toes curled against the wet earth as he stumbled forward, pulled by some deep, aching craving he couldn’t yet name through the fog in his head.

The mist curled low along the street, swallowing the edges of the world and turning familiar shapes into ghostly shadows. The silence was complete, save for the soft splash of Theo’s bare feet against puddles, the occasional crunch of gravel underfoot.

He didn’t think about the cold seeping into his skin or the sharp bite of dew soaking into his clothes. His mind was fragmented — like shards of a broken mirror scattered across an empty floor — each jagged piece reflecting only a fragment of what had driven him here.

All he knew was the pull, a hollow ache deep inside that twisted tighter with every heartbeat. The craving was a dark coil winding around his chest, tightening until it was all he could feel.

His hands hung loose at his sides, fingers twitching, trembling with need and exhaustion. The night’s numbness was slipping, replaced by a restless, raw hunger that clawed beneath the surface of his fractured senses.

The liquor store appeared ahead, a flicker of neon light cutting through the gray haze. The dull hum of its sign felt like a pulse, a beckoning heartbeat matching the wild rhythm thrumming in Theo’s chest.

His footsteps faltered for a fraction, a flicker of awareness crossing the mist that clouded his mind.

Theo’s gaze locked on the dim glow of the shop’s window, glass reflecting the early light and the storm’s aftermath in fractured patterns.

He didn’t pause.

Theo stood frozen for a heartbeat outside the liquor store’s flickering neon glow, the cold seeping deeper now — into his bones, his thoughts. For a moment, clarity stabbed through the fog. Sharp, accusing, unbearable.

Guilt curled tight in his chest, squeezing like iron bands. He could hear Brett’s voice — sharp with frustration, laced with worry — reminding him of every promise broken. Liam’s quiet hurt, the way his eyes had searched for Theo’s in the dim light, desperate for something to hold onto.

He could feel their weight pressing down on him, like a ghost sitting heavy on his shoulders.

But the craving roared louder.

It drowned out the shame, the pleading, the fractured remnants of hope. The raw need to feel something — anything — beyond the crushing numbness was overwhelming, relentless.

Theo swallowed the bitter taste of regret before it could fully form, pushing it aside like a shadow slipping out of reach. His fingers clenched into fists, nails biting into palms he didn’t quite feel.

He didn’t want to hurt them. He didn’t want to hurt himself.

But the dark coil tightening inside was a storm he couldn’t quell.

His fingers trembled as they reached out, hesitating a heartbeat before closing around the cold metal handle. The familiar chill bit into his skin, electric and immediate, dragging him further from the fading fog.

But then—

The door was locked.

His gaze flicked to the dim glow of the “Closed” sign, the empty parking lot beyond, the streetlamps casting long, weak shadows that stretched like fingers across cracked pavement.

The craving twisted, a cruel knot tightening in his gut, pulling at his resolve.

His fingers flexed, searching, finding a small piece of metal — an old forgotten scrap wedged near the doorframe, rusted but sharp. The kind of thing that could fit just so.

With trembling hands, Theo slid it beneath the lock, the motion clumsy but desperate. His heart thundered, a wild staccato in his ears, as the old tumbler clicked open.

The door gave way with a soft creak, the faint scent of aged wood and spilled spirits washing over him.

He stepped inside, the chill of the early morning retreating behind the heavy glass as the store’s stale, dusty air enveloped him. Rows of bottles glinted dimly in the muted overhead lights, a fractured mosaic of color and, most of all, promise.

Theo’s fingers trembled as they slid over the cold glass shelves, tracing the outlines of bottles lined up like soldiers in neat rows. Each label promised something — escape, oblivion, a fleeting peace — but his eyes were drawn only to the strongest, the darkest spirits hiding in the back.

His breath came uneven, the faint scent of wood and alcohol mingling with the stale air around him. The dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to dance with the pulse of his ragged heartbeat.

He reached for a bottle of whiskey — thick, amber liquid swirling like molten gold behind the glass. The glass felt slick beneath his fingers, cool and unforgiving, as he pried off the cap with a shaky twist. A sharp hiss escaped, a quiet promise of fire and forgetting.

Theo tipped the bottle to his lips, the first burn searing down his throat like liquid fire, chasing the cold emptiness he’d been carrying all night. The warmth spread quickly, a slow tide of heat radiating through his chest, loosening the tight coil of craving and dread that clenched inside him.

He gulped again, the bitter, smoky taste lingering on his tongue as the liquid slid down his throat, setting his stomach churning with a mix of relief and raw, aching emptiness.

His vision blurred at the edges, the sterile rows of bottles melting into soft, wavering shapes. The rough texture of the bottle against his lips grounded him for a moment, tethering him to a dangerous kind of clarity that whispered promises he wanted to believe.

Theo’s hands shook, spilling a drop that ran down his chin, salty and bitter as it mixed with the dampness on his skin. The bottle felt heavy in his grip — a lifeline and a noose all at once.

The whiskey’s burn slid down Theo’s throat, warming the hollows where ice had settled for too long. But even as the fire spread, a darker hunger clawed beneath the surface — sharper, more desperate, twisting the ache tighter in his chest.

His gaze flicked across the shelves, searching without thinking, pulled by something raw and unnameable.

Then he saw it.

A bottle resting low on the shelf, its liquid a deep, unsettling shade — dark amber flecked with flecks of gold, the color of Buckshot’s eyes just before they dulled forever. The memory slammed into him with a jarring weight, the horse’s glassy gaze trapped in that liquid flame.

For a moment, time fractured.

His hand shot out with sudden violence, smashing the bottle against the floor. The glass shattered in a sharp explosion, shards glittering like broken stars across the cracked linoleum. The scent of spilled liquor mixed with the metallic tang of broken glass, sharp and suffocating.

He finished the bottle in his hand with reckless gulps, the fire roaring louder now, swallowing the guilt and the memories in a blaze he couldn’t extinguish. The bitter burn was both punishment and reprieve — a cruel salve.

When the last drop was gone, he slammed that bottle down too, the sharp crack ringing like a shout in the empty store.

His hands trembled, heart hammering against his ribs like a wild thing desperate to escape.

The craving was no longer just a whisper. It was a roar — deafening, insistent, and merciless.

But Theo didn’t stop.

He reached for another bottle, letting the dangerous clarity wash over him, the jagged edges of his fractured mind smoothed, if only briefly, by the bitter, burning flood.

The bottle was heavier this time, a dark, nearly black glass that gleamed faintly under the flickering store light. Theo’s fingers closed around it with a desperate grip, the cold surface grounding him just enough to steady the tremor in his hands.

He raised it to his lips, tilting it back, letting the harsh liquid spill down his throat in thick, scalding waves. The taste was sharp, acrid — almost choking — yet intoxicating in its cruelty. The fire spread quickly through his chest, chasing the emptiness like a wildfire devouring dry brush.

Each gulp was an escape, a fragile thread that tethered him to a fleeting sense of control, even as the chaos raged beneath. His vision blurred further, the edges of the room melting into a haze of swirling colors and jagged shadows.

The bottle’s weight shifted in his hands, heavy and promising, whispering lies of numbness and peace.

But the ache — the dark, gnawing craving — only grew.

His breath came ragged, uneven. The air felt thick, suffocating, yet the burning flood inside his veins begged for more.

He slammed the empty bottle onto the cracked linoleum once more, the sharp sound fracturing the silence like a scream trapped inside his chest.

Theo didn’t pause. His fingers trembled as they searched blindly for the next bottle, eyes glassy and unfocused as they landed on another dark shape, half-hidden in shadow. He pulled it free, the glass cold and unforgiving beneath his fingertips. The cap popped with a hiss, sharp and sudden in the silence, and before he could hesitate, the liquid was sliding down his throat again — thick, burning, relentless.

The warmth spread fast, racing through his veins like wildfire, setting every nerve alight with desperate fire. It drowned out the cold that gnawed at his bones, the hollow ache clawing at his chest, the jagged edges of memories he could barely hold onto.

He gulped down the bitter flood again and again, the bottles piling up around him like fallen sentinels. Each slam against the floor was a shout — a fracture in the quiet night — as if the noise could shatter the weight inside him.

His head lolled back, eyes squeezed shut as the world wavered and tipped, a dizzying dance of light and shadow. The taste burned his throat raw, but it was the only thing that made the endless numbness relent, if only for a moment.

Breath ragged, hands shaking, he poured more—never enough, never stopping—feeding the hunger that roared louder than reason, louder than guilt, louder than the quiet voices begging him to stop.

He drank to forget. He drank to feel. He drank to disappear.

The room spun faster, the bottles blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that melted and shifted beneath his lids. The sharp edges of reality softened, crumbling like fragile glass in the heat of his desperation.

Theo’s hands trembled violently now, the warmth in his chest battling the cold numbness crawling up his spine. The hollow ache twisted, gnawing at the edges of his mind like a restless beast clawing for escape.

A distant part of him—the smallest, quietest corner—whispered that this wasn’t right. That the burning liquid wasn’t the answer, that every swallow was a lie, a betrayal to those who cared, to himself.

But the whisper was swallowed, crushed beneath the roar of craving that echoed in his bones.

He slammed another bottle down, glass shattering against the cracked linoleum, fragments scattering like shattered promises.

His vision tunneled, the cold edges of consciousness fraying. The taste of fire and regret was all that remained, and with every gulp, he sank deeper into the dark, chasing oblivion in a sea of liquid flames.

Chapter 24: Fractures and Fault Lines

Notes:

This chapter contains heavy themes including alcohol abuse and intoxication, suicidal ideation and references to self-harm, emotional and psychological distress.

The first thing Theo was aware of was the sound of his own breathing. Slow, uneven, rattling in his throat like he’d swallowed gravel. The air was cold and damp against his face, and when he blinked, the world swam—dull shapes and smears of light shifting without sense or order.

He didn’t remember deciding to lie down, but the ground beneath him was hard and cold, gritty against his cheek. Somewhere nearby, a bottle rolled lazily, the faint clink of glass on asphalt ringing in the quiet like an accusation. Others were scattered around him—he could feel them pressing into his hip, his ribs, his arm. He’d lost track of how many he’d gone through, but the burn in his throat and the lead in his stomach told him it had been enough to put down something bigger than him.

He tried to move, but his body didn’t listen right. His arms felt far away, unresponsive, like they belonged to someone else. The street beyond the narrow alley was quiet—morning quiet, with that strange stillness that came after the first round of traffic had already passed but before the real hum of the day began.

Footsteps.

He wasn’t sure if he heard them first or felt them in the way the ground faintly vibrated. They were quick, urgent, not the slow, bored walk of someone passing by. And there was a voice—low, sharp, tense. He couldn’t make out the words, not at first.

Then, clearer, closer: “Oh my god — Theo!”

Liam.

Theo tried to focus, but his eyes were heavy, and the light hurt. He let them close again, the darkness easier to handle. Something in his chest twisted at the sound of Liam’s voice—too scared, too raw. He wanted to tell him to stop sounding like that, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Hands were on him suddenly—one on his shoulder, shaking him gently, another brushing his hair back from his face. The touch was warm, too warm against the clammy chill of his skin.

“Theo, hey — look at me. You’ve gotta wake up.”

“M’awake,” Theo mumbled, though it came out slurred, almost unrecognizable. His lips felt numb, and the words tasted like stale alcohol and something bitter he didn’t want to think about.

Liam’s face hovered above him, pale and tight with panic. “No, you’re not. You’re barely even here — God, Theo, what did you do?” His voice shook, sharp edges fraying into fear.

Theo blinked slowly, as if the world would hold still if he moved slow enough. “Drank,” he said simply, letting the word drag out of his mouth. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re—” Liam broke off, his voice cracking, hands tightening in Theo’s sweatshirt. “It looks like you’re killing yourself.”

Theo stared past him, past the broken crates and the bottles strewn in the dirt, eyes unfocused. “That was kind of the point,” he said, so quietly it barely moved the air between them.

