Page 53 of Captivated

A week at Salvation, and already something in him had begun to uncurl.

He had to admit, the cabin had been the perfect choice, away from the ranch, nestled beneath trees, the creek humming low and constant like a lullaby. What Nate loved most was the quiet of the place. It wasn’t dead quiet, but a stillness that felt alive, full of chirping birds and the occasional splash of a fish or the rustle of… something in the brush.

He’d woken from another nightmare at some point during the night, the same flashes as always, his breathing erratic, his heart galloping. He’d sat up, breathed through it, and waited.

The dark didn’t swallow him. It let him pass.

Standing on the porch, witnessing the world waking up around him, Nate realized something vital.

I want more than survival.

More than managing. More than the slow, cautious life he’d carved out in his dad’s house, as safe as it was. That life had always been a perimeter, not a place.

He knew that on the ranch, Paul was probably already up, tending to the horses. Zeeb would be doing whatever it was he did first thing in the morning. Nate smiled to himself.

Zeeb is like sunlight with a crooked grin.

He was easy to be around, never asking more than Nate could give. He had freedom. He was calm. His days were settled. Zeeb had run from home when he was eighteen, but now? He walked through life,strodethrough it, in control of his emotions, his past behind him.

Nate wanted to stride, too.

He took another sip of coffee and let his gaze roam the landscape. The light was fuller now, dappling the creek and making the leaves flicker in green-gold. His sketchbook lay open on the railing beside him, yesterday’s study of Sorrel in soft charcoal. Nate had never tackled animals before in his art, but that sweet horse needed to be captured on paper. And as first attempts went, he was pleased with it.

He’d come here for equine therapy, sure, but it had been more than that. Being around the horses quieted him in a way that nothing else had. They didn’t demand or prod or dissect. They just were, and they let him be, too.

But this wasn’t about the horses. Not anymore.

He exhaled slowly, a sound like surrender and resolve all at once. “I’m tired,” he murmured to the trees, to the water, to himself. “Tired of hiding in my own head.”

Tired of flinching when someone laughed too loudly.

Tired of sidestepping every social moment, every invitation that might be more than small talk.

Tired of defining himself by damage.

What it all boiled down to was Nate was tired of being tired.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds around him, the warmth of the sunlight as it crept across the porch, the smell of grass and meadow flowers.

Something has to change.

And he was the only one who could effect that change.

He opened his eyes and set the coffee cup down on the railing.

“Today,” he said aloud, forcing as much strength into the word. He couldn’t change things all at once. He wasn’t that naive.

But I can make a start. I can take a step forward, even if it’s a little step.

Zeeb had mentioned the cookout the following day, for the sister of the guy who owned Salvation, and had extended Nate an invitation. Hecouldsay no. He could stay in the cabin, draw, listen to the creek, eat alone like he always did. But the thought of it felt… small. Shrinking.

He didn’t want to shrink anymore.

Nate stuck his chin out.I’m going to the cookout.But he wasn’t going to show up then make his excuses twenty minutes later. Nate was going tobethere. To talk. Ask people’s names. Listen to their stories. Let himself laugh, maybe. Let himself be known, even just a little. The thought made his chest tighten, but not in fear.

In anticipation.

I can do this.