lesson 8: how to trace the constellation
oh my goodness its coming to an end. here is the final chapter of my rancher!mattheo series. i have loved writing this so so so much <3 thank you to every single person who took the time to read my stories, shoutout to the tagslist ily all sm. enjoy 𓃾
word count: 5.8k
warnings: stress, emotional tension, swearing
⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𓆩 masterlist 𓆪. ݁˖ .⊹
lesson 7.5: how to choose yourself ↤ ||| ↦ epilogue coming soon...
your head was pounding as you reread your notes from class earlier that day. the ink on the page looked smudged from your sweaty palms, like even the paper was exhausted trying to keep up with you.. the ache behind your eyes pulsed in sync with the faint humming of the library lights and your empty stomach twisted beneath your scrubs. staying hungry had quietly become a habit, something you didn’t notice until moments like this, when the room swayed just a little too easily.
the library was hazy with the soft glow of desk lamps, each one illuminating a student in their own quiet panic. someone sniffled two tables over. another tapped their pencil so fast it sounded like a heartbeat. a cluster of girls whispered over an organic chemistry textbook, their energy frantic and hopeful all at once.
you tried rereading your notes, forcing the words into your mind, but they slipped straight through; because all you could hear was mattheo’s voice from that phone call. the roughness of it. the way his breath hitched when he said, "you promised." you’d replayed it in your head so often it almost didn’t sound real anymore.
you swallowed hard and checked your phone. fifteen minutes until lab. "shit," you muttered, not even bothering to stack your papers neatly. everything went into your bag in one frantic sweep, and you half jogged, half stumbled out of the library.
lab was a blur; bright lights, sharp scents of rubbing alcohol, metal instruments clattering, the short bark of your ta’s instructions. you moved on muscle memory alone, your thoughts fogging at the edges. at one point, you caught yourself gripping the counter to steady your balance.
when the ta finally dismissed the class, everyone rushed out, eager to breathe fresh air again. you stayed behind, scanning the board, making sure you hadn’t missed a major conept. your eyes drifted over diagrams, formulas, arrows pointing to things you couldn’t remember learning.
then, on your way down the hallway, you passed someone. a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette. a trucker hat pulled low. for a second you thought the exhaustion was making things up. you stuttered so you stopped, stepped backward, and turned. dirty boots planted on the glossy tile floor, leaving faint dust marks. jeans a shade of deep blue that belonged to barns and backroads, not miami sidewalks. a tight, sun-bleached t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. a familiar trucker hat pulled low.
that slow, crooked smirk. those sun-bitten arms.
and the world fell back into place.
"mattheo?" your voice cracked as your brain caught up with your eyes. "what-" you didn’t even finish. your arms wrapped around him automatically, your face pressed into the soft cotton of his shirt. he smelled like hay, cedar, sunlight… home. "what are you doing here?"
"careful, you're gonna crush your gift," he chuckled, pulling back just enough to reveal the small bouquet of wildflowers. stems uneven, petals bent from the ride, tied together with a piece of twine.
your breath caught. "you brought these? from the farm?"
"picked ’em this mornin’." he shrugged like it was nothing.
you lifted them to your face, inhaling deeply; earth, sun, something soft and sweet. tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. "thank you," you whispered.
"wasn't sure you'd be in that buildin’," mattheo mumbled as he stepped into your apartment, sliding his hands into his back pockets like he wasn’t sure where to put them.
you tossed your keys onto the counter. "lucky guess?"
"somethin’ like that." he lingered near the doorway, gaze flicking between your messy counters, your stacked textbooks, and the pile of scrubs draped over a chair.
"you can come in," you said, trying not to smile too hard. "but those boots stay right there. my carpet is already fighting for its life."
he huffed a laugh and toed them off, padding over to the couch. he sat too stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to get comfortable, then finally slouched back, legs taking up half the couch like always.
"cute lil place you got here." he says sprawling his arms across the backs of your cushions, brown eyes wandering your walls.
"thanks?" you say with a laugh, although it was a mess and the dishes were piled up to the heavens in your sink, you were happy he thought it was 'cute.'
you set the flowers in a vase, filling the kitchen with a faint whisper of their scent. the kettle clicked on behind you.
after a few awkward minutes of small talk, you turned to him fully. "why are you here, mattheo?"
he picked up the steaming mug you handed him, letting the warmth seep into his calloused palms. "are you enjoyin' it here?" he asked softly.
you blinked at him. "why?"
his eyes scanned your face; the dark circles, your knotted-up hair, the shaky way you propped your elbow on your knee. "just wonderin’."
