And then I’m gone.
When I wake up, my cheek is pressed to Dallas’s chest, and his jacket smells like winter and soap and a faint hint of hay. My fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt like I’m still afraid he’ll disappear if I let go. Somewhere above me, his heart is beating slow and solid, a metronome for a world that doesn’t feel slippery anymore.
I blink, disoriented, the kind of disorientation that comes from sleeping hard after holding yourself braced for too long.
The cab is dim with late evening light. The sky outside the windshield is a pale wash of winter blue, the sun sliding low. Snow drifts past in soft flurries, caught in the wind. I can hear the hum of the tires on the highway and the faint rattle of something in the cup holder.
Dallas’s arm is around me, careful but firm, his hand resting on my shoulder like he doesn’t trust the world yet either.
He glances down when I shift.
“You awake?” he asks quietly.
My throat is dry. My voice comes out like a whisper. “Did I… fall asleep on you?”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
Mortification tries to spark to life out of habit.Oh no, sorry, I shouldn’t have…
But the shame reflex hits a wall and dissolves on impact, because Dallas isn’t tense. He isn’t annoyed. He isn’t making a joke that feels like a jab.
He’s just… there.
And I realize I slept. Like, actually slept. Not the twitchy kind where you wake up every hour with your heart racing. Real sleep.
My eyes sting.
I turn my head and look out the window. The city skyline is far behind us now, replaced by the stretch of road, pine trees dusted with snow, open land that looks like it can breathe. The farther we get, the easier it is to inhale.
But my brain is still doing that thing where it tries to rewind and check for hidden traps.
What if they come after us?
What if my father calls the police in Buckhorn and says I was kidnapped?
What if Evan shows up with lawyers and restraining orders and a camera crew and that same calm smile that hides a knife?
My stomach tightens.
Dallas must feel it, because he shifts slightly, tightening his hold without squeezing too hard.
“You okay?”
I stare at the passing trees and try to tell the truth without falling apart.
“I keep waiting for someone to stop us,” I admit. “Like… like there’s going to be a checkpoint, and someone’s going to tap the window and say, ‘Ma’am, you forgot your cage.’”
Dallas’s jaw clenches. “Ain’t happening.”
I swallow, because I want to believe him so badly it scares me.
And then, like the universe wants to remind me that tenderness can still exist, Dallas’s phone buzzes in the console.
He glances down at the screen and then at me.
“It’s your mama,” he says gently. “You want me to?—”
“Yes,” I blurt, and then wince at how desperate it sounds. “I mean… yes. Please. I need to hear her.”
