I shrug. "Define ‘holding.’"
Grady watches Josie for a minute. Then says, "Jack’s an idiot. But he’s our idiot. And you?—"
"Let me guess," I mutter. "I’m the best thing to happen to him since power tools."
He grins. "Exactly. I was gonna say since beer, but that works too."
I laugh. Barely. It cracks halfway out of my throat and never makes it to my chest.
Grady sobers. "He loves you. And that little girl. He’s just trying to figure out how todeserveit."
I nod again. Not because I believe it.
But because I want to.
That night, I sit on the porch swing, Josie asleep inside, a mug of tea cold in my hands. The stars burn above Devil’s Peak like diamonds scattered across velvet.
It’s stupid. How much space he takes up. Even when he’s not here.
Every creak in the floorboards sounds like his boots.
Every scent of pine and woodsmoke feels like his hands.
And still, nothing.
I pull the flannel tighter around me. The one he left on the back of the couch. It smells like sawdust and sweat and everything I miss.
I tell myself I’m not waiting.
But I am.
Chapter Twelve
Jack
The first thing I notice is the moonlight splashed across her hair as she sits on the porch. Swing creaking. Her hair’s messy, eyes tired, bare feet curled up under her in my flannel shirt like it belongs to her.
Because it does.
Becauseshedoes.
I stop a few feet from the steps, not sure if she’s going to cry or throw something.
Neither. She just stares. And that hurts more than if she’d screamed.
"You left," she says, voice raw.
"I did."
"You didn’t call."
I nod once. "I should’ve."
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything I never said.
Then I hold out the box.
She doesn’t move at first. But then she sets her mug aside and stands. Walks toward me with that slow, deliberate grace that always unhinges me.