"not as much as i thought i would," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
he nodded slowly, setting the mug down. "you shouldn't be killin' yourself over somethin' you don't even like."
you stiffened, pulling your legs up beneath you. "this is my life now. i worked for this. people would kill for this program. i can’t just give it up because i’m tired." you sigh, looking down at your hands.
"that ain’t what i meant, darlin’," he murmured. "i mean you're hurtin’. you ain't takin’ care of yourself, fallin' apart at the seams."
he tugged gently at the loose thread on your shirt, offering a small smile. you huffed out a weak laugh. "very funny."
the room settled into a soft, familiar quiet. you watched him out of the corner of your eye; the slightly longer curls, the tan lines sharp on his arms, the way his jaw tightened like he wanted to say something and wasn't sure he should.
"i ain't here to drag you back," he said finally, voice low. "i'm here ’cause i couldn't stand not tryin'."
the words hit you in the chest. tears welled instantly, one slipping before you could blink it away. he reached out without hesitation, thumb brushing your cheek. his hand cupped your face like he’d done a thousand times. and when he leaned in to kiss you, it felt slow, warm, achingly familiar. like he’d carried that kiss the whole way from the farm. when he pulled back, he cleared his throat and pretended to be very interested in his tea.
"i gotta say somethin’," he murmured after a fragile silence.
his leg bounced once, nervous. "when you left… somethin’ in me just-" he exhaled. "i ain’t been right since, sweetheart. i been tryin’ to talk myself outta comin’ here every damn day. told myself you were buildin’ your future, and i shouldn’t get in the way. but i kept thinkin’ about you walkin’ home after dark, fallin’ asleep on your books, skippin’ meals…" he shook his head. "i needed to see you. needed to know you were alright."
your throat tightened. "mattheo…"
his eyes lifted to yours, soft and scared in the same breath and your stomach flipped.
"i can’t go back," you whispered. "my life’s here now. miami, classes, rotations… it’s everything i’ve worked for." you avoided his gaze, fearing it might change your mind. "-but i’m really glad you came. glad i got to see you again."
he nodded, jaw flexing like he was fighting something back. "yeah. me too." he stood slowly, picking up his hat and brushing his thumb over the brim like it steadied him. then he stepped toward you, leaned down, and pressed a long, warm kiss to your forehead. "take care of yourself, sweetheart." he whispered.
"thank you mattheo," you replied, voice cracking.
he hesitated for half a second, like he wanted to turn back, then opened the door and slipped out. the apartment felt colder without him. quieter. you stood there, breathing in the faint scent of wildflowers filling the room.
mattheo had gone to see you hoping the trip would clear his head, give him perspective, maybe even give him the courage to finally say what he'd been holding onto for months. instead, it had done the opposite. he’d flown back home with his shoulders slumped, a new line of tension carved between his brows, and a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake.
the worst part was realizing he couldn’t remember who he’d been before you. before your sharp humor, your easy laughter, the way your clumsiness made him smile even when he tried not to. you’d woven yourself into him without even trying.
he shook his head, a ritual he went through every day, trying to push the thought of you out, trying to scrape you off like stubborn dust. it never worked. it only reminded him how deep you’d settled. he dipped his brush into the stain and ran it along the wooden fence, slow and methodical. the sky above was a flat, heavy gray, the sort that made the whole world feel like it was holding its breath. no rain, just that dull weight hanging over everything.
his boots felt heavier with every minute. when he bent down to start staining from the top again, he heard the sudden clatter of metal behind him. the can tipped over, rolling once before the dark stain began to bleed out over the dry grass.