Liam flinched like the words were a physical blow. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare—”

Theo’s mouth twitched, then split into a small, crooked grin that had no real humor in it. A hoarse laugh broke out of him, thin and uneven, rattling against his ribs. It hurt, but he didn’t stop.

“Why not?” he slurred, the words rolling together, soft at the edges. “S’true. ’S not like anyone’d miss me.”

Liam’s hands tightened again, knuckles white against the faded fabric of Theo’s sweatshirt. “I’d miss you,” he said, the words coming out fast, almost desperate.

Theo tilted his head, blinking up at him like it was the first time he’d ever heard that. Then he laughed again, louder this time, until it hitched into a cough that burned down his throat. “You’re…you’re cute when you lie.”

“I’m not lying!” Liam’s voice cracked like glass under pressure.

Theo’s grin softened into something almost lazy, almost cruel in its detachment. “Then you’re stupid,” he said, voice dipping to a drawl. “Can’t save someone who doesn’t… wanna be saved, Dunbar.”

Liam’s jaw clenched, his eyes wet and furious. “You think I care if you want to or not? I’m not letting you—”

Theo cut him off with another laugh, shorter, breathier. “Let me go? S’funny. Like I’m holding on to anything.” His head lolled to the side, vision tilting until the night sky was swimming in his peripheral. “Been… letting go for a long time.”

Something in Liam’s expression broke then — his shoulders hunched, his grip faltered, and for a second, Theo thought he might just drop him and walk away. But instead, Liam’s hands were on his face, rough and warm, forcing Theo’s eyes back to his.

“You can’t do this to me,” Liam said, barely more than a whisper.

Theo’s brow furrowed faintly, and his grin turned into something sharper, cutting without the weight of real intent — just the drunken need to push, to see how far Liam would bend before he broke.

“Do what?” he mumbled, voice thick with liquor. “Leave you? ’S not hard, Liam. People do it all the time. You’ll survive. You’ve already survived me leaving once, sure you can do it again.”

His voice dropped lower, rougher, each word dragging out like a slow poison.

“Maybe I’m just a mess you don’t wanna clean up anymore. Like…like broken glass you’re tired of sweeping under the rug. You think you’re strong enough to hold on to me when I’m just—” He hiccupped, voice breaking on the last word. “—breaking everything.”

Liam’s breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than anything Theo could’ve thrown physically. His hands trembled as they slid down from Theo’s face, falling limply to his sides like they’d lost their strength.

“You don’t mean that,” Liam said, voice raw and shaking. “None of it. You’re just hurting. I know you are, but—”

“Am I?” Theo cut in, bitter and slurred. “Or am I just tired? Tired of pretending I’m not drowning all the damn time. Tired of being the fuck-up. The disappointment. The guy who can’t fix himself no matter how many times you try.”

Theo lets out a jagged sigh, the twisted smile still lingering on his lips. “I don’t wanna be here anymore, Liam. Can’t you understand that? I don’t want to be here. Not like this. Not broken, not drunk, not… dead inside.”

Liam’s eyes widened, disbelief and fear twisting his face. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that,” he repeated, voice cracking like it might shatter. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “You’re not dead inside. You’re not broken beyond repair.”

Theo’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Repair? There’s no fixing this, Liam. Not for me.” He blinked, the alcohol thick in his veins making the sky sway with every breath. “I’m a fucking wreck. Always have been. Always will be. And you? You’re gonna get tired. And then you’re going to leave.”

“I’m not—“

“You don’t get it, Liam,”Theo’s voice grew harsher, fueled by the poison coursing through his veins. “Everybody leaves. Mom left. Dad left. Tara left. Buckshot… he left too.” The names spilled out like curses, bitter and heavy. “All gone. All gone ‘cause I wasn’t enough to hold onto.”

Liam’s face was pale, eyes glassy, and Theo could see the cracks spreading — the way his shoulders curled like the weight was finally too much. It should’ve made him stop. It didn’t.

The liquor had him, loosened the locks in his head until every ugly thought rattled free. “You think you’re special? Think you can be the one who finally stays?” His words were slurred but sharp, like glass dragged slow across skin. “Don’t fool yourself, Dunbar. You’re just…next in line. Next name I’ll add to the list when you’re gone.”

“Maybe I should just make it easier for you,” Theo mumbled, his head tipping forward like it was too heavy to hold up. “Save you the trouble of leaving. Save everyone the trouble.”

“Theo—” Liam’s voice cracked hard enough that Theo almost flinched.

But almost wasn’t enough.

Theo leaned back, grin pulling at his mouth again, a nasty little echo of humor that wasn’t there. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve thought about it before. More than once. Some nights it’s the only thing that feels… honest.” He shrugged, slow and loose, like none of it mattered. “Wouldn’t even take long. Rope in the barn. River’s not far. Gun in the truck. Pick your poison, Dunbar.”

Theo could feel Liam shrinking in front of him, and still—still—he pushed. The sour burn of whiskey on his tongue made every word feel like it had teeth.

“Hell,” Theo said, voice low but mean, “maybe I’ll just walk into traffic. Quick. Clean. Nobody has to deal with the mess after.” His lip curled. “You’d probably even thank me for it once the guilt wore off.”

Liam shook his head, once, sharp. “Stop it.”

“Why? Afraid I’m telling the truth?” Theo’s voice cracked halfway through, but the bite stayed. “You can’t save me, Liam. You’re not a hero here. You’re just the idiot who keeps grabbing onto a sinking ship like it’s gonna stop you from drowning.”

The hurt in Liam’s eyes was the kind that stuck under your ribs, sharp and splintered. Theo knew it. He’d seen it in mirrors enough times to recognize it instantly.

Liam’s jaw trembled. “You think I’d be better off if you—” His voice caught, broke, like the words were glass in his throat. “—if you were gone?”

Theo smirked, but it was a weak thing, his head lolling against the wooden post of the store’s porch. “Wouldn’t have to watch me fall apart, would you? Wouldn’t have to pick me up when I can’t even stand. Wouldn’t have to look at me and see every single thing you couldn’t fix.”

The air between them was so tight it felt like it might snap—

“Alright,” another voice cut in, smooth as a blade and just as dangerous. “I think we’ve both heard enough of this pity party.”

Theo blinked sluggishly, eyes dragging toward the shadow leaning against the edge of the wall. Peter looked irritatingly untouched, arms folded, one brow arched like he’d been standing there long enough to get bored of the scene.

“What are you—” Theo started.

Peter ignored him, gaze cutting to Liam. “Go back to your dad, Liam.” His tone left no room for argument. “You’re about thirty seconds from making this worse for both of you.”

Liam’s head snapped toward Peter, jaw tight. “I’m not leaving him like this—”

“Yes, you are,” Peter said, voice low but firm, each syllable landing like the click of a lock. “Because right now, he’s drunk, mean, and looking to drag you down with him. And you’re too… sentimental to see where this is headed.”

“I’m not—”

Peter’s eyes sharpened, silencing him without effort. “Liam.” The name was a warning. “Go.”

Theo let out a raspy little laugh, waving his hand in some vague gesture. “Hear that, Dunbar? Go fetch. Peter’s got me.” His grin was all jagged edges, the kind that tried too hard to look unbothered. “Bet he’s better company anyway.”

Liam didn’t move. His knuckles were still white, his eyes locked on Theo’s face like he could hold him there by will alone. “I’m not walking away from you.”

Theo rolled his head back against the post, eyelids heavy. “You’re not walking with me either.”

Peter’s patience thinned. He stepped forward, catching Theo’s arm to haul him up. Theo jerked away immediately, the sudden movement sloppy but defiant. “Get your hands off me.”

“Unfortunately, sweetheart,” Peter drawled, “your opinion isn’t worth much when you can’t stand without leaning on someone.”

Theo shoved at him, the motion weak but sharp with intent. “I said — don’t touch me.”

Peter didn’t so much as flinch, though his gaze softened in a way that was almost imperceptible. “You’re making a scene,” he murmured, just for Theo. “And you’re better than this, Teddy.”

“Don’t start—” Theo began, but his voice cracked, and he hated it.

Peter ignored the crack. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re still coming with me before you say something you can’t take back.”

Liam stepped closer, bristling. “You can’t just—”

“I can, and I am,” Peter cut in, eyes narrowing just enough to hold Liam still. “You’re too close to this. Go cool off before you both drown in this little martyr complex of his.”

Theo gave a breathy, bitter laugh. “Hear that? Martyr complex. Sounds fancy. You should write it on my tombstone.”

Peter’s jaw twitched, but he crouched slightly, meeting Theo’s bleary gaze. “You don’t get to joke about that with me, Raeken.”

For a moment, Theo’s smirk faltered. But then he leaned back again, slurring out, “You’re not my keeper, Peter.”

“Technically,” Peter said, straightening, “I am.”

Peter’s eyes slid to Liam again, calm but edged with steel. “Go back to your dad’s,” he said, voice slow and deliberate, like each word was nailed into place. “I’ll bring him there when he can walk without falling on his face. And tell Brett to get his ass over here while you’re at it.”

That last part dropped into the air like a live wire.

Theo’s head snapped up too fast, vision tilting. “No,” he said, sharper than he meant to be, the word cracking in his throat. His pulse kicked hard, panic flooding hot and sour through the alcohol haze. “Don’t— Liam, don’t you dare.”

Peter barely glanced at him. “He’s your best friend. He should see—”

“No,” Theo barked again, fumbling to push himself upright, his shoulder thudding against the store wall when his legs refused to cooperate. “He’s not seeing me like this. I’m not—” His voice faltered, the edges of it fraying into something thin. “I’m not doing that to him again.”

Theo’s breath came too quick, too shallow, each inhale scraping raw against his ribs. He could already picture it — Brett’s face when he saw him like this, that quiet downturn of his mouth that wasn’t quite anger but worse. Disappointment. Like Theo had confirmed every ugly thing Brett had been trying not to believe for years.

He shook his head, hard enough that it made the porch and Peter’s shape blur. “I’m not—” He swallowed, his throat tight. “I’m not putting that look on his face again. Not today. Not—” His hand curled in on itself, nails biting into his palm. “Not ever.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to drown yourself in alcohol if you didn’t want Brett to see you like this,” Peter said, each syllable deliberate, pressing in with a quiet but relentless force. “You don’t get to pick and choose who sees the wreckage when you decide to fall apart like this.”

Peter didn’t soften. “You want to talk about endings?” His eyes darkened, shadowed with something older, something cold and real. “This isn’t an ending, Theo. This is a goddamn pause. But if you keep letting the poison win, the people who care will be left standing over a grave you dug yourself. And that’s not just your loss. It’s theirs too.”

Theo’s head lolled to the side, gaze glassy and distant. The fight wasn’t gone, but it was buried deep under the weight of all Peter’s words.

Liam’s footsteps hesitated, but Peter’s hand on his shoulder was firm, guiding him back with a quiet finality. “Go,” Peter said again. “Tell Brett. Tell him to come. We’ll get through this.”

Theo let out a bitter, empty laugh, the sound breaking like a cracked mirror. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, voice thick. “Get through this…”

Peter didn’t reply. Instead, he shifted his weight, steadying Theo with an arm around his shoulders before guiding him away from the wall.

Liam’s eyes stayed locked on Theo’s for a moment longer, before he turned and disappeared down the street, his footsteps fading into the soft hum of waking town.

Theo let the bitterness pool inside him, bitter and raw, but somewhere beneath it all, beneath the haze and the ache, a fragile thread held fast.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be the end after all.

Chapter 25: When The Walls Fall

Theo’s head spun slowly as the front door closed behind him, the weight of the morning pressing heavy on his shoulders. The house was quiet, soft light spilling in from the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes and a low murmur of voices breaking the oppressive silence.

Peter’s grip on his arm was firm, steady as they navigated the familiar hallway. Theo’s legs ached, knees buckling more than once, but Peter didn’t falter, hauling him up without a word.

In the kitchen, David looked up, his face folding into a gentle but concerned expression. Without asking, he pulled a chair out for Theo and began setting out a plate of warm food, the comforting aroma of toasted bread and eggs filling the room.

