He mulled it over, his eyes briefly slipping from the road to linger on me, something unspoken passing between us. "Let go, huh?" His voice had dropped, more thoughtful, as if he was actually considering the weight of my words. "Not sure I'm the best at that."

"Maybe you should try it sometime," I offered, and though it sounded light, I wasn't entirely joking. There was always a tension with Colt, a quiet heaviness in how he moved through the world, like he carried things he didn't talk about. Things he didn't know how to set down.

He didn't respond right away. Just a small nod, as if tucking my words away for later. Then, with that effortless shift he always seemed to manage, he changed the subject, his tone teasing again. "You're the one who likes all that introspective stuff. Books and slow dances in the rain? You must be deep, Lemon."

I laughed, but this time it felt different, a flicker of something else underneath it. "What about you?" I couldn't help the curiosity creeping into my voice. "I've seen you reading before. You've got a deep side, too, I bet."

Colt's gaze shifted back to the road, but something in his posture changed. His shoulders tensed, just the slightest bit, like I'd touched a nerve. "I wouldn't say that," he muttered, his voice lower now, more restrained.

"Oh, come on," I nudged him lightly, my fingers brushing against his arm. He still wouldn't look at me, and that only made me push a little harder. "You're not getting away that easily. What's the last book you read?"

Colt's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his jaw flexing as if he was considering whether to answer at all. For a moment, I thought he'd shrug it off, bury whatever he was about to say beneath that familiar wall he liked to keep up. But then, in that same low voice, he muttered, "It was a book my mom sent me."

I blinked, surprised. Colt wasn't one to talk about his family—at least, not his mom. He'd mentioned his father a couple of times, but never her. It was like there was a boundary he kept between himself and anyone else when it came to that part of his life. "Your mom sends you books?"

"Yeah." His voice was quieter now, the rough edges of his usual tone softened. "Every year, on my birthday."

The silence stretched between us, thickening as I tried to process what he'd just said. I didn't want to push too hard, didn't want to pry, but curiosity gnawed at me. "Do you read them?"

Colt's eyes stayed on the road, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—a kind of vulnerability I wasn't used to seeing. "Sometimes. She always picks something... different."

I raised an eyebrow, trying to picture what kind of book Colt's mom would send him. "Different how?"

He hesitated, then finally, he sighed. "Last year, she sent me East of Eden."

I blinked, surprised. "East of Eden? Steinbeck's epic about good, evil, and everything in between?""Yeah." His lips twitched into a brief, almost self-conscious smile. "Strange, right?"

I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. "I mean... yeah. That's a pretty... heavy read for a birthday gift."

Colt's smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful look. "She's a teacher. Or she was, anyway. Always had this thing about expanding horizons, making me think outside the box. Even when I was a kid, she'd read me things that were way over my head. Philosophy. Poetry. Books that made me question stuff I didn't even know I needed to question."

The way he said it, like he was revealing something that felt too personal, made me sit back in my seat. I hadn't expected that. I hadn't expected him to have that kind of depth buried under the surface of his rough, cowboy exterior. "You never talk about her."

He shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the wheel. "We don't really talk anymore. Haven't for a long time." His voice had dropped, quieter now, edged with a sadness he didn't quite let out. "But she still sends the books. Like she's trying to stay connected... through them."

That quiet admission felt like a door opening just a crack, enough for me to see the sadness he usually kept locked away. I could almost feel the weight of it, the unresolved tension that stretched between him and his mother, the things they didn't say but couldn't quite let go of. It made me see him differently—more than just the steady presence he always seemed to be. He carried more than just the weight of rodeos and responsibilities. He carried the ghosts of things unsaid.

"Well, at least she's got good taste in books," I said softly, trying to bridge the growing silence between us. "East of Eden isn't exactly light reading."

He chuckled, but the sound was more like an exhale than a laugh. "No, it's not. I think that's the point."

The weight in his voice made me glance over, watching the way the sunlight hit his face, casting shadows under his eyes. There was more to him than the quiet strength I'd always seen, more layers beneath the surface. The kind of depth you don't find in someone unless they've spent a lot of time with their own thoughts, facing things they don't often speak about.

"I didn't think you were the kind of guy who'd have time for a book like that," I teased lightly, hoping to pull a smile from him, but there was something genuine behind the words. I wanted to know more.

Colt's lips twitched again, the faintest hint of amusement. "What? A cowboy can't read heavy books?"

I laughed softly. "I didn't say that. Just... most guys I know aren't out there pondering good and evil between rodeos."

He finally turned to look at me, his eyes sharp but softened by the vulnerability he was letting through. "Just because I don't talk about it, doesn't mean it's not there. My mom... she always had this way of making me look at things differently. Even when I was a kid," he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful, softer than before. "Like when I'd ask her why the sky's blue, she wouldn't just tell me. She'd hand me a book about the atmosphere, make me dig into it myself. Guess she thought I'd learn better that way."

