Page 43

43

Jake

I should’ve known something was off the moment Sadie texted “Meet me at the old tack shed—family thing, bring coffee.”

Sadie and “family thing” rarely mix, and the girl hates coffee. Still, it’s been a week of tanking chaos: Davidson’s threats, out-of-state lawyers ringing my phone six times a day, and Violet clinging to my shirt like I’m about to vanish. The last thing I expect is relationship drama—again.

I park the truck beside the weather-beaten shed, thermos in hand. The late afternoon sun slants long shadows over the paddock. I don’t see Sadie’s SUV. I do see a small silver sedan I know too well. My chest tightens.

Piper

The door creaks open.

She steps out, camera strap slung over her shoulder, a few loose strands of hair curling around her face like she got here in a hurry. Her jeans are dusty, her boots scuffed, and there’s a faint pink flush on her cheeks that makes her look maddeningly fresh and sun-kissed.

My body responds before my brain can shut it down—tightening with the same hunger I swore I buried.

My gut clenches.

Damn it. Not the time.

Her eyes widen the moment she sees me. She stops short like she’s considering bolting right back inside.

“Sadie said she needed help sorting old tack,” she says carefully.

I lean against the barn post, folding my arms. “Funny. She told me it was a family thing.”

For a second, we just stand there, five feet apart, surrounded by hay dust and tension so thick I could lasso it. She shifts her weight, the camera swinging gently at her side. Her gaze flicks away from mine and then back again like she’s trying to find her footing.

I clear my throat, forcing the heat in my chest to cool. “So. Guess we were both played.”

A joint realization dawns: we’ve been set up. Typical Sadie—rehab angle number one: forced confrontation.

I turn on my heel. No way. Not today. “I’m not here for reruns of heartbreak,” I mutter, heading back to the truck.

“Jake, wait—please.” Piper’s voice cracks. She limps a little, ankle still wrapped in athletic tape. Guilt flickers, but I keep walking.

She tries again. “This isn’t a stunt. I just need two minutes.”

I stop by the driver’s door, jaw tight. Two minutes to say what? Sorry I detonated your life, be cool now?

But a tiny, war-torn part of me still cares what she has to say. I lean against the truck, arms folded. “Two minutes. Clock started.”

She swallows, steps closer. Her eyes are swollen—days of no sleep, maybe nights of crying. The sight twists something in me I wish would stay untwisted.

She smells like sunlight and honeysuckle. It guts me how much I still want her.

“I’m not here to fix anything,” she starts, voice low. “I screwed up, and I know words won’t un-screw it. But you deserved to hear this from me, not a blog post.”

I stare at a point over her shoulder. If I meet her eyes, I’ll waver. She goes on:

“I lied about who I was. I weaponized Penelope Darling to get clicks. I treated you like a headline, not a human. Worst—” her voice trembles “—I involved Violet without ever considering how that could hurt her. I’m sorry, Jake. No excuses. I did it, I own it.”

Silence. The only sound is wind rustling dry grass and the far-off lowing of a cow that still needs sorting. I let the quiet stretch—mostly to keep my temper inside.

She sucks in a breath. “I know you have every right to hate me. And I don’t expect forgiveness.”

I nod towards her camera. “And what’s that for?”

“I’m building a new site—no gossip, just photos. Starting over honest.”

Her two minutes are up. I push off the truck. “Congratulations on your rebrand,” I say flatly. “But honesty now doesn’t erase dishonesty then.”

She flinches. “I know.”

“And Violet?” My voice drops to a growl. “She called you ‘Flower Lady’ for two days straight. You ghosted us. She asked why her friend disappeared.”

Piper’s eyes brim. “I didn’t know she—Jake, I never wanted to hurt her.”

“But you did,” I snap. “She doesn’t get a do-over. Neither do I.”

She opens her mouth, shuts it. Tears streak her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers again.

I nod once, the motion stiff. “Apology noted.” Then I climb into the truck and slam the door.

