Page 72 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

That’s the miracle of life. Even people who have every right to turn out horribly, can choose to do better, be better , simply because they want to. Not perfect, or pure by any means, but right all the same.

Stetson’s the compass in which I navigated my way out of my own thick trauma induced haze—if she could survive her horrible circumstance, and become… this ? I can do anything I want, be anyone I want to be.

“She’s so perfect.” Stetson giggles, running a gentle circle over Poppy’s back. As if in agreement, I hear a small squeak from the bundle in question and it shoots straight to my heart.

I’ve never wanted to be a mom. And even seeing Stetson and Gus doesn’t change that for me. At least not right now. But I do want to be the coolest, most bad-ass aunt known to man, and I can’t wait to start spoiling Poppy, completely and totally rotten.

“Do you want to hold her?” Stetson asks, and I shoot her a concerned look.

“I’m okay.”

“She’s not glass Dale, you won’t drop her.”

“How do you know?” I ask, feeling like dropping her is the most likely outcome of me holding her.

What if I scar her for life?

“Because you never dropped me. Even when you had unbearable burdens of your own.” Her voice is steady and sure, leaving no room for argument, and the words send a spear straight through my heart. How can I love someone so much it hurts?

“I’m afraid; you’ve always been stronger than me,” I admit, shooting her a small smile.

“Stubborn, maybe. But stronger? It takes strength to love people without reins or remorse. You taught me that.” I did? When?

“Mom-hood is turning you into a softy.” I tease, that fist around my heart squeezing.

“I just hope I can be as brave as both of you someday. Then maybe I’ll be strong too.”

I whip my head to Faith, whose phone is nowhere in sight now, and there’s a sadness in her eyes I can’t deny. Not anymore.

“Is there anything we can do to help? Are you in trouble or something?”

“We’d do anything for you, Faith,” Stetson adds, sitting up a little straighter.

Faith shakes her head, “My story will come someday soon. Right now, I just have to figure out what I want it to be. I’ve spent my entire life, afraid and alone, driven by anger and fear—hiding who I am because I felt unworthy.” She shoots us a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Tell us, we can help,” I counter, feeling like I have to step up for her—she deserves that as much as anyone.

“I will, I promise. For now, I’m doing what I do best—helping others with their problems until I’m ready to face my own.”

There’s a weighted pause, one I know that’s filled with sadness, and a bit of frustration. If only she would let us in.

But I’ve been there, and it’s taken going through horrible trauma to realize it’s not better being alone. It’s a journey Faith will have to go on alone, until she’s ready. If she’s anything like Stetson and I, pushing in will only make her push us away.

And I refuse to have that happen. I’d rather be in the shadows, but still in her life, than not in her life at all.

“How about another bottle of wine?” Stetson asks, and I stand before anyone else has a chance to—I can always rely on Stetson to change the subject.

Walking into the kitchen, Faith’s words run through my mind.

Not just the ones from today, but everything she’s told us about her parents, about the girl she keeps hidden beneath her perfect exterior.

I’d love to reach inside and see what’s there, but something tells me, darkness isn’t always our circumstances—sometimes darkness is within us, and that can be the scariest kind.

Does she not think we’ll love her, no matter what she hides?

I grab the bottle, turning from the kitchen, when I freeze, caught by the sight outside the window overlooking the driveway.

Valentina’s standing outside, dressed in jeans and her signature navy tank top, her wild red curls whipping around her face.

Her face is drawn and furious— if looks could kill, I would no doubt be dead —but tears fall unchecked over her cheeks, running deep crevices through her perfect makeup.

She looks beautiful, in the most devastating kind of way.

But it’s the small, silver revolver in her trembling hand that catches my eye, and holds it. Her eyes are unwavering from my own, and even though she’s spoken not a single word, I know the gun is meant for me. Or at least for my life—whatever will inflict the most pain.

We stay like this, frozen in a trance of wills, as I watch her, and she watches me, for what feels like days. My heart pounds like a herd of wild horses, filling my mind with a haze— what do I do?

Valentina isn’t okay with what happened with her family's legacy—that much is clear. And she’s even less okay with what happened to her own fate.

I don’t know Valentina great, but I do know that running a ranch, living in a small town; none of those things are what she wants or is even remotely good at. And Mateo forced her hand.

I don’t blame him, hell, I think what he did was honorable. He painted himself as the villain in her story, in order to give her a shot of redemption, a shot at a better life. He’s the best person I know, and I’ll protect him against anything or anyone—even if it is his sister.

But right now, any reasonable or even safe option is fleeing from my mind. The only thing I can think to do is go out there and talk to her, before someone else see’s her. Gus’ll shoot her, Mateo will get shot by her, and Faith and Stetson will no doubt be scarred for life.

Valentina’s here for me. So it should be me that goes.

Before I can move, her gaze breaks, looking to my left.

With my heart in my throat, hands gripping the counter, I watch Faith walk directly towards the lunatic with the gun, her blonde hair tied back perfectly in a neat bun— the complete opposite to the villain before her — until they’re nearly toe to toe.

I hold my breath, straining to hear words that refuse to reach me. And then Faith turns around, her eyes meeting mine for a single moment, before they dart away.

Valentina lowers the gun, her hand quivering as a thousand emotions race across her perfect face.

It’s in this moment, I pity her—it’s always the misunderstood girl who ends up losing herself in the end.

And I think Valentina might be the most misunderstood of all, even if she does make my skin crawl.

We’re frozen, only a thin piece of glass and a thousand unspoken words between us. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears as I wait for her to turn and leave—Faith, although I don’t understand her involvement, said something to her to make her pause.

But as I blink, too afraid to even move, Valentina doesn’t turn around and leave. Pure devastation crosses her face, her eyes widening and mouth opening in a silent scream—it’s my only warning as she raises the gun once more, her trembling gone.

And then the sound of a bullet ripping through the air fills my ears.