Even when I was surrounded by people. Even when I was dressed up. Even when I was engaged and technically “winning.”
Alone in a glass building, staring at my father’s reflection in every window.
Alone in ballrooms, making other people’s happiness look effortless while mine disappeared.
Alone in a wedding dress, trying not to faint.
But here, in this booth, with coffee and heat and Jet’s outrage and Martha Lou’s blunt protection and my mother’s steady hand…
I feel my chest loosen.
Maybe I’m not going to be swallowed whole.
I lift my chin and inhale the warm air.
Okay, Dad,I think.You don’t get to own me just because you’re loud.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Dallas
January 23rd
The ranch doesn’t do“processing feelings.”
The ranch does chores.
It does the kind of work that keeps moving, whether you’re ready or not.
Which is convenient, if you’re trying not to think about the fact that Faith Ross has been in my kitchen twice in one month and somehow managed to rearrange my entire insides without even trying.
I tell myself I’m fine.
That’s a lie. But it’s a useful one at eight thirty in the morning.
Rusty lifts his old head off his bed near the mudroom and watches me cross the kitchen.
“What,” I mutter, grabbing the coffee pot. “Don’t start.”
His tail thumps once.
The coffee is leftover from yesterday and strong enough to strip paint, which is what I deserve. I pour it into my travel mug and take a swallow that nearly takes the enamel off my teeth.
Good. Pain is grounding.
My phone sits on the counter, screen down. I haven’t been touching it much lately because it keeps tempting me into doing stupid things. Maybe texting Faith. Rereading her last messages. Staring at her name until my brain starts making plans it has no business making.
I grab my keys instead, shove my hands into my coat pockets, and head outside.
The cold hits hard, as it always does in January. I cross the yard toward the barn, breath fogging in slow white clouds, and tell myself the same thing I’ve been telling myself since New Year’s:
Work. Just work until I lose track of time.
“Hey, Dallas.”
I turn to see my brother. “Oh, Nash, hey.”