“Eat,” David said simply, his voice low but kind. “You need it.”

Theo’s fingers hovered above the plate, hesitation stiffening his movements. He didn’t trust the hunger inside, or the way the food might taste, but the ache in his stomach was undeniable. Slowly, he allowed himself to take a bite.

Brett sat across the room, his posture stiff, eyes shadowed with a cautious pain. Theo didn’t look at him — couldn’t meet the quiet judgement and worry there.

Theo chewed slowly, swallowing the bitter taste of the morning’s mistakes along with the food, his breath growing steadier with each passing minute. The haze of alcohol faded gradually, replaced by a dull, aching clarity that he wished he didn’t have.

Brett shifted in his seat, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the edge of the table. His eyes never left Theo’s face, searching for a crack, a sign that something might break through the wall Theo was so carefully building.

“You really did it this time,” Brett said quietly, voice taut with a mixture of frustration and something rawer — fear, maybe. “I mean… how could you just go out and do that? Drink yourself into oblivion like it’s nothing?”

Theo kept chewing, slow and methodical, eyes fixed on the plate like it was some foreign object he didn’t quite recognize. The words slid off him, unacknowledged.

Brett’s hands clenched into fists on his lap. “You don’t get to ignore this, Theo. Not after everything you’ve been through. Not when we’re all still here trying to pull you out. While I’m still here.”

Liam, standing a few feet away near the doorway, sighed deeply and stepped forward. His voice was calm but firm. “Brett, just sit down. You’re not helping right now.”

Brett’s gaze flickered to Liam, the tension momentarily loosening. He took a slow breath and lowered himself into the chair, but the hurt in his eyes didn’t fade.

David cleared his throat softly, stepping closer to the table with a calm authority that filled the room without raising his voice.

“Theo,” he said gently, pulling a chair out beside him and sitting down with deliberate ease. “I know you’re not in a place where words feel easy or even welcome right now. But I need you to listen, okay? Not as some lecture, not as a punishment, but because you’re here, and you matter.”

Theo’s eyes flickered to David, the usual defiance dimmed by exhaustion.

David’s hands folded calmly on the table. “Alcohol is a poison to your body, especially when it’s already under strain. What you did wasn’t just a mistake. It was dangerous. You risked your life.”

Theo swallowed, his gaze dropping back to the plate.

David continued, voice low but insistent. “I’m not here to tell you you’re weak or broken. You’re sick, Theo. And you deserve care, not judgement. That means being honest — with yourself, and with the people trying to help you.”

He reached over and gently set a cup of water in front of Theo, the condensation beading softly on the glass. “Start with this,” he said quietly. “Hydrate. Your body’s been running on empty, and water is the first step toward feeling even a fraction better.”

Theo’s fingers hovered over the rim for a moment, then closed around the cool glass. He brought it to his lips, the simple act grounding him more than he expected. The water slid down slow and steady, washing away some of the harshness clinging to his throat.

David kept his voice calm, patient. “After that, rest. Don’t push yourself to do more than you can handle. Your body and mind both need time to heal.”

Theo blinked, the haze in his eyes shifting slightly. The words weren’t falling on deaf ears like before. Maybe it was the way David said them — without anger or disappointment — just steady support that felt…different.

David continued, “Tomorrow, we’ll get you checked out properly, run some tests, make sure your body’s not holding onto any hidden damage.”

Theo nodded slowly, the weight inside him feeling a little less like a boulder and more like something he could carry.

David’s calm tone deepened, careful but firm. “Theo, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

Theo’s eyes flicked up, wary, already bracing for bad news. “What now?”

David sighed softly, folding his hands on the table. “Given how much you drank, and what I know before, I think it’s time we consider a rehab program. You need a safe place where you can focus on recovery without the pressure or distractions.”

The words hit Theo like a sudden gust of cold wind. His chest tightened, breath catching. “Rehab?” His voice cracked, disbelief mingling with panic. “No. No way. I’m not going anywhere like that.”

David didn’t flinch or raise his voice; instead, he leaned in just a little, voice soothing. “I know it sounds scary. You’re not alone in feeling that way. But it’s not a punishment. It’s treatment. A chance to get help that you deserve.”

Theo’s fingers clenched the edge of the table, knuckles white. “They’ll treat me like some junkie. Like I’m fucking broken.”

David’s eyes held steady. “You’re not broken. You’re struggling. And you deserve respect and care — not judgement. Rehab isn’t about labels. It’s about giving you the tools to heal and rebuild.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, the fight flaring back up inside him despite the exhaustion pulling at his limbs. “I’m not going to some place where they keep me locked up and tell me what to do,” he spat, voice shaking with anger and fear tangled together. “I’m not some experiment.”

David’s gaze softened, understanding threading through his concern. “No one’s talking about locking you up. Rehab is a community — people who get what you’re going through, with professionals who guide you through it. You won’t be alone. You’ll have control over your treatment.”

Theo swallowed hard, the walls inside him trembling. “Control’s the first thing I lose,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose it again.”

“That’s why you need this,” David said quietly. “Because trying to do it alone, like this,” he gestured gently to Theo, “it’s not working. You’re risking everything. Your life, your future, the people who care about you.”

Theo’s eyes flickered to Liam and Brett, both watching silently. The knot in his chest tightened again, a mix of shame and helplessness. “They’d be better off without me.”

David shook his head slowly. “They don’t think that. I don’t think that. And deep down, I don’t think you do either.”

A long silence stretched, thick with all the things left unsaid. Finally, Theo’s voice broke through, raw and small. “I’m scared.”

David reached out, resting a steady hand on Theo’s. “Good. That means you’re human. And that means you still want to fight.”

Theo squeezed the hand back, fragile but real. “Okay. Fine.”

David gave a small nod, the faintest relief flickering across his face. “Okay. That’s a start. The next step is getting you stable enough to go—physically and mentally.”

Theo’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table again, anxiety prickling under his skin. “How long… how long would I have to be there?”

David’s tone remained steady, patient. “It depends. Usually, it starts with a detox phase that lasts about a week, where they help you safely clear the alcohol from your system. After that, there’s residential treatment — anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months — depending on your progress and what you need.”

He paused, letting the information settle before continuing. “You’ll have counselors, group sessions, individual therapy. They’ll teach you coping skills, how to handle triggers, and help you figure out what’s behind the drinking.”

David glanced at the nearly untouched plate in front of Theo and gently urged, “Finish your food. Your body needs strength, especially now.”

Theo hesitated, then picked up his fork again, chewing slowly as the room settled into a heavy silence.

David’s eyes flicked toward the doorway where Liam and Brett stood, tense but quiet. He gave them a subtle warning look — soft but unmistakable — as if telling them to hold their ground but keep their words in check.

Then David’s eyes met Peter’s across the room, a silent exchange passing between them. Without a word, David stood and quietly moved toward the hallway, pulling Peter gently aside, out of earshot but still within view. Theo caught fragments of their low conversation — David’s tone careful but firm, Peter’s occasional sharp nods. The way David rested a hand briefly on Peter’s shoulder suggested a weighty discussion about what needed to happen next, plans and precautions laid out quietly in the early morning light.

Theo’s heart thudded unevenly, the mixture of fear and relief twisting in his gut. He wasn’t sure what exactly they were saying, but the serious look in Peter’s eyes made it clear: this wasn’t something they were taking lightly.

Liam, who’d been standing near the doorway, shifted slightly and without breaking eye contact, moved to sit down beside Theo.

Theo let his shoulder brush against Liam’s, reluctant but grateful. He didn’t say anything. Words felt like too much right now. Instead, he focused on the warmth of the company and the food, the steady presence that didn’t demand more than he could give.

With one last bite, Theo pushed the empty plate away slowly, leaning back against the chair. Liam’s hand found his, fingers lacing together without a word, grounding him in a way nothing else had.

Theo let his thumb drift slowly over the back of Liam’s hand, the motion small but deliberate, a quiet tether to keep himself from slipping too far into the churn of thoughts in his head. His chest still felt tight, each breath catching a little on the way in, but the connection kept him anchored.

Liam didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions or try to fill the silence. He just stayed there, close enough that Theo could feel the heat radiating off him, steady in a way that made the knot in Theo’s stomach loosen — just slightly.

From the hallway, David’s low voice murmured something to Peter, followed by a sharper reply from Peter that Theo couldn’t catch. The tone alone told him they were still talking about him, about what came next. He should’ve felt angry, cornered. Instead, he just felt tired.

Brett shifted on the far side of the room, his chair creaking against the wood floor. Theo didn’t look up. He didn’t want to see the expression on Brett’s face — didn’t want to face the truth of how bad things had gotten through someone else’s eyes.

Liam’s grip tightened slightly, a gentle squeeze like he was reminding Theo he was still here, still holding on.

Theo swallowed and leaned a little more into Liam’s side. “You’re too quiet,” he muttered, voice scratchy.

“I’m just… giving you space,” Liam said softly, turning his head enough that Theo could feel his breath against his temple. “You’ve had enough people talking at you today.”

Theo huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Guess you’re learning.”

Liam’s mouth curved into the faintest smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess I am.”

The hum of conversation from the hallway faded, replaced by the sound of David’s footsteps returning.

David stepped back into the kitchen, the faint lines of concern still etched into his face, though his gaze softened when it landed on Theo’s empty plate.

“Well,” he said, moving closer, “looks like you cleaned your plate.” His voice carried no condescension — just genuine warmth, like he’d been hoping for this small win all morning. “Good. That’s exactly what your body needs right now.”

Theo glanced down at the table, one corner of his mouth twitching, unsure if it was meant to be a smile or not. “Didn’t have much of a choice,” he muttered, though his tone lacked the bite it usually carried.

David didn’t press. He reached out and gave the back of Theo’s chair a gentle pat. “Choice or not, you did it. That’s good.”

Theo gave a slight shrug, but the weight in his chest eased a fraction.

David nodded once, satisfied enough not to push further. “I’ll get you some more water, then you should rest. Your body’s been through a lot, and it needs time to catch up.”

Theo let out a slow breath, leaning back in the chair again. “Yeah… okay.”

David moved toward the counter, the quiet clink of glass and the running tap filling the space for a moment.

David returned with the glass, setting it gently in front of Theo. “Sip it slow,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument but still carrying that steady calm that made it hard for Theo to push back.

Theo wrapped his fingers around the cool glass, the condensation dampening his skin. He took a small sip, the water sitting heavy but clean in his stomach.

Liam stayed silent beside him, thumb brushing over the back of Theo’s hand in a rhythm so subtle it felt almost unconscious.

David leaned a hip against the counter, arms folding loosely. “After you rest, we’ll talk about the next couple of days — appointments, timing, what you’ll need to pack. Nothing’s being forced today. Just…a plan.”

Theo nodded slightly, eyes fixed on the water. “A plan,” he echoed, the word tasting foreign but not entirely unwelcome.

Liam’s gaze flicked from Theo to David, his jaw working like he was turning the words over before letting them out. “Dad…what about visiting?” His voice was careful, almost hesitant, but there was a sharp edge underneath it. “If Theo goes, are we gonna be able to see him? I mean…me, Brett, Nolan, Alec—” he stopped himself, glancing at Theo briefly before looking back at David. “We’re not just gonna drop him off somewhere and hope for the best, right?”

David studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “No. That’s not how it works. Depending on the program, visits are usually allowed after the first week or two—once he’s through the detox phase and starting treatment. Some places even have family therapy sessions, so you can be part of the process.”

Brett shifted in his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest. His voice, when it came, was low but steady. “And what if he doesn’t want us there?”

The question hit like a stone in Theo’s ribs, even though Brett wasn’t looking directly at him. His eyes stayed on David, but the weight of the words settled squarely in Theo’s lap.

David tilted his head slightly. “Then that’s his choice. No one’s going to force visits. But—” his eyes flicked to Theo, holding for a beat, “—I think having people who care show up matters more than you might think.”