“fuckin’ motherf-” he snapped, tossing the brush down and striding toward the barn with quick, angry footsteps.
inside the house, ned and marge watched through the kitchen window, both wearing matching frowns. “that boy’s gonna work himself to death,” marge said, arms crossed tight. “for heaven’s sake, it’s sunday. he ain’t supposed to be out there.”
she nudged ned toward the door like she was shooing a stubborn mule. “marge…” he warned, hands going to his hips. “i told him. told him workin’ like that ain't gonna fix nothin’. he just said he ‘needed somethin’ to keep his mind busy.’” ned shook his head. “i can’t tell if he’s bein’ hardheaded or heartbroken.”
mattheo knew they were worried. they always were. he appreciated it in theory, but right now he wished they’d just leave him alone and let him sink into his misery without an audience. what he felt was real; raw, sharp, a little humiliating. and he knew one thing with painful certainty: whatever had lived between you and him, whatever he’d felt in his bones… he would never feel anything like it again. not with anyone else.
sweat clung to him like a second skin, beading along his hairline, sliding down the back of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. the sun wasn’t just hot today, it was punishing. the kind of heat that made the dirt taste metallic in the air and turned the whole farm into a living, breathing furnace. every breath burned. every movement stuck. mattheo dragged the rake through the old hay one last time, shoulders tightening, muscles screaming. the stables smelled sharper than usual; sweet rot, manure, warm leather, dust baking under the sun. he hiked the hem of his shirt over his nose, breathing through the cotton as he shoved the last pile aside.
stanley snorted behind him, the horse shifting irritably, making suzie’s ears shoot straight up. “relax, relax,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans, streaking them with dirt and sweat.
the crunch of hay behind him made him groan under his breath. ned. great. another lecture about how 'work’n yerself to death ain’t gonna fix nothin’ son.' “i’m almost done, ned,” he called without turning around. “i’ll be in soon.”
but the voice that answered wasn’t ned.
“what’s with the ’tude, farm boy? i was just coming to say hi.”
he froze. actually froze. his stomach dropped so fast it made him dizzy. his lungs jolted tight, refusing air. his hands shook. his brain scrambled. no, hallucinating, overheated, dehydrated... because it couldn’t be you. not here. not now.
he forced himself to turn, slowly, like the world might break if he moved too fast. and there you were.
flannel pushed to your elbows, white tank top hugging sun-warmed skin. worn farm jeans clinging to your thighs. those brown cowboy boots he’d ignored every damn morning in the hallway closet because looking at them hurt too much. your smile was soft. timid. like you didn’t know if he was about to yell at you, kiss you, drop to his knees, shove you into the mud, or sprint in the other direction.
you opened your mouth - to apologize or to explain, - but the words never made it out, because his arms were already around you. he lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you in a dizzy, breathless circle like he hadn’t touched something real in months. your hair flew around both of you, warm and sweet-smelling, catching the sunlight like a halo. he buried his face in your neck, in your shoulder, in the familiarity of you. your knees went weak the second his skin met yours. everything that had happened; everything unsaid, everything broken, hit all at once and the tears came before you could stop them.
“shh,” he whispered against your cheek, voice low and shaking. “shut up. please.”
then his mouth was on yours. desperate, relieved, too much and not enough all at once. a kiss that tasted like sweat, sun, summer dust, and every word he’d tried not to say out loud. you stayed tangled together long after the kiss broke, foreheads pressed, breaths mixing. the gray clouds shifted, letting the sun spill over the fields in bright, startling gold. the wind swept through the grasslands, cool and soft, like the whole farm was exhaling with you.
“i love you,” you whispered, palms cradling his face, grounding him.
he let out a sharp breath - a laugh, a sob, something trembling and human - and kissed you again, slower this time. “i ain’t ever said those words to nobody,” he muttered, voice cracking. “not once. not ever.”
“it’s okay,” you whispered. “i’m not rushing you.”
he shook his head, almost frustrated, thumb brushing your jaw. “but i love you more than you’ll ever know, my darlin’,” he said softly, brokenly, like confessing a prayer. “been tryin’ not to for so damn long.”
your chest tightened, warmth blooming behind your ribs. you curled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to steady yourself, to make sure this moment was real and not something you’d dream and lose.
“so what’s this mean then?” he asked, voice small, hopeful, terrified.
