“My younger brother drowned in it.” The words fall heavy between us. “Jake. He was seventeen. I was twenty years old.”
I feel like I've been punched in the chest, the air leaving my lungs all at once. “Grant, I'm so sorry,” I whisper, the words wholly inadequate for the pain I see etched across his face.
He nods, his jaw tight. For a moment, I think that's all he'll say, but then he continues; his voice low and raw.
“We were playing this stupid game—running across the railroad tracks before the train came. Jake wanted to prove he was as brave as his big brother.” Grant’s knuckles turn white as he grips the reins. “The train was closer than we thought. He made it across, but fell down the embankment, hit his head and went into the river. The current was strong that day.”
My throat constricts as I picture the scene—a boy slipping into the water, a desperate brother unable to reach him in time.
“You couldn't have known,” I say softly.
His laugh is hollow. “That's what everyone said. Doesn't make it any less…” he stops talking and there is so much weight in that one sentence.
The familiar weight of survivor's guilt hangs between us like a physical presence. I recognize it because I've carried my ownversion for years—wondering why I survived when my mother didn't, questioning if I could have somehow saved her.
“I was supposed to be watching him,” Grant continues, his eyes fixed on some distant point. “I should have known better. Dad trusted me to keep him safe.”
“And you've been punishing yourself ever since,” I say, recognizing the pattern.
His eyes snap to mine, startled by my directness. “Wouldn't you?”
I consider this carefully, thinking of my own complicated relationship with water. “Maybe. But I also know what it's like to let guilt keep you from living.” I gesture toward the river. “I chose to embrace the thing that took from me and terrified me most at first. You chose to avoid it.”
“Different coping mechanisms,” he concedes, something like respect flickering in his eyes.
“Different, but we both ended up stuck in our own ways.”
Our horses have stopped moving, standing peacefully side by side as we face each other. In this moment, I feel seen in a way I haven't in years—maybe ever. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“We should head back,” Grant says finally, though he doesn't move. “It'll be getting dark soon.”
I nod, but neither of us make a move to turn our horses. The weight of shared vulnerability hangs between us, creating a connection I didn't expect and don't quite know how to handle.
“Mia,” he says, his voice dropping to that low register that makes my skin tingle. “My mom's birthday dinner is tomorrow night. Would you... I mean, if you're not busy...” He clears his throat, suddenly looking less like the confident cowboy and more like an uncertain teenager. “Would you like to come? As my guest?”
The invitation catches me off guard. This isn't just a casual dinner—this is meeting his family, stepping into his world in a way that feels significant.
“Your whole family will be there?” I ask, stalling.
He nods, watching me carefully. “They'd love to meet you. And Mama always cooks enough to feed an army.” He chuckles softly.
I should say no. Getting involved with Grant Taylor's family is the opposite of what I should be doing as someone who's supposedly leaving town at the first opportunity. Getting attached to this place, to these people—to him—will only make it harder when it's time to go.
But as I look at him, backlit by the setting sun, I find I can't form the word “no.”
“I…I'd like that,” I say instead, the admission terrifying in its honesty.
His smile is slow and genuine, lighting up his entire face in a way that makes my heart skip. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm, returning his smile despite myself. “But I should warn you—I don't own anything appropriate for a fancy family dinner. Unless your mother appreciates the 'stranded traveler' aesthetic.”
He laughs, the sound chasing away the heaviness of our earlier conversation. “Trust me, she's not going to care what you're wearing. She's just going to be thrilled I'm bringing someone.”
“You don't bring dates to family dinners often?” I ask, genuinely curious.
The word “date” hanging between us.
“Never,” he says simply, his eyes never leaving mine.
