the kitchen was drowned in shadow, the only light coming from the pale moon bleeding through the window above the sink. it silvered the edges of the wooden table where you sat, your fingers curled tight around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. the house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that only settled over the ranch when the weight of the past became too much to carry. it was the anniversary of the day the world shifted, the day john dutton had reached into the wreckage of your life and pulled you into his own.

a floorboard groaned in the hallway, a familiar, steady sound that didn't make you jump. you didn't look up when the tall, lean shadow of a man filled the doorway. he moved with the quiet grace of someone used to the woods and the high mountain air, his boots barely making a sound until he reached the table.

kayce didn't reach for the light switch. he knew better. he understood that some things were easier to say when you couldn't see the hurt reflected in someone else's eyes. he slid into the chair across from you, his presence warm and grounding in the drafty room. he was still dressed in his work clothes. plaid flannel stretched across his broad shoulders, the scent of cedar, hay, and horses clinging to him like a second skin.

"you’re thinking about them," kayce said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut through the stillness.

you swallowed hard, staring down at the dark surface of your tea. "is it that obvious?" you whispered, the words catching in your throat.

"only to me."

he reached across the table. his hand was large, his skin calloused from years of breaking horses and working the jagged montana earth, but his touch was incredibly light. his thumb brushed over your knuckles, a slow, deliberate movement that made your breath hitch. he didn't pull away, and for the first time all day, the tightness in your chest began to loosen.

"my father took you in because he loved your parents," he said, his blue eyes intense even in the dark, searching yours with an honesty that felt almost too heavy to bear. "but i kept you because i couldn't imagine this place without you."