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I just hope I’m not too late.
I’ve learned over the years that high stress always equals low logic.
And yet, here I am.
Dead of night, my truck roars down the highway, headlights coasting over flat terrain. I keep my eyes trained on the signs for the Sioux Falls exit and yawn, fighting the urge to let my mind wander.
Good fucking luck with that.
My mind doesn’t have anywhere to go except the past.
To Dakota McGraw.
My unofficial welcome wagon when I first arrived in Resurrection, recovering from a bullet that sent me home. I was hurting and pissed off at Charlie for not keeping it together.
Sent by Stede, she was the girl next door rumbling down the road in her daddy’s Chevy. Dakota came drifting onto the ranch, bringing soups, cakes, and breads. Wearing short shorts and halter tops. Always a dusting of flour on her face. She’d arrange the food in the kitchen, wait for me to storm in and growl at her, and somehow draw me into a conversation.
“What’ll it be, cupcake or cookie?” she asked as she arranged food on the counter.
I grunted. “Don’t eat sweets.”
She mock-gasped. “No sweets?” Her black eyes twinkled. “Then I’m afraid you and I can never be.”
Curious, I crossed the room and leaned over her shoulder. Close enough that I could smell her hair. See the plump pout of her lips. “What’s in the basket?”
She smiled. “Everything you never knew you wanted.”
And she was right.
Slowly that wall I built crumbled. I couldn’t stay away from the girl with the big brown eyes.
I told her my secrets, showed her my ghosts, and she never flinched.
She gave me more than I deserved. With her, I relearned how to be human. She let me talk, never once taking my pissy attitude, always making me laugh. She rehabbed my arm with her massages. I should have gotten a goddamn therapist. Instead, I had Dakota.
She made Resurrection my home.
Any spare time we had; we’d meet. Sneaking around. Hiding it from everyone, including my brothers. Fucking in the cabin, her bedroom, The Corner Store. Ruby-red lipstick streaks left on every inch of my body. I finally found a weakness, and it was her.
And then she left.
I didn’t anticipate how much her leaving would ruin me. After she took off for culinary school, I was angry at everyone and everything. I got a dog. Joined MONSAR. Put Charlie to work on opening the ranch. Anything to fill the gaps in my time. Shore up the leaking hole in my chest.
We kept in touch via text the first four years, but out of nowhere, the texts stopped. Those bright bursts of hellos that gave me joy fizzled out like I had imagined them. And when I tried to call her—I found she had changed her number. Iced me out completely. I understood. She had her bakery. She metsomeone. But goddamn it stung so fucking hard I still have whiplash from it.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m right back in the past. I see Dakota and that last goodbye where I fucked up everything royally.
I didn’t do what I should have done.
Ask her to stay.
Tell her I loved her.
It’s better this way. The Marines taught me to swear off permanency. Holding things close and precious was a liability. Life. Love. They make you soft. They make you care right before everything is ripped away from you.
Breaking out of my fugue, I check the address on my phone. On the passenger seat is a first aid kit. Stede said she was hurt, so I brought a goddamn pharmacy.
Did something happen at her bakery? Is she having money problems? Was she in an accident? She would have called me if something was seriously wrong, right? The echo of her promise rattles around in my head.