There was something in his tone, a mix of nostalgia and something heavier—regret, maybe. I watched him, curious, wondering how much of this he normally kept buried. This wasn't the Colt I was used to—the one who spoke in short sentences and kept most people at arm's length. This was different. He was different, and I couldn't help but be drawn in by the way he talked about her, like she was this looming presence in his life even now, even with all the distance between them.

"You didn't mind it? Having to figure it out on your own?" I asked, my voice quiet, not wanting to push too much but needing to know more.

Colt shrugged, but there was a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, like he couldn't help it. "Didn't have much of a choice. But... I guess it stuck. I still think about that stuff now, the things she made me read. Like East of Eden. There's this line in there..." He trailed off for a second, his brow furrowing as if he were pulling the words from some deep place. "Steinbeck says something like 'And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.' I don't know why, but that one hit me. Like maybe it's okay to not have everything figured out. To just... be."

I blinked, caught off guard again. I hadn't expected him to quote the book, hadn't expected him to be the kind of person who would hold onto words like that. "That's... deep," I said, my voice quieter now. "I didn't expect you to—"

"To think about stuff like that?" he finished for me, his lips curling into a wry smile.

I shook my head. "No. I just didn't expect you to let yourself get wrapped up in it. Most people don't."

Colt shrugged, his eyes back on the road, but there was something softer in his posture now. "I guess it's like what you said earlier—sometimes, you've just got to let go and stop trying to make sense of it all. You just... feel it."

I let his words settle between us, feeling a strange warmth spreading through my chest. I hadn't expected this, hadn't expected to see this side of him—thoughtful, reflective, even vulnerable in a way that made him feel more real, more layered.

After a few minutes, Colt broke the silence, his voice lighter now. "So, what about you? You ever read anything that stuck with you like that?"

I smiled, the question catching me off guard but in a good way. "I think for me, it's more about the feeling a book leaves behind. Like, it changes the way you see things, even if it's just for a little while."

Colt nodded, like he understood that completely. "Yeah. That's kind of the whole point, isn't it?"

I laughed softly, turning to look at him again. "You sure you're not secretly a philosopher, Colt?"

He shot me a grin, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Nah. Just a guy who reads too much when he can't sleep."

"Still counts," I teased, nudging him lightly. "You've got more layers than I thought."

I shifted in my seat, suddenly aware of how long we'd been driving and how much further we had to go. My body was starting to feel the weight of the day, the tiredness seeping into my bones. I glanced at Colt, noticing how he seemed so steady behind the wheel, his gaze focused, but there was a softness in his posture now—like the tension between us had finally eased. The quiet we'd settled into wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence that felt earned, like we'd stepped into a new understanding of each other.

"So," I said, trying to hide the yawn creeping up the back of my throat, "how much longer do we have?"

Colt glanced over at me, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Couple more hours, at least. Why? You ready to bail on me?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "No, just... realizing how far Cody is from home. This drive feels endless."

"Cody's not exactly a quick hop." Colt's voice held that familiar teasing tone, but there was something softer behind it. "You look tired. You can rest if you want."

I raised an eyebrow, not quite ready to let him off the hook that easily. "And leave you alone to your philosophical thoughts? What kind of co-pilot would I be?"

Colt chuckled, the sound low and easy, like gravel shifting underfoot. "I don't know. I think I could handle it."

"You think, huh?" I shot back, leaning my head against the window for a moment, feeling the coolness of the glass. "I'd hate to deprive you of my sparkling conversation."

He gave me a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth tugging into that rare smile I was starting to see more of. "I think I'll survive, Lemon."

I tried to keep the conversation going, but the weight of exhaustion was creeping up faster now, making my eyelids heavy. The road ahead blurred slightly, the headlights from passing cars streaking like soft trails of light. I shifted again, this time closer to Colt, resting my head against his shoulder without really thinking about it. It was instinctual—like we'd fallen into a rhythm neither of us had planned for, but neither of us minded.

He stiffened for just a second, like he wasn't used to the sudden contact, but then I felt him relax, his body leaning slightly into mine as if he welcomed the closeness. The steady beat of his heart, the warmth radiating from him, all of it was comforting in a way I hadn't expected.

The truck's engine hummed on, the road stretching before us like a thread weaving us deeper into whatever this was, whatever we were becoming.

"You know," Colt said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, "you've got a point about those moments you can't plan for."

I blinked, feeling myself drift between sleep and wakefulness. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His gaze stayed on the road, but his voice was soft, like he was thinking out loud. "Sometimes, you just... let go. Let things be what they are."

I smiled, my eyes falling closed. "Maybe you're learning something after all, Colt."

The corner of his mouth twitched, though I could hear the warmth in his voice. "Maybe I am."

The last thing I felt before drifting off was the steady rise and fall of Colt's chest, the warmth of his shoulder beneath my cheek. And as the truck rumbled on, my eyes fluttered shut, not because everything felt right, but because, for once, I didn't need it to.