Page 131 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“And now you’re pissed about missing the job,” Eli said.

It cracked something open—because that was it. Missing the job. Missing the title. Missing the first five years.

“I missed everything,” Colter said, voice breaking. “First words. First steps. First fevers. First drawings. I wasn’t there to hold her through nightmares or clap for her at preschool. I wasn’t there at all.”

And that was the part that was breaking him.

Not the lie or the file. Hell, it wasn’t even the years. It was the question underneath all of it, the one that had no clean answer: Who was he now?

Not the man who didn't have a daughter. Not yet the man who did. Something unfinished and nameless in between standing in a room full of crayon drawings and wearing a cape—trying to figure out what the hell a father was supposed to feel like when he found out five years too late.

Boone didn’t flinch. “You didn’t know to be.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Eli flicked to the next sheet. “You love that little girl.”

“I’d kill for her.”

Boone nodded like, finally, the real conversation. “Okay, so the dad part’s sorted.”

“Sorted?”

“Mostly,” Boone amended.

Eli slapped the folder closed. “Now we get to the part you’re avoiding. The woman.”

“I am not talking about Sutton.”

“You already are,” Boone said.

Colter stared at the grain of the porch planks. Sutton’s tear-swollen eyes flashed behind his lids. The way she said I love you like she meant every bleeding inch of it.

Eli watched him closely. “You love her.”

Colter didn’t answer.

Boone kicked Colter’s boot. “Say it.”

Colter shook his head. “She lied to me. She built everything we had on secrets. She let me fall for a kid without telling me she was mine. She⁠—”

“Is all you’re thinking about,” Eli cut in.

Silence.

Boone lowered his voice. “And that’s what you’re really afraid of.” Colter looked up sharply, but Boone held his gaze. “Losing her. Losing them. Loving big and getting wrecked just like with Mom and Dad. One car crash and everything good disappears.”

A nerve in Colter’s cheek twitched.

Boone didn’t soften. “You think if you don’t let yourself love a family, you can’t lose one again.”

Colter felt it like a sucker punch—hot and dizzying, accusing and true.

“You’re not protecting yourself, Colt. You’re hiding behind anger and custody threats. Behind whiskey.”

Colter looked away, eyes burning.

“Yeah,” Boone said gently. “There it is.”