Chapter Text
The bunkhouse was quieter than usual. Rain tapped the tin roof with a slow, unhurried rhythm, a reminder that even in Montana, some storms didn’t rage—they whispered.
Rip stood at the door, arms crossed, hat dripping on the mat. His eyes scanned the far side of the room, where Kayce Dutton sat with his back to the wall, boots untied, knuckles scraped, and jaw tight.
Again.
Rip didn’t speak at first. Just leaned against the frame, heavy like the weather itself. Watching. Waiting. The silence between them had been longer these days, stretched taut over what neither of them would say out loud.
“Been out there long?” Rip finally asked.
Kayce didn’t look up. “Not long enough.”
Rip stepped inside, letting the door shut behind him. The place smelled like old coffee and wet leather. He didn’t bother with a coat rack—just set his hat on the table and walked over.
“You do this every night now?” Rip asked, squatting down in front of Kayce. “Sit here like a ghost until your legs fall asleep?”
Kayce’s eyes finally met his.
They were tired.
Not ranch-tired. Not fight-tired.
Just… gone.
Rip didn’t push. Not yet. He didn’t need to. Kayce wasn’t the type to cry out loud. He didn’t know how.
But Rip knew the signs. He’d seen it in colts too young to break, in men too proud to beg, in himself more times than he’d ever admit.
This wasn’t about the job. Or the cattle.
This was about Monica.
And Beth.
Gone. Both of them. One by choice, one by fate. And all that was left was the storm between.
“You eat today?” Rip asked quietly.
Kayce gave a small shake of his head.
“Figured.”
Rip stood up, crossed the room, and poured coffee into one of the chipped mugs by the stove. It was cold, but Kayce didn’t seem to care when Rip pressed it into his hands and sat down beside him.
“She leave for good this time?” Rip asked, blunt but not cruel.
Kayce didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled around the mug. His lips moved before sound came out.
“She said I wasn’t me anymore.”
Rip tilted his head.
“She said I used to laugh,” Kayce murmured. “Used to hold her at night. Now I just… disappear into the dark. She said she couldn’t stay where she wasn’t seen.”
“Did you try to stop her?”
A breath caught in Kayce’s throat. “I couldn’t even look her in the eye, Rip.”
Rip stayed quiet. He didn’t know what to say to that—not at first.
But after a while, he let the words come the way they always did with Kayce.
Measured. Honest. Heavy.
“You’re grieving, brother.”
Kayce let out a bitter laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “No. Grieving was losing my mom. My brother. Beth. This—this is something else.”
Rip turned toward him.
“What is it?”
“I’m forgetting how to breathe,” Kayce whispered.
It was so soft Rip almost missed it.
He set his own mug down.
“I look in the mirror and I don’t see nothin’. Just some ghost walkin’ around in my boots, pretendin’ to be a man.”
Rip shifted closer, voice quiet but steel-edged.
“You’re still you, Kayce. Still that same stubborn son of a bitch who fought his way outta hell more times than I can count.”
Kayce shook his head slowly. “Don’t feel like it.”
And then—his voice broke.
“She took Tate. Said he needs someone who can actually look happy. I told her he is my happiness. She said, ‘Then why do you always look like you’re dying inside?’”
Rip’s jaw tightened.
“She’s scared,” Rip said. “And so are you.”
Kayce gave a hollow laugh, wiping the back of his hand under his nose. “I don’t get scared.”
“You’re human. You should.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Kayce didn’t cry, but his shoulders were hunched, trembling slightly. The weight of everything he never said pressing in.
Rip reached out slowly, like you would with a skittish colt, and rested a hand on the back of Kayce’s neck.
The contact was solid. Grounding.
Kayce didn’t flinch. He just closed his eyes.
“She took my boy, Rip.”
“I know.”
“He was all I had left.”
“You got me.”
The words weren’t pretty. Weren’t poetic.
But they hit harder than anything else.
Kayce opened his eyes, met Rip’s, and something cracked open behind them.
“You mean that?” he asked, voice low.
Rip nodded. “Every damn word.”
And something in Kayce broke.
Not violently. Not loud.
Just a quiet, shaking exhale as he leaned forward, forehead brushing against Rip’s chest.
Rip didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he slid his arms around Kayce’s back. One hand flat, warm, firm.
“I got you,” he murmured, repeating it like a vow.
Kayce didn’t speak. Just let himself be held. For the first time in what felt like years, someone else held the weight.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the rain outside and the slow, steady breathing between them.
When Kayce finally pulled back, eyes red but dry, Rip didn’t let go. Just shifted one hand to brush a thumb across Kayce’s cheekbone, grounding him.
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” Rip said.
“I don’t know how to let go.”
“I’ll teach you.”
Kayce laughed again, this time a little softer.
“That some cowboy wisdom?”
“That’s love, dumbass.”
The silence that followed was sharp—but not cold.
Warm.
Slowly, Rip leaned in.
He let Kayce make the last move.
And he did.
Their lips met—tentative, tired, but real. Kayce’s hands clutched at Rip’s shoulders like a man finding land after drowning. Rip held him back with everything he had.
It wasn’t sex.
It wasn’t desperation.
It was a promise.
When they pulled apart, Kayce’s voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Rip cupped his face. “Then let me show you.”
————————————————————
The storm passed sometime after midnight. The bunkhouse was quiet again, save for the creak of the floorboards as Rip led Kayce to the bed tucked away behind the far wall.
Kayce sat down, heavy but not resistant. Rip knelt to undo his boots.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Rip cut in gently. “Let me.”
Kayce nodded.
Once the boots were off, Rip helped him lie back, tucking a blanket over him.
“Will you stay?” Kayce asked, hesitant.
Rip didn’t answer with words. Just kicked off his own boots and crawled in beside him, wrapping an arm around Kayce’s waist and pulling him close.
Kayce rested his head on Rip’s chest, eyes fluttering shut for the first time in days.
They didn’t need to talk.
The touch was enough.
The safety.
The presence.
And when Kayce finally fell asleep—peaceful, breathing steady—Rip stayed awake a while longer, watching the man he loved.
His soldier. His brother. His broken, beautiful storm.
And for the first time in a long while…
Kayce wasn’t alone