I fought to protect her smile... from this side of the line.
Elias
We were twenty minutes out when my phone buzzed.
So I pulled over to check.
Luca:
What's up, old man
Why are you driving at 7 on a Saturday?
Me:
Taking my little princess out for her birthday.
Luca:
oooh~ that makes sense
She's not really a "little" princess anymore, huh?
Me:
She turned 20 today.
There was a pause. Then:
Luca:
…so does that mean I can shoot my shot?
I didn't answer.
Then I did.
Me:
You wanna die?
Luca:
😂😂 chill bro I'm kidding
sort of
I put my phone face down in the cupholder and didn't bother replying again.
Luca was all talk. But still.
The idea—just the idea of Liana in someone else's arms—left a bitter taste in my mouth.
It wasn't jealousy.
It was something else.
Something I didn't want to name.
I guess I was just being protective.
The barn smelled like hay, clean leather, and morning dew.
She lit up the second we stepped out of the truck.
Not with words. Just... her shoulders dropped, her eyes softened.
She took a deep breath like she finally remembered how to.
I introduced her to Starling, the gelding I'd reserved.
She ran her hand along his neck like she'd done it a thousand times.
She probably had, back in therapy.
The horse leaned into her touch without flinching.
Still had the touch, I told her.
She smiled. The real kind. The kind you don't plan.
It hit me harder than I wanted it to.
She hesitated before mounting. I offered help. She said yes.
So I stepped in.
My hand found her waist—barely a grip at all.
Her ribs were right there—thin, fragile.
She'd grown, yes, but still felt too small for this world.
And then... contact. Just a second.
Skin. Warmth. Something electric.
I pulled my hand back the moment she was settled.
No.
Not now. Not ever.
She was a kid when I found her.
She's still a kid.
Even if her body was growing into something else, my job wasn't to notice that.
She looked good on that horse.
Relaxed. At home.
Like this was where she belonged—not in some house with a man twice her size.
I led Starling down the trail, letting her enjoy the ride.
She was quiet, as usual.
But not the shut-down kind of quiet.
Just... present. At peace.
I said something about the weather.
She thanked me for bringing her.
Then she smiled again.
Not just with her lips. Her eyes smiled too.
Like being here meant something.
She said, "Thanks for bringing me."
I wanted to say, Anytime.
But I just gave her the usual line.
"You're welcome, my little princess."
She didn't flinch at the nickname.
She never did.
But this time, it felt different in my mouth.
Too soft. Too easy.
I looked away before I could think about why.
At one point, I paused to adjust her stirrup.
She leaned down to check.
Too close.
Our faces—just inches apart.
I looked up.
She looked down.
Her eyes caught mine.
Big. Dark. Full of something I wasn't ready to define.
I stepped back immediately.
"Strap's fine," I said, voice flat.
She blinked. Her face fell—just a fraction.
I saw it.
I felt it.
She was disappointed.
And I hated that I was the reason.
But I couldn't let her read me wrong.
Couldn't let my line blur.
One slip, and this whole thing falls apart.
To fix it, I did what I always did.
I gave her something else to focus on.
"You wanna try a trot?" I asked. "Let him run a little?"
She perked up immediately.
"Really?" she asked. Her voice lifted, lighter than before.
"Really," I said. "Starling won't go fast. I've got him."
She nodded, eyes bright.
God, when was the last time she looked this happy?
In one smooth move, I mounted behind her.
She startled. "You're—what—?"
"I'll steer. You just hold on."
She did.
And we moved.
The pace wasn't much—just a light jog—but the motion lifted us both.
She laughed.
Out loud.
A real laugh.
I don't think I've ever heard that sound before.
The wind hit her face.
She tilted her head back, loose strands of hair whipping past my arm.
She didn't even notice me anymore.
And that was good.
That was how it should be.
Because all I wanted—what I've always wanted—was to see her happy.
To give her something the world never had.
Safety. Space. A chance to heal and thrive.
Even if that meant keeping my distance.
Even if that meant staying on this side of the line—forever.
We finished the ride just before noon.
She talked more on the walk back. Not much. But enough.
I could tell she was happy. Lighter.
Almost... like a normal twenty-year-old.
I helped her down from the horse, careful not to touch her more than I had to.
And again, I felt it.
That flicker of heat. That stupid little jolt under my skin.
I ignored it.
The drive home was quiet.
She was tired.
Her head leaned against the passenger window, hair slightly damp from the sun.
She dozed off somewhere around the freeway.
I glanced over.
More than once.
Her face was relaxed. Peaceful.
Like the weight she always carried had let go for a moment.
This was the version of her I fought to protect.
Not the girl from five years ago, curled up in a warehouse.
Not the one who flinched at footsteps or couldn't sleep through the night.
But this—
The one who laughed. The one who reached out.
The one who was finally starting to live.
I turned my eyes back to the road.
Told myself I didn't need more than that.
She had no idea.
No idea how tightly I was holding the line.
And no idea that someday, someone else might not.
But that wasn't my place to think about.
She was safe.
That was enough.