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STEVE THE HORSE COP

T he Next Day

“Let’s go for a drive around the coast! There’s so much I want to show you.”

Timmy’s voice is bubbling with excitement, and I can’t help but smile. This trip feels like a redemption arc for me too. Last time I visited Sunset Cay, it was with my ex, and the memory is less about the coastline’s beauty and more about his relentless complaining. I’d planned a scenic drive just like this, eager to explore hidden beaches and charming roadside cafes. To show him places where I had fond memories with my parents, back in happier times. But my ex ruined the day, saying it was a waste of time to sit in a car when we could be drinking by a pool. That day trip ended in a fight that tainted every stop we made.

Now, though, Timmy’s excitement is infectious. The way he talks about the beaches and surf spots, it’s clear he loves this place with every ounce of his chaotic heart. I watch him gear up for the day, throwing on a Superman cape, a bold USA flag cap, and his deer claw necklace. He looks ridiculous—and perfect, in his own way. That’s Timmy. Always a spectacle, always unapologetically himself.

As we hit the road, I feel like I’m reclaiming the experience I wanted on my last vacation here. The palm trees sway over the road as we drive past packed beaches and quaint coastal neighborhoods, the kind of scenery I’ve always dreamed of living in. And now, somehow, I do. I pull out my phone to record short videos and take pictures, thinking how surreal it all feels.

“This place is so gorgeous,” I say, glancing at Timmy. “You know what we should do? We should make a TikTok account. Share our adventures.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up. “Like a podcast?”

I laugh. “More like short videos. Reels and stuff. We could capture the fun, you know? I bet people would love it.”

“Hell yeah!” He bounces in his seat. “I’ve got a few ideas for pranks that would make people laugh.”

It feels good, this shared excitement—this sense that we’re building something fun together, moment by moment.

We make several stops along the coast, and at one point, Timmy pulls into a small farm surrounded by swaying fields and distant mountains. “I just need a minute,” he says, hopping out of the truck. “A friend of mine’s in the hospital, and his neighbors are watching the farm. I want to check in and see if they need help.”

While he talks to a woman near the fence, I watch him from the car, marveling at how well-connected he is. Timmy seems to know everyone, and not just in a casual way—he genuinely cares about these people. It’s one of the things that draws me to him, even if his eccentricity can be overwhelming at times. He’s like a patchwork quilt of wild, messy kindness.

When he slides back into the driver’s seat, he’s still animated. “I really want you to meet Steve,” he says as we pull back onto the road. “He’s one of my best friends, and has been since we were kids. Always got my back.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a park ranger on another island. Pretty cool job—he works on horseback. Steve the Horse Cop, we call him. His family’s over there, but when he’s off, he stays with his parents here.”

I like the sound of Steve. From the way Timmy describes him, he seems grounded, a stabilizing presence in Timmy’s otherwise unpredictable world. It’s reassuring. Maybe Timmy has his wild streak, but if a guy like Steve is still in his life after all these years, it suggests Timmy knows how to keep some things steady when it matters.

But as we get closer to Steve’s place, Timmy’s mood shifts. He stops to grab a bottle of Fireball and downs some of it on the road, his energy morphing into something more volatile.

“You’re a shit DJ,” he snaps at one point, swiping the phone from my hand when I can’t find a song he requested quick enough for his liking. “Just give it to me. You fucking suck at this.”

His words hit like a slap. “I’m really sorry,” I mutter, feeling the sting rise in my throat.

He scoffs. “Don’t quit your day job.”

Tears well up, and I fight to keep them at bay. “Are you crying?” he asks, his voice sharp.

“No,” I whisper, biting my lip.

By the time we reach the estuary where Steve is waiting, I feel like I’ve been emotionally whipped around. I wipe at my face, trying to salvage what I can of my makeup before we step out of the truck. Steve greets me with a polite smile, and we exchange a hug.

Timmy, barefoot and buzzing with energy, immediately runs off to feed the ducks, leaving me with Steve. I can’t help but ask, “Is he always like this?”

Steve shrugs. “He’s a lot. I’ve known him since we were kids, and I can only take him in small doses.” His eyes lock onto mine, serious now. “Maybe you should do the same.”

His words linger, a subtle warning I can’t ignore. Coming from anyone else, I’d dismiss it. But Steve’s got that quiet, measured way about him. He’s a cop—or close enough, as a ranger—and there’s a gravity to his words that makes me listen.

“Well, I’m an all-or-nothing person,” I say, putting on a bright smile. “So I guess I’m fucked.”

I can’t shake what Steve said, even as I rationalize it away, settling in my mind like a splinter. But Timmy told me himself—he has moody days driven by his mood disorder. Maybe this is just one of them.

And what we have is special. Timmy isn’t perfect, but he’s mine. He’s everything I’ve been missing: affectionate, funny, protective, creative, and intensely loving. Our sex life is incredible, and the way he makes me feel seen—really seen—is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Steve might think he knows Timmy, but I see a different side of him. Steve isn’t living in the moments when Timmy holds me close, kisses my forehead, and makes me laugh until I can’t breathe. Steve doesn’t see the guy who curls up next to me at night, all snuggly warmth and whispered promises.

Timmy’s rough around the edges, sure, but that’s part of his charm. And the parts that aren’t charming? We’ll work on those. He cares enough to try, and that’s all I need.

Back at my apartment, the tension melts away. I slip into something comfortable and set up my influencer post with the sex wedge, feeling more at ease now that we’re home.

Then I see the email—and my heart leaps.

Sabre’s rabies results are in. The quarantine station has approved his release, three months early.

“Oh my god!” I whisper, a wave of relief crashing over me. My baby is coming home. Soon, I’ll have Sabre with me, and everything will finally feel right. The quarantine facility is really nice, but I still feel guilty thinking about my affectionate little boy sitting there day after day, all by himself.

Timmy notices my excitement. “What’s up?”

“Sabre’s coming home early!” I beam at him, and he grins back, the day’s tension already forgotten.

We stop by Matty’s later, where Timmy poses with his fingers like devil horns above his head for a few goofy photos. As I snap the shots, I feel that familiar warmth return. Timmy is chaotic and unpredictable—but he’s also mine.

But in the corner of my heart, a small knot of unease tightens. And I know that something in this picture—this strange, chaotic love—might be bigger than me.