It lasted less than a minute but felt like hours—the force of the rain, the rare bubble of joy in my chest, the musical ring of Holden’s laughter, his arse grinding back on my dick, his raw passion for his land, his home, his people . . . me. The high country works its own kind of miracles. Something ignited in my chest, something that felt a lot like hope. Endings and beginnings. The tail of one into the head of another.
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