Theo’s throat tightened. He shifted his grip on the glass, feeling the slickness of condensation against his palm. It wasn’t like he didn’t want them there. He just couldn’t picture it — not without the creeping dread of them looking at him the way people look at something that’s already halfway gone.

Brett uncrossed his arms, pushing away from the doorframe. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t come,” he added, softer now. “I just…don’t want to make things worse.”

Theo’s mouth felt dry despite the water. He wanted to say you wouldn’t, but the words stuck, caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. So instead, he looked down into his glass, watching the ripples settle.

David let the quiet stretch, like he knew pressing any further would snap the fragile thread holding the room together. “We’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his tone even. “Let’s not worry about it right now, okay?”

Theo nodded faintly, not trusting his voice.

Chapter 26: Small Victories

The first thing Theo noticed was the light.

It wasn’t even full daylight yet — just a pale, gray wash filtering through the blinds — but it still felt like it was pressing against his eyelids, hot and intrusive. His head throbbed in dull, uneven pulses, like someone had wedged a heartbeat inside his skull and turned the volume all the way up. His mouth tasted stale, sour, and dry enough to make him grimace before he even opened his eyes.

The second thing he noticed was weight. Not the heavy, suffocating kind in his chest — though that was there, too — but the literal weight of something warm pressed against the side of his bed. He cracked one eye open, the blur slowly shaping itself into Liam, curled on his side on top of the blankets, one arm draped across the space between them like he’d been mid-reach when sleep finally caught him.

Theo turned his head — slowly, because the pounding in his skull protested every degree of movement — and caught sight of Brett, slouched in the armchair across the room. His long legs were awkwardly folded up, head tipped back, mouth slightly open. The position looked wildly uncomfortable, and yet Brett was out cold.

For a moment, Theo just lay there, listening to the quiet. There was no clatter from the kitchen yet, no voices in the hallway—just the low hum of the heater and the occasional soft exhale from Liam.

It should’ve been peaceful. Instead, it made something twist in Theo’s stomach.

When he shifted, Liam stirred, blinking against the dim light. His voice was still rough with sleep. “You up?”

Theo made a low, noncommittal sound. “Barely.”

“You look like crap,” Liam said, but it wasn’t sharp — it was almost gentle.

“Feel like it, too,” Theo muttered, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. His skin felt clammy, and there was a faint tremor in his fingers that he couldn’t quite stop.

Brett’s voice came from the corner, scratchy but awake now. “Water’s on the nightstand. Drink it before you do anything else.”

Theo glanced over, spotting the glass within reach. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, the movement making the room sway for a heartbeat before it settled. The first sip of water felt like a shock to his system, cool and sharp against the dryness in his mouth.

“Slow,” Brett warned, his voice still hoarse from sleep. “Don’t chug it. You’ll regret it.”

Theo narrowed his eyes slightly but obeyed, taking another measured sip before leaning back against the pillow.

Liam sat up fully, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward on the bed. “Dad said we’d get moving late afternoon,” he said, glancing briefly at Brett before looking back to Theo. “So you have time to just…exist for a bit before we start.”

“Start what?” Theo asked, even though he already knew.

“Packing,” Brett answered, standing to stretch his long frame before stepping toward the bed. “And figuring out what you actually want to bring. You and I both didn’t really bring much to the ranch, so it’ll be easy.”

Theo groaned softly, sinking further into the pillow. “Can’t I just… not?”

“Not an option,” Liam said.

Brett, standing at the foot of the bed now, crossed his arms. “You should try eating something. Even if it’s just toast.”

Theo shook his head almost immediately. “Not hungry.”

“Not the point,” Brett said, already turning toward the door. “David said it’s best to for you to eat. I’ll see what’s in the kitchen.”

Brett’s footsteps faded down the stairs, leaving the room quieter — not silent, though. Liam was still watching him with that half-concern, half-affection look that Theo wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to.

“You’re pale,” Liam murmured, his voice softer now that Brett was gone. He shifted closer, the bed dipping under his weight, and reached out to brush his fingers lightly along Theo’s jaw. “And clammy. You feeling worse?”

Theo shook his head, though it was a slow, heavy motion. “No. Just… me.”

Theo let out a soft, humorless laugh that rattled slightly in his throat. “Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated, though it wasn’t convincing. His fingers twitched absently against the blanket, mind hazy and stubborn with the fog of hangover and residual anxiety.

Liam didn’t push, didn’t argue. He just shifted again, letting his body ease alongside Theo’s, warm and grounding. The brush of his hand along Theo’s jaw was light, deliberate, careful.

Theo’s eyes drifted closed again, letting the warmth of Liam’s body seep into him in the only way he could tolerate. It wasn’t suffocating, not like people had been in the past. It was welcoming, careful, patient.

Theo stayed half-leaning into the pillow, half-leaning into Liam, the dull throb behind his eyes making words feel heavy, like dragging them through mud before they reached his mouth. Liam didn’t press, didn’t ask him to talk, just let him exist. That alone felt like… breathing without resistance, and for a few moments, Theo almost believed he could get used to it.

“You’re gonna do fine,” Liam said softly, voice a warm anchor in the quiet room. “I mean, rehab. I know it sounds—” he paused, chewing on the words, “—scary. But you’ll be okay.”

Theo turned his head slightly to glance at him, squinting through the haze. “Yeah? You really think so?” His voice came out rough, as if the act of speaking had been a workout in itself.

“I do,” Liam said, steady and sure. He reached up to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen across Theo’s forehead. “They’ll help you, Theo. And not just… you know, physically. They’ll help you figure stuff out without letting it destroy you first.”

Theo let out a humorless little laugh, the sound low and brittle. “Sounds like a lot of work. And then the rules. And…people telling me what I can’t do.”

“Rules aren’t a trap, you know,” Liam said quickly, gently, like he was defending something sacred. “They’re…boundaries. Safety nets, too. And you’re not alone there. I’ll be checking in. Brett will. Dad. Nolan and Alec, too. I’ll make sure you know that people who care aren’t gonna disappear on you while you’re trying to get better.”

Theo closed his eyes again, letting the weight of Liam’s presence settle into him. It was grounding, even if he didn’t entirely trust it yet. “I don’t like feeling like…like I’m being watched,” he admitted softly.

“You’re not being watched,” Liam countered immediately. “You’re being looked after.”

“I just… I don’t like feeling weak,” he admitted quietly, voice low, almost a whisper. “Like I can’t handle anything on my own.”

“You’re not weak,” Liam said immediately, pressing his thumb to the back of Theo’s hand in a small, deliberate gesture. “You’re human. You’ve been through hell and you’re still here. That’s not weakness. That’s…like, surviving.”

Theo let the word roll around in his head, tasting strange but not unpleasant. “Huh.”

The creak of the bedroom door drew Theo’s attention, and Brett appeared in the doorway carrying a small tray with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of orange juice. His hair stuck up in a way that made him look perpetually disheveled, and there was a faint shadow under his eyes from sleeping poorly.

“Breakfast,” Brett said, setting the tray carefully on the nightstand. “Eat something before we start moving around. David said you need fuel.”

Theo let his eyes drift over the plate, then up to Brett. A smirk tugged at his lips despite the headache still hammering behind his eyes. “You made this?” he asked, feigning disbelief. “Somehow, after all these years of living in foster homes and leaving every kitchen in smoke, you’ve graduated to… edible?”

Brett shot him a look that teetered between offended and exasperated. “Hey, hey! I’m not terrible at cooking anymore!”

Theo laughed, low and humorless at first, then it broke into a small, genuine chuckle. “Brett, I’ve seen the kitchen disasters. I’ve lived through them. This… miracle on a plate doesn’t erase the years of charred toast and burnt eggs, buddy. You’re a fraud.”

Liam let out a soft laugh from where he was sitting on the bed, watching the exchange. His eyes were warm, amused, but still full of concern. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, Theo,” he teased, though there was no bite in his tone.

Theo grabbed the fork and took a small bite of the eggs, rolling his eyes as if in reluctant approval. “Hm…okay, I’ll admit, not bad. But don’t let it go to your head. This is a one-time fluke. Statistically, you’re still dangerous in the kitchen.”

Brett muttered something under his breath about “overly critical best friends” and leaned against the wall, but there was a small, tight smile tugging at his lips. Theo could tell he was trying not to beam from the faint praise.

The soft thump of footsteps on the carpet announced David before he even spoke. He stepped into the guest room quietly, hands folded loosely in front of him, carrying the same calm authority that had kept Theo grounded yesterday.

“Morning,” he said, voice low but steady. “I see you’re eating. Good.” He gave a small nod toward the tray Brett had brought. “Keep that up — fuel is important for the day ahead.”

Theo swallowed another bite, shrugging slightly. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t need a lecture.” His tone was half teasing, half defensive, though the underlying exhaustion kept it from being sharp.

David crouched slightly to meet Theo’s level, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the nightstand. “I’m not here to lecture, Theo. I just want to make sure you understand what’s coming this afternoon.”

Theo’s stomach tightened at the words. He had known this moment was coming, but hearing it articulated made it real in a way that made his chest ache. “Right…rehab,” he muttered.

David’s gaze was calm, unwavering. “Yes. We’re going to make sure you get there safely, settled in, and comfortable with the first steps of your treatment. You’ve already agreed that this is what you need — and I want to make sure you know exactly what to expect, so there are no surprises.”

Theo let the fork hover halfway to his mouth. “And… Brett and Liam? They’re coming with us there?”

David glanced toward the bed. Liam’s hand was still lightly resting over Theo’s, and Brett leaned against the wall, watching silently. “They’ll be with you until it’s time to go. Then they’ll help with the drop-off and check in afterwards.”

Theo shifted slightly on the bed, the fork clattering gently against the plate as he set it down. “Um… before we go… am I gonna… go back to the ranch first? You know… pack my stuff? Say goodbye to the Hales and Nolan and Alec?”

David tilted his head thoughtfully, considering the question. “Yes. That makes sense. You’ll need closure before we go. Packing your things, saying proper goodbyes — it’s part of the process. You’ll get your space and time to do it.”

Theo let out a low, almost humorless chuckle, his fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “Yeah… closure. Sounds fancy.” His eyes flicked to Liam, who squeezed his hand gently, thumb brushing over Theo’s knuckles.

“You’ll be fine,” Liam said softly. “I’ll be there. Brett will be there.”

Theo nodded again, more firmly this time. “Okay…okay.” The simple act of acknowledgment felt heavy with meaning, like he was committing to it in a small but real way.

David straightened, hands returning to his sides, voice steady and calm. “Then we’ll plan it that way. Lunch first, then the ranch. You’ll pack your things, say your goodbyes, and when you’re ready, we head to the rehab facility.”

Theo picked the fork back up with a hum, poking at the eggs on his plate with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each bite felt like a small victory, like he was reclaiming some fraction of control over his body after the chaos of the past twenty-four hours. Brett hovered nearby, giving a few gentle, almost imperceptible nods of approval each time Theo swallowed.

When the plate was finally clean, Theo set it down with a soft clink. “Done,” he muttered, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Miracle accomplished. I survived your cooking… Brett.”

Brett shook his head, grumbling, but there was a lightness in his eyes that had been absent all morning. “Don’t get used to it,” he said. “This was a one-time thing. Statistically speaking, you’re lucky to be alive right now.”

Theo chuckled low in his throat, the sound rough but genuine. Liam let out a soft laugh, resting his head lightly against Theo’s shoulder.

Finally, Theo pushed himself upright, a little stiff and sore but steadier than he had felt earlier. “I… should probably—shower, I guess,” he said, rubbing at his temples. The thought of standing under hot water, letting it wash away both the physical and mental residue of yesterday, was strangely appealing.

Brett moved to the doorway, quietly clearing space for him. “Try not to flood the bathroom,” he teased lightly, though the warmth in his tone was unmistakable.

Theo laughed, shuffling toward the bathroom, the soft creak of the floorboards underfoot echoing in the quiet house.

