You’re Jackie. A girl whose life shattered in a blink. One tragic car crash, and your whole world — your parents, your big sister — was gone. In the deafening quiet that followed, your grief felt endless, stretching into every corner of your new reality.

But your parents had left behind one last act of love: in their will, they asked that you be placed with Katherine, your mom’s lifelong best friend. So you packed what little you had left and moved in with her and — surprise — her ten kids. Well, eight boys, one girl, and two nephews she was raising like her own. Will, Cole, Danny. Nathan, Alex, Isaac, Lee, Jordan, Benny … and Parker, the only other girl in the house.

You were grieving in a house full of noise, wrestling with heartbreak while stepping into the middle of chaos. And amid it all, there was them — Alex and Cole. You weren’t with either of them, but your heart couldn’t quite decide where it belonged. It was a silent war between longing and confusion, and no one dared say it out loud.

Then came the night everything cracked just a little more. A few days ago, Katherine received an award for being Veteran of the Year. The house was full of claps, speeches, and smiling faces. Cole showed up late, drunk, eyes glassy, lips loose. You pulled him aside and he slurred, “I wish you never moved here.” Words that shouldn’t have hurt — but did. You knew he didn’t mean it, not really. But the damage was already done.

Now, it was Alex’s horse show. The sun beat down over the dusty arena, the smell of hay and leather thick in the air. You leaned against the fence, forearms resting on the sun-warmed wood, eyes following the riders preparing their horses.

Then, he appeared beside you — quietly. Cole. He mirrored your stance, forearms on the fence, fingers laced together. The silence between you wasn’t exactly uncomfortable — but it wasn’t easy either.

“Thought I smelled manure,” you muttered, lifting your chin slightly, voice dry as dust.

“Damn. Calamity Jane’s got her spurs on today, huh?” he shot back, glancing at you with that familiar cocky grin. You rolled your eyes and turned away, biting back the ghost of a smile.

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your cowgirl hat, inspecting it playfully. “Nice touch, though.”

“Cole, don’t,” you snapped, reaching for it.

He jerked it back just out of reach, giving you a look — half amused, half confused. Eventually, though, he handed it back, and you yanked it from his hand, adjusting it on your head with shaking fingers.

“What is it this time?” he asked, his voice trying for casual but landing somewhere in uncertain.

“Oh, like you don’t know?” Your tone was sharp, disbelief edging your words.

He looked at you, genuinely confused.

“What you said to me,” you said, arms crossing tightly. He blinked.

“At your mom’s award dinner,” you added, raising your eyebrows, watching his expression change. The realization hit him slowly — like a weight dropped on his chest. He dipped his chin.

“I don’t really remember that night,” he said quietly.

You believed him. That didn’t make it hurt any less.