“He must,” she said. “He probably thinks our engagement and this gorgeous house, all this happiness, somehow relates to Seth’s overdose.”

“That’s a great point.” Mike scribbled notes.

I felt myself rising into the moment, where I had not been for many days. It stung. I wouldn’t be there—couldn’t—in that reality where Seth had died. I couldn’t. That’s it. I couldn’t. I told Mike and Hannah and Nate that I couldn’t, and I nearly took the door off its hinges on my way out.

*   *   *

There was excitement in the house.

No one came to tell me what was happening.

Fucking typical. No one cared about me anymore.

Nate didn’t drag me out for walks; Hannah didn’t leave muffins and other treats around the kitchen. How long had my brother been staying here anyway? One night, I returned to the house and found them at the dinner table, Hannah and Nate, the happy fucking couple. Hannah quickly set me a place at the head of the table, but Nate said grace.

After that, I had resumed sleeping at the house. In bed, I pulled Hannah against me possessively. I woke tangled around her.

Shrieks of laughter sounded from outside.

I pulled on my standby layer—a rugged navy blue sweater—and went to the window. The afternoon was gray. I wanted Hannah to come read with me, the way we sometimes did. Instead, she was outside with … a white horse? It wore a saddle and bridle and Hannah held the reins from as great a distance as possible. I snorted. What the hell was she doing?

Nate appeared, jogging across the field to the paddock. He climbed over the fence and tossed an apple to Hannah. She fumbled it, let go of the reins, and squealed when the horse lunged at the apple.

Amateurs …

I tugged on socks and sneakers and checked myself in the mirror—not that I cared what I looked like, just to be sure I looked better than Nate. I did, of course. I’d lost a little weight and needed to gain back some muscle, but I was clean-shaven and clear-eyed.

I bounded down the stairs and out toward the paddock.

Hannah and Nate didn’t see me. He sat astride the horse and she stood on a fence rail, holding Nate’s hand and teetering.

“I can’t!” she said.

“Just throw your leg over. Come on.”

Hannah looked delightful. Her long curls were tied back and she wore a wooly red sweater. A burst of color shone on her cheeks. I wanted to bundle her up.

I stalked into the paddock.

They ignored me until I snagged the horse’s bridle and looked it in the face. It was a mare with a subtle crimp of the mane and tail, completely white and too thin.

“Hey Matt,” said Nate, casual as you please. “Tell Hannah to get on this saddle.”

I glanced at Hannah. She smiled shyly at me.

“I bought her,” she said. “Can you believe it?”

I gave her a flat look. “No, I can’t believe it.”

The tack, at least, was very fine—used, but of good quality. The horse had been groomed recently. I smoothed a hand down her leg and she lifted it, making me smile. Clean hooves.

Then I folded my arms and cleared my throat.

I looked at Hannah.

“You don’t know shit about horses,” I said.

She and Nate stared at me. Was I speaking in tongues? They glanced at each other, then Nate started to laugh and Hannah grinned.

“Well, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” she said.

A smile twisted my lips. Oh, you’re funny, little bird. I studied her, assessing, smiling. The red sweater … the lippy attitude. I liked this girl. Fuck, I loved her.

I jerked my head at Nate in a gesture that said get off. He slid down from the saddle and handed me the reins.

“She’s a … a Saddlebred,” Hannah said. “She’s seven.”

I stroked the horse’s neck.

“Her name is Written in Verse,” Nate said.

“They always are weird,” I said. “Horse names.”

“True,” he said. “You remember Overtime Magic?”

I laughed spontaneously. Overtime Magic had belonged to Aunt Ella. She was an ornery old quarter horse, nothing magic about her and no overtime in her.

“And Razzle-my-Tazzle,” I said.

“Yeah. Seth got a kick out of that one.”

A hot, uncomfortable feeling simmered up my throat, so I gripped the horse’s mane at her withers and swung onto the saddle. My sneakers felt clumsy in the stirrups. She danced sideways and I shortened the reins. Nate gave her cinch a little tug.

“That’s right, he did,” I said, focusing on the horse below me. I was always a good rider, but I was out of practice. Slowly, I found my equilibrium, weight in my heels, my body relaxed.

Written in Verse hugged the fence.

I leaned down and kissed her neck.

“You’re a pretty lady,” I murmured, “but a little too skinny for my liking. We’ll feed you well, don’t worry.”

Hannah shimmied along the fence and laid a hand on my thigh.

“You look good on that horse,” she whispered.

I glanced at her and felt the pull of her. Her hand on my leg …

God, if Nate wasn’t standing there.

“You look fine on that”—my mouth twitched—“on that fence.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled. She seemed about to laugh, then about to cry. My God, if everyone would quit crying at me.

I tightened my legs against Written in Verse and she walked on, and I took her around the paddock at a trot. That young horse wanted to run. I knew the feeling.