As the door closed behind him, the faint trickle of running water began, signaling the start of something that felt both ordinary and monumental. For the first time since the haze of alcohol and fear had taken over, Theo allowed himself to imagine a clean slate — a chance to wash away not just the night before, but the weight that had been pressing down on him for far too long.

Chapter 27: Leaving The Nest

Notes:

Sorry for the late chapter. Was stuck in the hospital ward thing (I don’t know what it’s called) for like four days

The ride back down to the ranch was quieter than Theo expected. Not silent—Brett and Liam were there, after all—but quieter in a way that settled in his bones. David drove with the kind of calm focus that made it easy to forget how heavy the afternoon loomed. The hum of the engine, the rhythmic flick of the turn signal, the gravel crunching under the tires—everything felt too steady compared to the chaos running wild in Theo’s chest.

He sat in the backseat between Brett and Liam. Brett’s knee bounced a little, a restless rhythm against the seat that Theo could feel through the leather. Liam leaned against the window, his hand brushing Theo’s every now and then like he wanted to anchor him in place without making a big deal out of it.

Theo didn’t say much. He wasn’t sure what he could say. Every mile they drove closer to the ranch felt like a countdown he wasn’t ready for.

When the familiar sprawl of the Hale ranch came into view, Theo’s stomach twisted. The place looked the same as it looked before the storm — the horses grazing lazily in the pasture, the barn doors propped open, sunlight catching against the weathered boards of the main house. Familiar. Safe.

David parked near the porch. He didn’t rush them out of the truck; he just set the brake and let the engine idle for a few seconds before turning it off. “Remember,” he said quietly, glancing into the backseat, “this isn’t about explanations or guilt. It’s about honesty. You owe them that much. And you’ll find they owe you support in return.”

Theo swallowed hard and nodded, following after Brett before he could think too long about it.

The porch creaked under their weight as the three of them followed David up. He knocked once, short and firm, and then pushed the door open.

Inside, the living room smelled faintly of coffee and wood smoke. Cora was on the couch, her feet tucked under her, flipping through a book. She looked up first, her brow furrowing immediately at the sight of Theo with Brett and Liam flanking him.

“Theo! Oh my god, there you are! Where have you been?” she asked, setting the book aside. “You look—” Her words cut off, and she rose to her feet. “What’s going on?”

Theo hesitated, throat dry. He didn’t know how to start.

“We came to talk about Theo’s plans for the rest of the summer,” David said, calm and measured. “Theo’s made a decision. He’s going into treatment. Rehab.”

The word hung in the air like smoke.

Cora blinked, her mouth parting. “Rehab?” Her gaze snapped back to Theo, sharp but worried. “For the alcohol?”

Theo rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Cora’s expression tightened, her eyes scanning Theo’s face like she could piece together all the cracks he was trying to hold shut. “You’re actually…going?” Her voice wasn’t judgmental — it was softer than Theo expected, almost hopeful, but there was a thread of worry woven so deeply into it that it hurt to look at her. “Like…today?”

Theo shifted his weight, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Yeah. Today.” He tried to sound certain, like the decision had been clean and easy, but it came out rough, uneven.

Brett stepped forward half a pace, his presence steady at Theo’s side. “It’s the right move, Cora. He needs it.”

Cora’s jaw tightened as she glanced between them, and then back at Theo. “I know,” she said quickly, almost defensively. “I know he needs it, I’m just—” She cut herself off, shaking her head as if words weren’t enough. She crossed the space between them and pulled Theo into a hug before he had a chance to brace himself.

Theo stiffened at the sudden contact, caught off guard by how fiercely she held on. He could feel the tremor in her arms, the way she was clutching him like letting go might make him disappear.

“Don’t you dare think you’re doing this alone,” she whispered, low but urgent. “You hear me? You’re family. We’re not just letting you vanish into some facility without us in your corner.”

Theo’s throat closed up. He wanted to say something sharp, deflect it with humor, but the words stuck. All he could manage was a short nod against her shoulder before she pulled back.

Derek’s voice came from the doorway to the kitchen. “She’s right.”

Theo glanced over and found Derek leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his tone firm. “If you’ve decided this is what you need, then I’m behind you. No questions. No debate.”

The simplicity of it knocked the air out of Theo more than Cora’s hug had. Derek wasn’t one for long speeches — just clean, solid commitment. Theo swallowed, nodding once, too quickly, like it was the only way to keep from unraveling.

Peter, who’d been sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, finally set down his coffee cup with a faint clink. “I’m proud of you, Teddy.”

Theo grimaced before he could stop himself.

Peter just smiled, that sly little curve of his mouth that always made Theo feel like he was being watched under a microscope. But there wasn’t any sharpness in it this time, no mocking edge. Just quiet amusement, and something almost softer tucked behind his eyes. He didn’t say anything else, and somehow that unsettled Theo more than if he had.

Theo dragged his gaze away, trying to ground himself, but Liam’s unease was right there beside him. He could feel it radiating off the younger man like heat, the way Liam shifted his weight and kept glancing between Theo and the Hales as if waiting for someone to say the wrong thing. His hand brushed Theo’s wrist again, hesitant but deliberate, like he wasn’t sure if Theo needed an anchor or if he was asking for one.

Theo exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. “So, uh… yeah. That’s… what’s happening.” His voice sounded too small in the wide living room, too final.

For a moment, silence stretched. Then Alec came down the stairs two at a time, hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d just woken up. He froze when he saw Theo standing there, Brett hovering close, Liam glued to his side. His face shifted instantly from confusion to worry.

“Wait—what’s going on?” Alec asked, glancing at Cora, then at Derek, then finally at Theo. “What’s happening?”

Cora’s expression softened, but she didn’t answer. She turned her head toward Theo, like this was his to say.

Theo’s stomach twisted. His voice caught, but he forced it out. “I’m…leaving for a bit. Rehab.”

Alec’s eyes widened. “Rehab? You mean…like, for real? You’re actually—”

“Yeah,” Theo cut in, sharper than he meant to. Then he swallowed and dropped his voice. “For real.”

Nolan appeared in the hallway then, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand, clearly having overheard. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tugging down. “Rehab?” he echoed, quieter than Alec but heavier somehow.

Theo braced himself, expecting disbelief, maybe anger. But what he saw in Nolan’s face instead was something far worse: worry. Pure, unfiltered worry.

“Does that mean…” Nolan’s voice faltered. “We won’t see you? Like…at all?”

Theo’s throat burned. He wanted to make a joke, say something about Nolan finally getting some peace and quiet without him around. But the words felt like shards in his mouth, too jagged to push past. Instead, he managed a rough, “Not for a while.”

Alec’s hands clenched at his sides. “But… how long?”

David, still steady by the doorway, answered for him. “As long as he needs. It’s not about a countdown. It’s about healing.”

Theo wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Because the way Alec and Nolan looked at him right then — like he was already halfway gone, like they were scared if they blinked he’d disappear — was too much.

Cora stepped in before the silence could stretch too far. “He’s not going to be gone forever,” she said firmly, eyes flicking between Alec and Nolan like she was daring them to argue. “This is a good thing.”

Liam finally spoke then, his voice quiet but certain. “We’ll still visit. Call. Whatever we can.”

Alec’s shoulders hunched, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t quite find the words. His gaze bounced between Theo and David, restless, almost frantic, until finally it landed back on Theo again. “But what if you—what if it doesn’t help?” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the fear beneath the question.

Theo’s chest tightened. “Then I’ll keep trying,” he said, rough but steady. “That’s the point.”

David stepped forward then. “It’s not about fixing everything overnight,” he said, his voice even. “It’s about giving Theo the tools, the space, the support to do what he hasn’t been able to do alone. This isn’t punishment. It’s care. He won’t be cut off from you — letters, calls, visits when possible. Rehab doesn’t mean losing him. It means making sure you don’t lose him permanently.”

Nolan shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “So…it’s not like we’re just…locking him away?”

“No,” David said firmly. “It’s giving him a chance. And giving all of you a chance not to watch him destroy himself.”

Alec pressed his lips together, the fight draining from his expression as his fists slowly unclenched. Nolan’s gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tight, but his silence spoke louder than any protest.

Finally, Alec looked back at Theo. “So you’ll…you’ll come back. You promise?”

Theo hated promises. He hated the weight of them, how easily they cracked. But looking at Alec’s wide, worried eyes, at Nolan’s stiff frame by the wall, he found himself nodding. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll come back.”

It wasn’t a vow. It wasn’t perfect. But it was the closest he could give them.

David gave the boys a moment to sit with Theo’s words before he spoke again, his tone steady but brooking no delay. “Alright. He’ll need to pack. We leave this afternoon.”

The statement dropped like a stone in the room, final in a way Theo hadn’t wanted to think about yet. He shifted on his feet, the weight in his chest growing heavier.

“Pack?” Alec echoed, his voice high, almost sharp with disbelief.

David nodded. “Just the essentials. Clothes, things that matter. They’ll provide the rest where he’s going.”

Theo’s throat felt dry, but he forced a swallow and gave the smallest nod. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not with Alec’s eyes boring into him like he was already disappearing.

“I’ll go with him,” Liam said quickly, stepping closer to Theo’s side like there was no question.

David’s gaze flicked between them, then softened. “That’s fine. Brett, stay here with me. I’ll explain more to the rest of them.”

Theo didn’t miss the way Brett’s jaw worked, like he wanted to protest, but the words stayed behind his teeth. His eyes lingered on Theo, quiet, almost unreadable. Theo looked away before the weight of it could settle on him.

“Come on,” Liam murmured, his voice low, meant just for him.

Theo let him lead, feet carrying him out of the main house and across the packed dirt toward the bunkhouse. The air was sharp with morning chill, biting at his skin, the kind of cold that slipped under clothes and made itself known in every breath. The ground crunched beneath their boots, the sound filling the silence neither of them seemed ready to break.

The bunkhouse loomed ahead, smaller and rougher compared to the Hale house, but familiar. Theo’s chest twisted as they got closer. He’d slept here, drank here, lost himself in shadows here. The walls carried his mistakes as much as his memories.

Liam nudged the door open and held it for him. Inside, the air smelled faintly of dust, wood, and the ghost of old whiskey. The cot in the corner was unmade, sheets tangled, like a record of every restless night Theo had tried not to drown in.

Theo stepped inside slowly, like the room might bite. He stood in the center for a moment, staring at the mess of his belongings. A duffel sat slumped under the bed, half-forgotten, waiting.

Liam moved quietly around him, not pushing, not rushing. “Want me to grab it?” he asked gently.

Theo shook his head, forcing himself to crouch and drag the duffel out. Dust clung to it, the zipper stiff with disuse. His fingers trembled as he unfastened it. The act of packing felt too deliberate, too final, like each item he shoved into the bag was proof that he was really leaving.

He started with clothes — shirts, jeans, a jacket that still smelled faintly of horses and dirt. None of it felt right, but he packed anyway, movements sharp and quick, like if he slowed down the weight of it would crush him.

Liam lingered near the cot, arms crossed loosely, giving him space but close enough that Theo felt him there. After a long stretch of silence, Liam said quietly, “It’s not forever, you know.”

Theo’s hand froze on a folded sweatshirt. He stared down at it, jaw tight. “Feels like it.”

“It’s not,” Liam said again, firmer this time. His voice carried the same stubborn certainty it always did, the kind that got under Theo’s skin because it wasn’t blind optimism — it was belief. Belief in him, even when Theo couldn’t find it himself.

Theo shoved the sweatshirt into the bag and zipped it halfway. He didn’t trust himself to respond.

The sound of the zipper cut through the quiet, sharp and final. He stood there for a second, staring at the duffel like it was the thing dragging him under, not the bottles, not the weight in his chest. Just this bag. This proof that he was leaving.

His throat felt tight, words clawing at the back of it, but none of them came out. Not thank you, not I’m sorry, not even the bitter things that usually slipped past his defenses when he couldn’t stand the silence.

