Firefly Nights

CHAPTER 16.99

My throat tightened. I wanted to speak, but the words caught behind the memory of his hands on my skin, the softness of his mouth, the ache I'd swallowed down even as I kissed him back.

I turned toward him, slow. "It happened so fast," I said. My voice didn't feel like mine—it was quieter, worn. "One second we were laughing at the bar, and the next I felt like I was free-falling. Like I couldn't catch my breath."

He nodded once, steady. "That's 'cause it's been building for a long damn time. You know it. I know it."

And I did. I knew it in the way he looked at me when I thought no one was watching. In the way he stepped in front of things without needing to explain himself. In the way his silence made room instead of taking it away.

I stared at the rain trailing down the porch rail, each drop catching light like it was made of something holy. The quiet between us stretched, but it didn't feel empty. It felt like something true had taken root.

"Do you regret it?" The words slipped out before I could soften them, brittle at the edges, more fragile than I meant. I didn't look at him when I said it. I looked at the rain, at the silver trickle sliding off the porch rail like time unraveling too fast to catch.

Colt turned his head, slow and sure. "Not for a second." His voice didn't waver. "You?"

I didn't answer right away. Couldn't. I let the quiet fill up the space where fear usually lived. Thought about the way his mouth had met mine like it already knew what I needed. Thought about the steadiness of him today, when everything else inside me was splintering sideways.

And still... part of me stayed braced for the ache that came with closeness. The kind that couldn't be stitched up. The kind that didn't bleed loud but lived in your marrow.

I shook my head, slow. "No. I don't."

He breathed out like he'd been holding something in, and I felt the sound against my temple when he leaned in, pressing a kiss there so soft it felt like an apology for every hard thing the world had ever done to me. His arm pulled me in tighter, and I let him.

But I could already feel the weight of the words I hadn't said.

"Nationals are coming up," I murmured, my voice quieter now. Not bitter. Not cold. Just honest. "You're leaving soon."

It didn't need to be more than that. The rest was already sitting between us, plain as the porch light catching in the rain.

I watched the drops slide down the banister, slow and silver, disappearing into the wood like time had teeth. I'd always loved storms—how they felt honest in a world that rarely was. But now the sound of rain made my chest ache, because I knew it was the last quiet we'd get before everything changed.

Colt didn't say anything, but I could feel him shift beside me—like he was bracing without moving. His silence was thick, not distant. Not cold. Just full. The way silence always got when it knew it was about to lose something.

And maybe that's what broke me open. Because I didn't want to lose him. But I also couldn't be the girl who stayed quiet just to keep someone beside her.

I'd done my research. Quietly. Alone. Long before he ever touched me. I'd seen the headlines. The rankings. I knew how close he'd gotten last year, how he'd been clawing his way toward this for seasons, riding bulls with names that made seasoned cowboys flinch. I'd read the articles that called him a "dark horse contender" and "the one to watch." Watched the videos frame by frame, saw the look in his eyes right before the gate cracked open—like he'd made peace with whatever came next. Even if it broke him.