Page 92 of Came the Closest
I lay on the wicker daybed hours after supper, my arm asleep from Milo’s weight. He fell asleep after he crawled up next to me, holding his beloved bear, and I couldn’t move him. Not when he’s so peaceful—blond lashes on rosy cheeks, head pressed against my bicep, knees tucked into my hip bones.
There are a million and one things I could be doing instead. I could be reviewing Chris’s notes from our Monday meeting, sitting Indi down to discuss what she told Cheyenne with our brothers, or deciding what I want to say to Travis and figuring out how to tell my family that I’m retiring.
I ignore everything. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here; the child I love curled into my ribs while I watch the woman I love let her creativity flow onto the canvas.
Cheyenne won’t let me see the canvas until it’s done, so it’s angled away from me. Her shirt collar flips from her shoulder, and her messy bun is droopier than when she started. Her bare toes rest lightly on the rung of a creaky wooden barstool. A paint palette balances in one hand and a brush is clasped between her other fingers. Sunset spills through the windows, bathing her tan skin in golden light.
I love her.
Catching me staring, she peeks around the easel. “What?”
“What, what?” I ask.
“You’re staring at me.” She looks between her work-in-progress and me. “You really don’t have to watch. I know you have other stuff to do.”
“Nothing more important than this.”
She gives me a flat look. “Watching me splatter paint everywhere?”
“Watching the love of my life become whole enough to do what she loves again.”
Color blooms in her cheeks and she shifts halfway behind the canvas again. She’s not painting anymore. Her brush hovers near the canvas, freshly dipped in milky blue paint, but it remains there while she runs her teeth over her lower lip.
“Fini?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t push her to. She can answer when she’s good and ready. I’ve got nowhere to be but right here.
“What happens next, Colt?” she asks without looking at me. “In less than two weeks, the three-month guardianship is up. Then what? I know you told Travis you’re done, but you haven’t told anyone else, so are you? Are you really done? And what happens to Milo?” She stops and swallows hard. “What happens to us?”
Three months ago, I’d have told her I didn’t know. Indi would be assuming guardianship come August, and while I didn’t love that, I wasn’t about to throw away my entire career.
Now, everything is different. I will never remove Indi from Milo’s life, but I do think my sister needs a chance to live, too. She’s too young to be tethered by a child; she’s little more than a child herself.
I open my mouth to say that, but Cheyenne continues talking before I can speak.
“What if I adopted him? That way you could still be in his life, and I guess we can figure out how things between us will be, but then you don’t have to be done—”
“No,” I say, my voice firmer than intended.
Tears stand in her eyes and her chin trembles. “I can’t lose another child, Cole. I’m only now starting to heal from losing my baby, and it’s been over a year since I lost him or her. I don’t have any right to Milo, and I know that, but I shouldn’t have let myself love him. Because now…” Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head, tears running down her face. “Because now I’m afraid to live life without him. Without you.”
I shift away from Milo carefully and ease to my feet. I don’t look at Cheyenne’s canvas when I approach her. I close my eyes, I move behind her, and I gather her close to me. My arms circle her, and I tuck my face in the curve of her neck. I inhale her soft scent and I kiss the exposed line of her shoulder.
“I said no because I’m not leaving again, Fini,” I whisper against her skin. “That doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing, but I’m going to look into becoming a permanent fixture in Milo’s life. I’m done on the rodeo circuit, love. It’s time for me to come home.” I shift my mouth until it’s beside her ear, and shivers course through her body. “It’s time for me to love you for the rest of my life.”
Cheyenne breaks.
Not like the first day at the lake house when she said she hadn’t been choosing happy; this a relieved outpouring. She puts the palette and brush on her stand, and she turns into me fully, her body tremulous with suppressed emotions. Her fingers curl into my shirt, her tears seep through the cotton to my skin, and she surrenders her strength to rely fully on mine.
And I will—I will be her strength.
For the rest of my days, I’ll support her. I’ll probably mess up along the way, but I’ll try my hardest. I’ll be this woman’s anchor through the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Next time I get down on one knee, there will be nothing temporary about it.
“I’m done running, Fini,” I whisper, running my fingertips along her spine. “I’m ready to stand still.”
She lifts her head from my chest, her sobs receding, but I don’t open my eyes. I inhale sharply when she traces a finger along my jawline and down the side of my neck. My hand tightens on her waist when she presses trembling lips to the hollow of my throat, and my exhale shakes when she kisses a path up to my ear.
“Colton,” she murmurs, “open your eyes.”