Instead, he looked at Liam. Really looked at him. At the way he stood steady, arms still crossed but not closed-off — like he was grounding himself so Theo could lean if he needed to. At the quiet certainty in his face, even now, when Theo felt like he was shattering from the inside out.

Something cracked inside of him.

Theo dropped the duffel, the thud of it hitting the floor startling in the stillness. Before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped forward and caught Liam by the collar of his sweatshirt. His mouth pressed to Liam’s in a desperate, unsteady kiss — not soft, not careful, but raw and aching, like it might be the only time. The last time.

Liam froze, breath catching, then leaned in without hesitation, hands gripping Theo’s arms. The kiss wasn’t neat or practiced; it was messy.

It ended as abruptly as it started. Theo pulled back, chest heaving, eyes burning. He kept his grip on Liam’s sweatshirt like if he let go, he’d lose more than just the fabric.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Liam’s hands tightened on his arms, grounding. “You can,” he said, steady but quiet, like he knew Theo might bolt if the words were too loud. “You can do this, okay? You just don’t believe yet.”

Theo swallowed hard, blinking fast against the heat in his eyes. He wanted to kiss him again, wanted to stay right here and pretend none of the rest of it existed. But the duffel still sat at their feet, heavy.

He let go of Liam’s collar slowly, fingers lingering for a second longer before falling away. The space between them felt unbearable.

Theo bent, picked up the duffel, and slung it over his shoulder. His voice was low, rough. “We should go before I change my mind.”

Theo adjusted the strap on his shoulder, the duffel digging into the bruise of bone and skin. It was heavier than it should’ve been, not from what was inside but from everything it meant.

Liam didn’t move right away. He just stood there, staring at Theo like he was memorizing him — every scar, every hesitation, every sharp corner smoothed down to something softer in this one fragile moment.

For a second, Theo almost told him to stop looking at him like that. Almost shoved him away, made some cruel joke just to keep from unraveling completely. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not after the kiss, not after admitting out loud how scared he was.

Instead, he shifted toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. The bunkhouse felt suddenly too small, like it couldn’t hold both the weight of the life he was leaving and the chance at the one waiting ahead.

Liam finally stepped forward, close enough that his shoulder brushed Theo’s. “Then let’s go,” he said quietly.

Theo nodded once, sharp and shaky, and pushed the door open. The cool air of the evening slipped in, brushing against his overheated skin. He stepped out first, duffel biting into his shoulder, the ache of that kiss still lingering like a brand.

Behind him, he heard Liam’s steady footsteps fall into place, matching his.

And for the first time in a long time, Theo didn’t feel like he was walking toward an ending.

He felt like maybe — just maybe — it was the start of something he didn’t know how to name.

They walked in silence toward the main house, the sun dipping low behind the trees, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gold.

Liam’s hand brushed against Theo’s, light and steady, a tether he didn’t want to let go of. Not ever.

Theo tightened his grip on the duffel and let himself lean just slightly into that quiet certainty.

And for once, leaving didn’t feel like falling. It felt like stepping.

Chapter 28: The Long Road Back

Ninety days.

It had been ninety days since Theo had stepped through the glass doors of the rehab center, duffel strap biting into his shoulder, chest tight with a fear he hadn’t wanted to name. Ninety days since the world he knew — the ranch, the barn’s dusty smell, the weight of alcohol in his bloodstream — had been replaced by sterile white halls, group circles, and the kind of honesty he hadn’t thought he could survive.

And yet, here he was.

Theo stood in the lobby now, his duffel in hand again, only lighter this time. Not because he’d lost things, but because for the first time in years, he wasn’t dragging invisible weights along with him. His shoulders sat a little straighter. His breath didn’t catch on the guilt that used to choke it.

The automatic doors hissed open as the counselor walked him out. She was kind, middle-aged, eyes sharp but warm — the sort of person who never let you slip past with half-truths. Theo had hated her at first. Then he’d hated how much she’d seen through him. Now, he thought maybe she was part of the reason he was still here, standing, steady.

“You know the next steps,” she reminded him gently, pausing just outside. “Support, structure, honesty. Lean on the people who show up. Don’t carry it alone.”

Theo gave a small nod. He wasn’t great with words, but he didn’t need to be. She understood. She gave his arm a light squeeze before heading back inside, leaving him in the cool spring air.

And waiting at the curb, leaning against a dusty blue pickup truck that looked like it had seen too many miles, were Brett and Liam.

Theo froze for a heartbeat, something twisting sharp and sudden in his chest. Ninety days had stretched and blurred, but seeing them again snapped everything into focus.

Brett spotted him first, straightening up, grin breaking wide across his face. “There he is!” he called, too loud, too unapologetic. The same Brett he’d always been.

Liam pushed off the truck more slowly, his smile softer, smaller, but no less bright. His eyes caught Theo’s and didn’t let go.

Theo walked forward, one careful step after another. He half-expected his legs to give out under the weight of it, but they didn’t. He made it all the way to the truck before Brett slung an arm around his shoulders, the kind of rough, brotherly hug that nearly knocked the duffel from his grip.

“You look good, man,” Brett said, voice thick with relief. “Like… actually good.”

Theo let out a shaky laugh, leaning just enough into him before pulling back. “Guess three months of no whiskey and too many group talks will do that.”

Brett smirked. “Better than smelling like whiskey and horse shit every morning.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but the words didn’t sting. Not anymore.

Then Liam was there. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped close, his hand brushing Theo’s arm. His eyes searched Theo’s face like he was cataloging every change, every new piece.

“Hi,” Theo said, quiet, almost shy.

Liam’s smile widened just a little. “Hi.”

It was simple, but it was enough.

Theo swallowed hard, shifting the duffel strap on his shoulder. “So… you guys really drove all the way out here just for me?”

Brett barked a laugh. “Damn right we did. You think we were gonna let anyone else pick you up after all this?”

“Cora offered,” Liam added. “But… we said no. This was ours.”

Theo raised his brows, something wry tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let me guess. Nolan and Alec threw a fit when they found out they weren’t invited.”

Brett laughed, loud and easy, clapping him on the back. “Fit? More like a full-blown meltdown. Nolan was sulking so hard he nearly fell off the porch railing. Alec swore he’d hitchhike here just to ‘rescue’ you.”

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”

“You should’ve seen Nolan’s face when Peter told him to stay put.” Brett grinned wider, clearly enjoying the memory. “Thought he was being grounded or something. Kid forgets he’s not actually twelve.”

Theo chuckled under his breath. The sound came easier than it used to — less like it was dragged out of him, more like it belonged to him. The tightness in his chest loosened another notch.

Brett’s eyes narrowed suddenly, zeroing in on his face. “Hold up. Were you trying to grow a beard in there?”

Theo raised a hand self-consciously to his jaw, where the faintest shadow of stubble clung to his skin. “Maybe.”

“God.” Brett groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. “It looks like a bad high school attempt. Like you got lost on the way to puberty.”

Theo swatted his arm. “Screw you.”

“I mean, points for effort,” Brett went on mercilessly, “but man, rehab didn’t fix your genetics.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and Brett’s grin softened just a little at the edges, the teasing threaded with relief.

Before Theo could fire back another retort, Liam stepped in. Without a word, he slipped the duffel from Theo’s shoulder, the weight gone before Theo could protest. Liam carried it to the truck bed, tossed it in with a solid thud, then turned right back around like the bag was the least important thing in the world.

And then his hand found Theo’s.

Warm. Steady. No hesitation.

Theo blinked at him, throat going dry, every sharp edge of him catching on the simple contact.

“We’re just…” Liam’s voice was quiet, almost a murmur, his thumb brushing against Theo’s knuckles. “We’re just glad you’re back.”

Theo’s chest squeezed, something fierce and almost unbearable curling under his ribs. Not the old weight of shame, not the sick heaviness that used to follow him everywhere — but something lighter, sharper. Hope.

He looked between them — Brett with his ridiculous grin, Liam with his steady gaze — and for the first time in longer than he could name, he felt anchored. Like he wasn’t walking into the world alone.

“Yeah,” Theo said, his voice steadier than he expected. “Me too.”

Brett cleared his throat, the grin on his face not dimming but shifting — softer now, touched with something that looked suspiciously like understanding. He gave Theo a pat on the shoulder, then jerked his thumb toward the truck.

“I’ll, uh… wait inside. You two clearly need a minute.”

Theo opened his mouth, but Brett was already backing away, his boots crunching over the gravel, his smirk lingering. “Don’t take too long. I’m not sitting in there with the heat off just so you can get your romantic reunion on.”

Theo’s cheeks burned before he could stop it. He scowled, but Brett only chuckled, climbing into the driver’s side and slamming the door shut.

That left the air around them suddenly quiet. Just him and Liam.

Theo swallowed hard. His hand was still caught in Liam’s, their palms pressed together like neither of them had thought to let go.

He glanced down, then back up, finding Liam’s eyes already on him. Always on him.

For a second, Theo thought he might laugh it off, push the moment away with a joke. That was easier. Safer. But his chest was too full, his throat too tight, and when Liam shifted closer — just the smallest step — Theo’s body answered before his head could.

He leaned in.

Not smooth. Not confident. Just a desperate, unsteady tilt forward, like he’d been holding himself upright for months and finally ran out of strength.

And Liam caught him.

Theo’s arms went around him almost without thought, clutching at the fabric of his sweatshirt like he was afraid Liam would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His face pressed into the curve of Liam’s collarbone, the familiar scent of him flooding in — something warm, steady, almost like home.

God. Home.

Theo’s breath hitched. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed this. Not just the touch, but the solidity of it. The way Liam didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. He just wrapped his arms around Theo’s back and held on, strong and certain. Like he’d been waiting for this just as much.

“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” Theo murmured into his shoulder, the words raw, ripped straight from him before he could second-guess them.

Liam’s grip tightened, his voice low against Theo’s ear. “I missed you too. So so much.”

Theo’s chest cracked open. All those nights lying awake in that narrow rehab bed, fighting against the urge to drown in his own head, he’d told himself he couldn’t need anyone. He’d told himself this would be enough — just surviving, just staying sober. But now, standing here, wrapped in Liam’s arms, he realized survival wasn’t all there was.

This was.

He pulled back just enough to see Liam’s face, their foreheads nearly brushing. Liam’s eyes searched his, wide and open, and something in Theo broke all over again. Not the bad kind of breaking — the good kind, the kind that made room for something new.

Before he could think better of it, Theo leaned in the rest of the way.

Their mouths met in a kiss that was nothing like their first kiss, messy and desperate and sharp-edged. This one was slower, steadier. Liam’s lips were warm and sure against his, the touch sending sparks skittering down Theo’s spine.

Theo sighed into it, the sound escaping before he could stop it, and Liam’s hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair there. The gentle pressure made Theo melt further, his knees almost weak with it.

For months, he’d been told to rebuild, to heal, to figure out who he was without a bottle in his hand. He’d done the work — the groups, the endless talking, the restless nights of shaking and sweating and swearing he’d hold on. But no one had told him what it would feel like to come back and find this waiting for him.

No one had told him how much he’d crave it.

When the kiss finally broke, Theo was breathless, his forehead resting against Liam’s, their noses brushing. He didn’t pull back far. Couldn’t.

“I thought about this,” Theo whispered, voice rough. “Every damn day in there. I thought about you.”

Liam’s thumb swept along his jaw, gentle, grounding. His smile was small but certain. “Good. Because I thought about you too. More than I probably should’ve.”

Theo huffed a shaky laugh, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name, something that scared him and settled him all at once.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the two of them blurred, fading into the quiet hum of the evening. Even the truck, idling a few yards away, felt miles off.

Theo’s breath stuttered as he stared at Liam, still close enough to count the freckles dusting his cheek, still close enough to feel the soft brush of his breath across his lips. He should have stepped back. He should’ve made a joke, should’ve pulled away before the weight of it sank too deep. But Liam’s eyes didn’t waver. They stayed fixed on him, steady, patient, like there was nothing else in the world worth watching.

And Theo couldn’t help himself.