“it means i’m staying,” you said, smiling and lord, his eyes lit up like you’d handed him the whole world.
you sat on the stairs of the farmhouse porch, mattheo’s carhartt jacket slung over your shoulders, sleeves swallowing your hands. your brown boots were still scuffed from the morning chores, mud caked around the edges, and the steam from your cup of hot toddy curled into the cool evening air. aunt marge rocked gently in her chair beside you, knitting her third sweater of the month, needles clicking in an easy, familiar rhythm. ned sat opposite her, pipe resting between his teeth, each exhale drifting into the dusk like small ghosts.
it had been a few weeks since you’d officially moved to tennessee. you’d picked up a job waitressing at the diner you’d loved since childhood. you figured you’d work while finishing your degree online, despite your parents’ protests and plans that didn’t quite feel like yours anymore.
choosing yourself felt… right. choosing the slow mornings, the rolling hills, your education degree, the quiet of the farm. you still slept in the room aunt marge had lovingly made up, quilted blankets stacked at the foot of the bed, rose colored sachets tucked in the dresser drawers. marge and ned insisted you stay, claiming it was 'just nice havin’ you around again,' though you caught the way marge wiped her eyes when she said it.
the farm was quiet tonight. a soft wind threaded through the leaves. the horses grazed lazily in the meadow, swishing their tails. the sky glowed pink and honey-gold as the sun dipped low. the only sound was the steady hum of marge’s knitting needles striking together and the faint creak of ned’s chair. the screen door groaned open behind you, followed by the heavy clunk of worn-out boots. mattheo dropped onto the step beside you, thigh brushing yours, the heat of him grounding you. he pressed a kiss to your cheek; quick, warm, familiar then followed your gaze over the fields.
“you missed it, huh?” he murmured.
“more than you know.” you laughed softly, lifting your drink to your lips.
“so you wanna stay for a long time right?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.
“yes, mattheo.” you rolled your eyes.
he tilted his head. “with me?”
you blinked. “well… i guess?” you teased, brow raised.
aunt marge cleared her throat softly, eyes still on her knitting but a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. “stars been awful loud lately,” she said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “been tellin’ me for months now y’all were headed for somethin’ permanent. couldn’t shut ’em up if i tried.”
you snorted. “the stars talk to you now?”
“been talkin’ my whole life,” she shrugged. “just figured you’d wanna know they been rootin’ for the two of ya since before either of you pulled your heads outta your asses.”
mattheo nudged your knee gently, his voice softer. “look up,” he murmured.
you lifted your eyes to the deepening sky. the first constellations flickered awake, scattered like tiny lanterns. “that one’s orion,” he whispered. “used t’ trace it every night tryin’ not to think ’bout you.” his finger brushed over yours as he pointed. “he’s smilin’ at us tonight.”
your breath hitched, because he wasn’t talking about stars, not really. he finally reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small box tied with a faded red ribbon. he held it out to you, elbows resting on his knees.
you stared at it, cautious. behind you, aunt marge’s soft snicker broke the quiet. you shot her a look, and she just nodded toward the box like she’d been waiting all day for this. your fingers tugged apart the ribbon, lifting the lid slowly. inside lay a single golden key.
“what’s this?” you breathed.
mattheo’s smile was boyish, bright, and a little shaky. “ours. if you want it to be.”
your mouth fell open. your gaze snapped to marge and ned, who were grinning so wide it looked painful.
“been savin’ up a while,” he said gently. “was just waitin’ for you, darlin’.”
your hand trembled as you picked up the key, warm from the box, your future suddenly real in your palm.
“mattheo…” you whispered.
“yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer.
before you could answer, ned let out a quiet laugh. “well go on,” he said, waving his pipe. “don’t leave the boy hangin’.”
mattheo nudged your shoulder. “you sayin’ yes?”
you nodded, smiling through the tears. “yeah. yes.”
he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. his hand threaded through yours, steady and warm.
later that night, the porch had settled into silence. marge and ned had gone inside. the horses were still. the whole farm felt like it was holding its breath. you and mattheo lay on your backs in the cool grass behind the house, his jacket draped over both your shoulders. the stars were bright, brighter than they’d been in months, constellations sharp and vivid.
“there’s cassiopeia,” you whispered, pointing.
“mhm,” he hummed, shifting closer so your arms touched. “and there’s you.”
you turned your head. “me?”
he nodded toward the sky. “that bright one. right there. shows up every night, even when the clouds try coverin’ her.” his voice dropped. “kinda like someone else i know.”
your cheeks warmed. “you’re crazy.”
“yeah,” he said softly. “crazy 'bout you.”
you smiled. “so what happens now?”
he smirked, tugging you into his chest. “now?” he murmured. “now we build somethin’. somethin’ good.”
fireflies blinked around you like tiny sparks, the soft hum of summer settling in. the key lay warm between your palms, pressed together over your heart. for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary. it felt like coming home.
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stay tuned for the epilogie...
