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jackson

H oly fuck, I was too goddamn old to be sleeping in the front seat of my truck. Old injuries made themselves known as I sat up. Yeah, I’d spent the night in my truck. I was honestly surprised I’d managed to fall asleep at all with how wound up I’d been.

I barely remembered two in the morning rolling around, which meant I’d waited for three hours for West to return. Filling that time had been awful. Not knowing if he was okay was fucking torture.

And somehow, I’d passed out in the middle of it all.

Had West come back and just ignored me completely? Or was he still out there? If he was, I was grabbing my fucking horse and chasing him down.

My body ached as I climbed out of my truck and went straight to the stables. Thunder Jack was right back in his stall, munching on hay as if nothing had happened. His saddle and tack were neatly hung up as were the boots and harness. All of which meant I’d missed West coming back. I wandered down to the last stall just in case—just on the off fucking chance he hadn’t gone back to the house .

And sure enough, he hadn’t. West was curled up in the corner of the stall, hands shoved in the sweatshirt pocket with the hood pulled low over his face.

I ran my hands over my face, biting back a sound of frustration. I didn’t know what to do. Should I wake him? Leave him? What was the right thing here? What was the best way to help him?

In the end, I left him. If he’d wanted to go back to the house, he would’ve. If he’d wanted me to know he was back, he would’ve told me. Both of those things told me he needed space.

It also left me with horses to tend to. I left and crossed to the working stable, determined to do West’s job before my guys showed up. Unfortunately, wrangling horses wasn’t my thing. Even before West showed up, I never did it.

Still, I put my everything into it—doing my best to emanate West’s level of care and attention. I wasn’t half as good as him but at least I got the job done.

I was halfway through my fourth horse when the first truck pulled up. Any shred of dignity I had went straight out the window. I didn’t know how to explain this to anyone.

“Hey, boss,” Peter said as he got out. At least it was only Peter. He stopped along the fence next to me. “You okay? You’re… you’re not…”

“Dressed to fucking work?” I finished for him. I’d worn a lot of shit around my ranch but wearing flannel pajamas to saddle the horses was a new one. I didn’t like it. “I know.”

“Rough night?” he asked softly. I paused, drawing in a deep breath as I stared out at the readied horses.

“I fucking hate PTSD,” I admitted quietly. I could’ve lied, but I didn’t want to. I was grumpy and mad and stewing over shit that wasn’t even something I could fix. The man I loved was falling apart in ways I couldn’t begin to fathom—tortured by memories and trauma I didn’t understand. Could never understand. It fucking killed me. “I fucking hate it.”

“I hear you,” Peter said. Of course, he did. “Why don’t I finish the horses for you? You go shower and take the day off.”

“I can’t do that to you.”

“Yeah, you can,” he insisted. “Besides, you’ll break your toes if that horse stomps on your slippers. ”

I ignored the slippers comment, fully aware of how dumb I fucking was for wearing them instead of going back for my boots. There hadn’t been time.

“Are you sure?” I ran a hand through my hair as I stalled. I was so fucking tired, and from the expression on his face, I probably looked it.

“You need to take care of you too, Jackson,” he told me. “You can’t just take care of him. You’re no good to him if you’re drowning too.”

“He’s asleep in the stables.”

“I’ll keep everyone away, and I’ll let Mickey know when he gets here. Promise.”

“Can you text me when he’s up?” I asked, and Peter nodded.

“You got it, boss.” He smiled in that easy way that was just him. I liked Peter. I liked having someone who understood a little bit of what I was feeling—someone who helped me make it make a little more sense.

“Thanks, Peter. I mean that.”

I didn’t go home and shower. Instead, I made a pot of coffee and sat down at my laptop. I bypassed all my work emails and bullshit to do some research on sexual assault survivors, PTSD, and every little thing I could think of in between.

I was so fucking lost as to how to help West. I hated watching him struggle, but I wasn’t sure what the hell I could even do to help.