Dallas taps the answer button and puts it on speaker.
“Hello?” Mom’s voice comes through, tight with worry. “Dallas?”
“Ma’am,” Dallas says. “It’s me. Faith is here.”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.
“Faith?” Mom breaks. “Sweetheart?”
My throat closes around her name. “Mom.”
The sound that comes out of her next isn’t a word. It’s a sob she tries to swallow and fails.
“Oh, baby,” she whispers.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m… I’m okay. I’m with Dallas. I’m safe.”
“Are you hurt?” she asks, rapid fire now, panic trying to claw its way back in. “Did he… did your father…”
“No,” I say quickly. “No. I’m not hurt. Just tired. But I’m safe.”
There’s a pause, a breath, the sound of Mom trying to calm herself.
“He called Charlotte,” she says softly. “Told her you’d gone back. That you missed Evan.”
My stomach twists. “He lied.”
“I know,” Mom says immediately. “I knew. I just… needed to hear your voice.”
I press my forehead against Dallas’s shoulder, like I can physically anchor myself to both of them at once.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No,” Mom says sharply, and the edge of it is love. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize to me for escaping.”
My chest breaks open. “I’m coming home.”
“You are home,” Mom corrects, and I can hear her trying to smile through tears. “Where are you staying tonight?”
I glance at Dallas, and his eyes flick to mine.
I should say my mom’s house. That’s the logical answer. That’s the safe answer.
But the thought of closing a door and being alone makes my stomach seize. The thought of leaving Dallas’s side after everything my body has endured feels like stepping away from a life raft.
“I… I think I want to stay at the ranch,” I admit. “With Dallas.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Mom turns warm in a way that almost destroys me. “Okay.”
The sky turns from pale blue to bruised purple. The trees thicken. The road narrows. And then, finally, the familiar sign appears like a secret:
BUCKHORN.
My chest tightens, but this time the tightness is different.
When we turn onto the ranch road, my body goes rigid anyway, because some part of me still expects this to be a trick. Like the road will end in a glass conference room, and Marilyn will be there with her pen and her smile.