Through the windshield I see her hug her camera to her chest like it’s a security blanket. The way her lips parted when she said my name—it’ll haunt me tonight. My stomach feels like ground glass, but I crank the engine anyway and drive off in a spray of gravel.

***

Later that night I’m in the bunkhouse living room, nursing a longneck and half-watching highlight reels. Anything that doesn’t involve feelings. Violet’s asleep at Dad’s place for a cousins’ movie night, which leaves me alone with my thoughts—dangerous territory.

The door opens. Blake steps in, rolling his shoulders like he’s psyching up for a face-off. Great.

He drops onto the opposite couch, cracks open a soda. “Heard you ran into Piper.”

“Sadie baited us.” I take a swig. “Piper apologized. I declined.”

Blake studies me. “You planning to stay angry forever?”

I shrug. “She made her choice. I made mine.”

He nods slowly. “Let’s walk through that. She blew up her whole brand—lost sponsors, money, credibility. For what? A PR stunt?”

“Who knows?”

“I do.” Blake leans forward. “She had an alternative. She could’ve kept quiet, raked in ad revenue, left town, and none of us would know. Coming clean was disastrous for her. She did it anyway.”

I exhale hard. “That doesn’t fix Violet’s confusion.”

Blake’s gaze softens. “I get that. But you’re punishing Piper for sins she owned. And maybe punishing her for Marnie’s, too.”

The name hits me like a puck to the ribs. Marnie’s custody motion landed this morning—dirty tactics, bogus ‘stable environment’ claims financed by Davidson money, I wouldn't doubt. My jaw clenches. “I’m not confusing the two.”

“You sure?” Blake asks quietly. “Because the last time you were this shut down was when Marnie bolted. Now Piper messed up, and you’re back in lockdown.”

I glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. That’s the burden and gift of a brother—he sees through the walls you think are opaque.

He continues, “Look, I’m not telling you to forgive her tonight. I’m telling you not to lump her mistake with Marnie’s abandonment. One was malice; one was insecure stupidity that she’s trying to fix.”

“Big difference,” I mutter.

“It is,” Blake says firmly. “Plus, Piper’s confession gave Davidson nothing to weaponize. She pulled the rug out from under him before he ever tried.”

I stare at my beer bottle, knuckles white. 'Insecure stupidity.' I guess people make mistakes for reasons that don’t always look evil under the surface.

Blake stands, squeezes my shoulder. “Let yourself sit with that. And don’t make Violet lose another person she loves because you’re scared of trusting again.” He heads toward the door, then throws me a final look. “Good night, little brother.”

After Blake leaves, the bunkhouse goes silent except for the ticking wall clock. I replay Piper’s apology—her cracked voice, her trembling hands, the way she asked for nothing in return. Courage or cowardice? Maybe both. But it took guts to stay knowing I could shred her.

And the way her voice broke? The way she looked at me like she still tasted last time? It didn’t feel like guilt. It felt like unfinished heat.

I set the beer aside and lean back, eyes on the ceiling beams. My anger’s still there, but now there’s a hairline fracture letting something else seep through—understanding? No. Not yet. Maybe just the possibility of it.

I picture Violet’s face lighting up when Piper snapped photos, how she sprinted to give that mangled ranch flower. Kid’s got instincts. She doesn’t waste love on frauds.

The clock ticks. My chest feels heavy, but for the first time all week, the weight shifts. Not lighter—just… movable.

Tomorrow I’ll be back in court prep, roping lawyers, fortifying fences. Tonight, though, I let myself acknowledge the nagging thought Blake planted: Piper didn’t have to confess. She did it because she couldn’t stand the lie—just like I can’t stand a dirty play on the ice. Maybe that matters. Maybe it matters more than I want it to.

I blow out a long breath. We’ll see, Penelope. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But maybe a rematch. Maybe.

I kill the TV, drop the empty bottle in the bin, and head for Violet’s room. Whatever happens with Piper, my first duty is here—keeping my little girl safe.

But as I pull Violet’s quilt up and kiss her forehead, another truth settles in:

Keeping her safe might just mean learning to forgive the people who are willing to fight for her.