The second kiss came slower, less hesitant than the first. His hand lifted, almost of its own accord, fingers curling lightly at the edge of Liam’s jaw. Liam leaned into it, a faint hum catching in his throat, and the sound hit Theo like a strike of lightning. His lips moved against Liam’s with more purpose, less fear — not claiming, not desperate, but savoring. Like he finally had something he’d starved for and was terrified of wasting a single second.

Liam kissed him back with the same quiet certainty, the kind that settled Theo’s bones and unraveled him all at once. He could taste the faintest hint of mint on Liam’s breath, feel the gentle press of his chest against his own, the warmth of him sinking deep into places Theo hadn’t let anyone touch in years.

Theo tilted his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, and Liam followed without question. The world narrowed down to the press of lips, the glide of breath, the steady hand that still cupped the back of his neck like it belonged there.

When they finally parted again, Theo’s lungs burned. His forehead dropped to Liam’s shoulder, and he laughed — soft, uneven, the sound shaking with disbelief.

“God,” he murmured, voice muffled against fabric, “I could get used to that.”

Liam’s arms tightened around him, the smallest smile curling against Theo’s temple. “Good,” he said, simple and certain.

Theo let himself sink in, nose brushing the warm skin at the base of Liam’s throat. He could’ve stayed there forever, the steady beat of Liam’s heart under his cheek grounding him more than all the therapy sessions in the world.

And maybe they would’ve. Maybe the rest of the world would’ve kept spinning without them, if not for the sharp, echoing blare of a horn.

Theo jerked, almost smacking his head into Liam’s chin. The honk came again, loud enough to rattle through the quiet evening air, followed immediately by a familiar voice yelling through the cracked-open truck window.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Brett’s voice carried across the lot, smug as sin. “Cora and Peter are waiting for us, so unless you wanna explain to them why we’re late, wrap it up!”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Heat flushed his cheeks, not entirely from embarrassment but close enough. He didn’t even have to look to know Brett was grinning like an idiot behind the wheel.

Liam chuckled under his breath, not pulling away but not exactly rushing, either. His forehead still rested against Theo’s, the corner of his mouth curved in something halfway between amusement and stubborn defiance.

Theo muttered, “I’m gonna kill him.”

Liam shook his head, laughter low and warm. “You’re not. You’ll just pretend to hate him like always.”

“Yeah, well, pretending’s easier when he’s not honking at us like we’re in a damn rom-com.”

The horn blared again, longer this time. Brett’s voice followed, sing-song and obnoxious: “Tick-tock, Raeken! I don’t have all night!”

Theo groaned louder, burying his face back into Liam’s neck just to escape the mortification. Liam’s chest shook with laughter, his hand rubbing a slow, steady line along Theo’s back.

“You realize he’s never gonna let us live this down, right?” Theo grumbled against his collar.

“Yeah,” Liam said easily, still smiling.

He pressed one last lingering kiss to the side of Liam’s jaw before finally — reluctantly — stepping back. His hand slid from Liam’s only at the last possible second, the absence of it making his skin ache.

The truck horn gave one final sharp honk, and Brett’s head popped out the driver’s side window. “Seriously! Let’s move! Peter’s gonna have my ass if we keep him waiting, and I don’t know about you, but I value living!”

Theo flipped him off automatically, which only made Brett cackle loud enough to echo across the lot.

Liam rolled his eyes, grabbing Theo’s wrist and tugging him gently toward the truck. “Come on. Before he really loses it.”

Theo let himself be pulled, though not without muttering under his breath. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the small, traitorous smile tugging at his mouth — the one that had nothing to do with Brett’s teasing and everything to do with the lingering taste of Liam still on his lips.

Theo climbed into the backseat after Liam, the old truck’s door groaning like it resented the weight. The bench seat smelled faintly of leather and whatever fast-food Brett had demolished earlier in the week, but it was warm, familiar in a way that made Theo’s shoulders unknot just a little.

Liam slid in close beside him, their thighs brushing as the door shut. Theo didn’t move away. Couldn’t, really. The space between them was too small, but the comfort of it… he hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed it until right now.

Brett twisted around in the driver’s seat, smirking wide enough to split his face. “So,” he drawled, eyes flicking between them with all the subtlety of a freight train, “do we need to stop for flowers, or should I just buy balloons that say congratulations?”

Theo leaned his head back against the seat, groaning. “Drive, Brett.”

Liam’s shoulder shook against his, and Theo didn’t even have to look to know he was fighting a smile.

“Fine, fine,” Brett said, putting the truck in gear. “But just so you know, I’m calling it now — I’m officiating the wedding.”

Theo snapped his gaze up, glaring at the back of Brett’s head. “You’re not even invited.”

That earned him a bark of laughter, Brett’s hand smacking the steering wheel once. “Oh, you wound me. Don’t worry, T, I’ll still give a killer speech.”

Theo muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I hate you, but Liam’s hand found his under the cover of the seat between them, fingers brushing tentative at first, then curling slow and certain around his.

Theo didn’t let go. He probably couldn’t even if he wanted too.

The truck rumbled onto the main road, headlights cutting a path through the dark. The hum of the engine filled the silence that fell between Brett’s commentary, and Theo found himself watching the landscape blur by out the window. Streetlights gave way to stretches of open dark, then to the faint outline of trees crowding the roadside.

It should’ve felt endless — the kind of drive that used to make him restless, twitchy, itching for escape. But with Liam’s thumb brushing idle circles over his knuckles, with Brett’s easy banter bleeding into the quiet hum of the night, it didn’t drag the way he expected.

It went faster.

Too fast, almost. Like time had bent, carrying them forward before Theo had even realized how much ground they’d covered.

By the time Brett flicked on the turn signal and the familiar dirt road stretched out ahead, Theo blinked, startled. He hadn’t realized they were already here.

The truck jolted gently over the uneven path, dust kicking up in the glow of the headlights. The outline of the ranch rose up in the distance, porch light burning steady against the dark like some kind of beacon.

The truck rumbled to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires, headlights sweeping across the front porch of the ranch house. The place looked the same — weathered wood, wide porch, that one beam near the steps still a little crooked from where Alec had smacked it with a baseball bat that summer. But to Theo, it felt different. Like he was seeing it for the first time all over again.

He sat frozen for a second, hand still wrapped in Liam’s, heart hammering loud enough he was sure both of them could hear it. Months of waiting, months of counting down to this exact moment, and now that it was here, he wasn’t sure how to move.

Brett killed the engine. The sudden silence rang loud in Theo’s ears, broken only by the creak of Brett swinging the driver’s side door open.

“Well,” Brett said, hopping down onto the dirt, “home sweet home.”

Theo swallowed hard. The porch light flickered once as if it recognized him, then steadied again. A shadow moved inside, and before he could even brace himself, the screen door squealed open.

“Theo?”

It was Cora’s voice, soft at first, then sharper, disbelieving. She stepped out onto the porch, eyes wide, hair pulled into one of those messy braids that always somehow looked intentional. She froze, staring like she couldn’t quite trust what she was seeing.

Theo climbed out slowly, gravel crunching under his boots, Liam a steady presence at his side. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this part — the way their faces would look when they saw him again.

Cora didn’t wait for words. She flew down the steps, feet barely touching the ground, and crashed into him with a hug so fierce it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Theo stumbled back a step, arms coming up instinctively around her. She smelled like hay and soap and something faintly sweet, like the vanilla lotion she always used.

“We’ve missed you so much,”she muttered into his shoulder, voice thick. She squeezed him tighter, and Theo’s throat burned hot.

For so long, he hadn’t let himself imagine this. Hadn’t let himself think about being wanted here, of being missed. Now it was crushing down on him, heavier than he could stand, and still he couldn’t let go.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were bright in the porch light, mouth tilted in a grin that was a little shaky but real. “You’re back.”

Theo tried to speak, but his voice cracked on the first syllable. He cleared his throat, managing a quiet, “Yeah.”

Cora shoved at his shoulder lightly, though her smile gave her away. “About damn time.”

The screen door creaked again, and Peter Hale stepped out, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. His expression was its usual blank, cool mask, but Theo caught the way his eyes flicked over him too fast, the way his shoulders held tension that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“You look less terrible than I expected,” Peter said evenly.

It was almost enough to make Theo laugh — almost. But then Peter’s gaze softened, barely, like a crack in stone, and he nodded once. A wordless acknowledgment, but one that carried more weight than any speech could have.

Theo nodded back, and for a second, that was enough.

Derek appeared next, stepping out with his usual quiet calm. He gave Theo a once-over, eyes narrowing like he was cataloging every shift, every difference. Then, in true Derek fashion, he just said, “Good to see you,” with a short nod.

Theo almost smiled. That was as good as it got from Derek, and honestly, it was perfect.

Behind him, more movement. Mason and Corey slipped out together, their hands linked, smiles wide and warm. They came down the steps slower, less dramatic than Cora, but no less genuine. Mason wrapped him in a quick hug first, firm and grounding, before Corey followed, his arms looping around Theo’s shoulders with a gentler squeeze.

“Glad you’re back,” Mason said, his voice steady, like he meant every word.

“Yeah,” Corey added, softer but no less sure. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

Theo’s chest tightened, and he managed a quiet, “Thanks.”

Then the door banged open so hard it rattled the frame, and two voices shouted in unison:

“THEO!”

A blur of limbs came barreling across the yard — Nolan and Alec, sprinting like their lives depended on it.

“Oh, shit,” Theo muttered, just as they hit him.

The force knocked him backward onto the gravel, a tangle of arms and legs and way too much enthusiasm. Nolan landed half on his chest, Alec sprawled across his legs, both of them laughing loud and wild like they hadn’t seen him in years.

“Jesus Christ!” Theo wheezed, trying and failing to shove them off. “Get the hell—”

“Shut up,” Alec said, grinning so wide his face practically split. “You’re here! You’re actually here!”

Nolan’s eyes were suspiciously shiny as he squeezed Theo like he thought he might vanish if he let go. “We missed you, man. So much.”

Theo’s heart stuttered. His throat felt tight enough to choke him, but he forced out a shaky laugh. “You guys are insane.”

“Yeah,” Alec said without missing a beat, “but you love us.”

Theo groaned, letting his head drop back against the dirt. He did. God help him, he did.

“Alright, alright, break it up before you kill him,” Brett’s voice called, half-amused, half-serious. He strolled over, yanking Nolan up by the collar of his shirt. Alec scrambled off after, still grinning.

Theo sat up slowly, brushing gravel off his jeans, his chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with the dogpile. Liam was there in an instant, offering a hand. Theo took it, pulling himself to his feet, the warmth of Liam’s palm steadying him more than he’d admit.

The porch was full now, everyone watching, a strange mix of amusement and relief written across their faces. Theo swallowed hard, the weight of it hitting all at once.

He’d spent so long convincing himself he’d ruined every bridge, burned every chance. But here they were — waiting, welcoming, laughing like he belonged.

For the first time in a long time, Theo let himself believe it.

He belonged.

The night air was cool, crickets buzzing faint in the distance, the smell of hay drifting over from the barn. Someone — probably Cora — had left a lamp burning in the kitchen window, warm and golden against the dark.

Theo stood there, surrounded, Liam’s hand brushing against his again, and thought:

This is what it feels like to come home.

Chapter 29: Epilogue - A Year Of Sunlight

Liam never got tired of mornings on the ranch. Not the way the world smelled — like hay, clean air, and just enough dust to ground it. Not the sound of horses shifting in their stalls, the low snorts of breath in the cool dawn, or the creak of the old wooden fence as it settled with the rising sun.

But mostly, he never got tired of watching Theo in it.

It had been a year — a full year since the day they’d picked him up from rehab, since the truck ride where Theo had leaned just a little too heavily into Liam’s side like he was afraid to let go. A year since Liam had felt his hand slip into his, and known, down to his bones, that whatever came next, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Now, he stood by the paddock fence, coffee warming his palms, and watched Theo move like he’d always belonged here.

