Faith looks up as Mom slips past me.
“Hey,” she says. “How bad is it?”
“Could’ve been worse,” I say, defaulting to the truth. “You kissed that ditch pretty good, but the frame’s straight. Nothing leaking, nothing bent that shouldn’t be.”
Her shoulders drop on a breath I can feel from here. “So it’s drivable.”
“Yeah.” My hands find my back pockets so I don’t shove them through my hair. “Drivable. Just don’t go racing Lawson’s boys on the way into town.”
Her mouth curves, the smallest hint of her old sunshine. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
Silence stretches between us, full of everything we’re not saying. The kiss, the way it scared her as much as it did me, the fact that she’s leaving. Again.
“You, uh…” I clear my throat. “You still want to go today?”
She nods fast, then winces, worried I’ll take it wrong. “I mean, yeah. I think I should. Mom… she sounded pretty freaked out on the phone. She probably hasn’t slept since.”
“Can’t blame her,” I say. “If Lila ran from a wedding and vanished in a snowstorm, I’d lose my damn mind.”
Her fingers tighten around the mug. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” I say, a little sharper than I mean to. I rein it in. “You should’ve done what was right for you a long time ago.”
That shuts us both up. Her eyes search mine, looking for a joke, a crack, anything to show I didn’t mean that as much as I did.
“I’ll, um…” she says finally, clearing her throat. “I’ll get my stuff.”
The light outside the kitchen window has thinned from morning gray to that pale winter stretch that passes for afternoon this time of year. If she leaves now, she’ll make it to town before the temperature drops again.
“I already loaded your bag in the truck,” I say. “Figured you’d want to get on the road while the sun’s doing its best impression of existing.”
A startled laugh escapes her. “Efficient.”
“Occupational hazard,” I say. “Ranch waits for nobody.”
She stands, smoothing a hand down the front of the borrowed jeans. She just stands there, trying to peel herself up off the chair and leave some of the weight behind.
“Faith,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She looks up.
My heart does that stupid lurch. It didn’t get the memo about self-preservation.
Say something smart, McCoy. Tell her you’re glad she’s going. Tell her you’re proud she walked out before she chained herself to a man who didn’t see her. Tell her last night was a mistake. Tell her you can’t do this again.
What comes out is, “Call when you get there.”
She blinks, then smiles, small and real. “Okay.”
She studies me for a heartbeat. Then she just nods and moves past me, careful not to brush against my arm. It’s a silly thing to notice, but I feel the lack of contact.
Mom meets her at the doorway, pulls her into a hug that makes Faith stiffen for half a second, then melt.
“Thank you,” Faith says into her shoulder. “For everything.”
“You’re family,” Mom says, with that no-arguing finality that’s pure Maggie McCoy. “We take care of family.”
Faith pulls back, eyes bright. “I… yeah. Okay.”