The kids were gathered in a loose circle near the barn, a mix of wide eyes and restless energy. Some were here for summer camp, some came every week for lessons, and a few just wanted to be near the animals. Theo had them all wrapped up with nothing more than a calm voice and that steady, quiet presence he carried now.

“Okay,” Theo said, kneeling to adjust the stirrup on the smallest horse — a patient, sandy-colored mare named Daisy. His voice carried, soft but firm enough to reach the group. “Who remembers the first rule?”

“Don’t run!” one of the boys shouted, hand shooting into the air like it was school.

“Exactly,” Theo said, a smile tugging at his mouth. He stood, brushing dust off his jeans. “Horses are big, but they scare easy. We walk, we use calm voices, and we always let them see where we are.”

A little girl, no more than eight, clutched the lead rope in her hands, nerves written across her face. Theo crouched again, leveling himself with her. “Hey,” he said gently, pointing to Daisy. “She’s gentle. See her ears? They’re forward, not back. That means she’s curious, not scared. You’re okay.”

The girl nodded, and Theo gave her hand a light squeeze before guiding her closer. Liam watched as Daisy lowered her head, soft breath huffing against the girl’s hand, and the kid’s whole face lit up. Theo’s smile answered hers, unguarded and warm in a way Liam still hadn’t gotten used to.

It hadn’t always been like this. There had been rough days — the kind where cravings hit like waves, where Theo’s hands shook during dinner, where the shadows of old habits clawed at the edges of him. But he’d fought through them, step by step, with the same stubbornness that used to get him in trouble. Only now, that stubbornness had turned into survival.

And slowly, something had shifted.

The nights of restless pacing had given way to mornings like this — Theo out in the paddock with kids hanging off his every word, his laugh ringing out clear in the open air. The bruises in his voice had faded into something steadier. He’d learned how to live without the burn of whiskey to get him through.

Liam knew it hadn’t been easy. But watching him now, there was no mistaking it: Theo was happy.

The thought still startled Liam sometimes, like a deer caught in the edge of his headlights. Not because Theo didn’t deserve it — he did, more than anyone — but because there had been so many nights when happiness had felt like a foreign language to him, something he could only translate in fragments.

Now it was fluent in everything he did.

It showed in the way he whistled while mucking stalls, in the way he tied his hair back messily before lessons, in the way his laughter cracked open the air during dinner with the pack. It showed in how he handled the kids — patient when Liam expected frustration, warm when Liam expected him to shut down.

And it showed most of all the night he proposed.

Theo wasn’t dramatic by nature. At least, not when it came to things that mattered. But apparently Brett had decided subtlety was overrated, because Liam had walked into the barn one evening last fall to find the whole place strung up with soft white lights, bales of hay pushed aside to make room, and half a dozen kids from their lesson groups bouncing on their toes with excitement.

Theo had been standing dead center, cheeks flushed, hair messy, and nerves buzzing off him in waves. Brett leaned against a post nearby, grinning like the cat who ate the canary, clearly proud of himself for orchestrating half of it.

“You’re late,” Brett had teased, arms crossed. “Your audience has been waiting.”

Liam had blinked, genuinely thrown, until one of the littlest girls darted forward and shoved a paper flower into his hands — a crayon-colored daisy that had the words Say yes, Liam! scrawled across the petals.

And then Theo was in front of him, hands unsteady but eyes so sure, dropping to one knee in the dirt.

No fancy speeches. No perfect rehearsed words. Just Theo, voice low but clear enough for every kid, for Brett, for Nolan and Alec leaning wide-eyed in the doorway, to hear.

“I don’t want to spend another year without knowing you’re mine,” Theo had said. “So, marry me. Please.”

Liam had barely managed to get the yes out before Theo surged up, kissing him with the kind of urgency that made the kids squeal and Brett dramatically fake-gag from across the barn. Alec had shouted something about “finally” while Nolan filmed the whole thing, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

It wasn’t perfect — not polished or quiet or wrapped in some neat bow. But that was the thing about Theo: he didn’t need perfect. He just needed real. And real had been enough to make Liam’s knees go weak.

That night stuck in Liam’s chest like a permanent brand. Not because of the lights, or the kids, or Brett smirking in the background — though all of that was burned in sharp detail — but because it had been the first time Liam had seen Theo choose joy for himself, without guilt dragging behind it.

Since then, the growth had only gone deeper.

Theo had learned to let people help him, which was maybe the biggest miracle of all. He still hated showing weakness, still hated when his hands shook on bad days or when the ache of wanting a drink crawled under his skin, but he didn’t push people away anymore. He leaned on Brett, who still had a gift for dragging him out of his head with brutal honesty and humor that was almost cruel in how effective it was. He leaned on Liam, most of all, not just in moments of crisis but in the small things too — a hand brushing his in the tack room, a shoulder to lean into when the nights stretched long.

And he leaned on Alec and Nolan, which Liam hadn’t expected.

The two of them had come a long way too. Alec, still sharp with sarcasm but softer around Theo than anyone else, had turned into the kind of ranch hand who knew every horse by name and mood. Nolan had become almost like a shadow to Theo, trailing him through lessons and chores, eager to prove himself. They weren’t just kids who hung around anymore — they were family. Theo treated them that way, not with pity or distance but with the kind of quiet mentorship Liam knew he would’ve killed for at their age.

Sometimes Liam would catch them all in the paddock together — Theo showing Alec how to check a hoof, Nolan laughing as he tried and failed to keep a skittish colt calm, Brett watching from the fence with that rare soft look that meant he was proud. And Liam would think, This is it. This is what we were building toward, even when everything felt impossible.

Because Theo wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was living.

And every day Liam got to wake up to that, he felt lucky in a way words couldn’t touch.

Chapter 30: Epilogue- Mistletoe and Haydust

Snow had settled over the ranch in a way that felt almost cinematic, blanketing the paddocks and softening the edges of the old fence posts. The sky hung low and gray, but the air inside the barn was warm with the smell of hay and wood and the faint spice of mulled cider that Brett had insisted on heating in a dented pot over the portable stove. Christmas had always been Liam’s favorite time of year, though he hadn’t realized how much brighter it could feel until now, with Theo leaning against a ladder two feet away, untangling strings of lights with a look of fierce concentration and a muttered string of curses under his breath.

Liam watched him from where he was kneeling in the corner, holding a box of ornaments the kids had painted last week — lopsided stars, clumsy snowmen, a crooked reindeer that Theo had pretended to hate but secretly smiled at every time it surfaced. His hands brushed through the shredded newspaper they were wrapped in, and he glanced up just in time to catch Theo swearing as the lights knotted around his wrist like they had a personal vendetta.

“Having fun?” Liam asked, grinning.

Theo shot him a flat look, one corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Oh, I’m having the time of my life. Nothing screams Christmas like being strangled by a cheap string of lights.”

“You’re supposed to start at one end,” Liam teased.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” But the tone was soft, warm in a way that tugged at Liam’s chest. Theo gave the cord one last yank, finally freeing it, and climbed the ladder again to drape it over the rafters.

Brett strolled past carrying the cider mugs, one in each hand, and leaned an elbow against the stall door. “You two are pathetic. This is supposed to be festive. You sound like an old married couple already.”

Liam shot him a look. “We’re engaged. That’s close enough.”

Theo, balanced halfway up the ladder, just muttered, “Closer than you’ll ever get, Brett.”

Brett laughed, unbothered. “Bold words for someone currently losing a battle to holiday décor.” He set the mugs down, steam curling into the air.

On the far side of the barn, Nolan and Alec were unpacking another box of decorations — garlands, paper chains, and a ridiculously large wreath that Alec had already tried to wear like a crown before Nolan smacked him with it. They’d been arguing for ten minutes about whether the wreath belonged on the barn door or inside over the tack wall. Their bickering rose in volume until Theo barked a sharp “just put it wherever it fits!” without even looking down from his ladder, and both of them grinned like they’d won.

The whole place buzzed with that strange combination of chaos and comfort, the kind of energy that came from too many people working in the same space and none of them actually minding it. Christmas music played faintly from someone’s phone speaker, crackling a little, but no one complained. Liam reached into the box again and pulled out an ornament painted by one of the little girls from Theo’s lesson group — a heart, bright red with messy white lettering that read Family.

His throat tightened unexpectedly. He glanced at Theo again, who was bent carefully over the beam, stringing the lights in a way that didn’t look half bad now. The barn glowed brighter with every loop, a soft halo against the shadows. Theo’s face was flushed from the heat and the effort, his hair falling loose in his eyes, and when he caught Liam staring, he raised one brow like he knew exactly what was running through Liam’s head.

“What?” Theo asked.

“Nothing,” Liam said quickly, ducking his head as he hung the ornament on a hook by the stall. But warmth spread through his chest anyway, and it didn’t fade even when Brett groaned loudly behind him.

“Oh, for God’s sake. If you two are going to make heart eyes at each other all night, at least be useful and help me hang this garland.”

Liam rolled his eyes but stood, brushing hay dust off his jeans, and crossed over. Brett handed him one end of the garland, muttering about being the only one with real holiday spirit. Together they stretched it across the doorway, securing it with twine. Alec and Nolan came barreling over with a second garland, nearly tripping over each other in their eagerness, and soon the whole barn looked like it had been overtaken by greenery and lights, glowing warm against the cold draft that slipped under the doors.

It was Alec who found the mistletoe. He dug it out of the bottom of the decoration box with a triumphant shout, holding it aloft like it was treasure. Nolan groaned immediately.

“Oh, great. That’s exactly what we need. Everyone making out in the barn.”

Theo froze halfway down the ladder. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, pointing a finger at Alec.

Alec just smirked. “Too late.” He climbed onto a bale of hay and tied the mistletoe high in the center beam, directly where anyone walking through the aisle would have to pass. “There. Tradition.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand over his face, but Liam saw the way his ears went faintly pink. Brett clapped like a proud parent. “Finally, someone who understands the importance of ranch morale.”

It didn’t take long before the kids arrived — a couple of the lesson group had been invited with their parents to help hang ornaments on the little pine tree they’d set up by the entrance. Their laughter filled the barn, high-pitched and unrestrained, as they raced each other to see who could hang theirs the fastest. One of them spotted the mistletoe immediately and shrieked in delight, pointing it out to everyone.

“Mistletoe!” she yelled. “You have to kiss if you stand under it!”

Liam saw Theo’s entire posture stiffen. He could practically hear the don’t you dare radiating off him.

But the kids swarmed him before he could escape, shoving him playfully into the center of the aisle. Brett’s laughter echoed so loud Liam was sure the horses in the stalls rolled their eyes. “Looks like you’re trapped, Raeken!”

Theo turned slowly, his gaze locking on Liam like this was somehow his fault. Liam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing and walked forward, hands raised in surrender. The kids chanted in unison, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” like it was a game.

Theo muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I hate all of you, but when Liam stopped under the sprig, his scowl cracked into reluctant amusement. “Don’t you dare make a big deal out of this,” Theo whispered, low enough for only Liam to hear.

Liam leaned in anyway, brushing his lips against Theo’s, soft and quick, just enough to make the kids erupt in cheers. Theo rolled his eyes, but the small smile tugging at his mouth gave him away.

“Happy?” he asked dryly.

“Ecstatic,” Liam whispered back, and this time when Theo kissed him again, it lingered, mistletoe or not.

The night stretched on, laughter and music filling the barn, cider mugs passed around until they were empty, Nolan eventually giving in and wearing the wreath like a crown just to make Alec laugh. By the time the last ornament was hung and the last light plugged in, the barn glowed like something out of a snow globe — warm and golden and alive.

And when Theo slipped his hand into Liam’s on the walk back toward the house, breath misting in the freezing air, Liam thought that maybe this was what Christmas was supposed to feel like all along — not perfect, not polished, but messy and loud and utterly theirs.

Notes:

And that’s the end! Thank you so much to everyone who’s read, commented, kudos’d, or just quietly followed along with the story. I wanted to give them not just an ending, but a future full of stability, love, and those small everyday moments that mean everything.