Page 132 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“What the hell do I do now?”

"Wrong question."

Colter looked up. "What?"

"You keep asking what you do about what she did. That's the anger question." Boone leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The real question is what kind of father you want to be. What kind of family the three of you are going to build. Because that's what she was trying to figure out too—just from the wrong direction."

Eli nodded once. "She wasn't asking if you were worthy, she was asking how to hand you something she'd been carrying alone for five years without dropping it."

Colter stared at the bottle.

"She got it wrong," Boone said. "But she was asking the right question. Now you get to answer it. So. What kind of family do you want?"

Colter was quiet for a long time.

"The kind that doesn't quit," he said finally.

"Then sober up, breathe, and go tell them that."

Eli nodded once. “Fear’s allowed. Running isn’t.”

Colter bowed his head. He didn’t cry. He didn’t break. But for the first time since the PI file hit his hands, he let himself want his family.

CHAPTER 50

Sutton would burn down the entire state of Montana before she let anyone take her child.

She could barely breathe as she moved through the bedroom, yanking open drawers and tossing clothes into a duffel. Socks, shirts, the stuffed pony Lynlee couldn’t sleep without. She grabbed medical records, school papers, and birth certificates. Her hands shook so violently she dropped things, knelt to gather them, and dropped them again.

Every rustle of fabric sounded like a clock running out. Every zipper sounded like goodbye.

Lynlee was still asleep in her room, exhausted from the parade, unaware her mother was planning escape routes instead of breakfast.

I won’t lose her. I won’t let him take her. No judge, no ranch, no bloodline will ever get between me and my child.

Her breath came fast and shallow—she could feel a panic attack closing in. Sutton shoved another stack of clothes into the bag and snapped it shut.

She reached for Lynlee’s favorite books next and that was when a knock sounded at the door. Not a timid knock but a hard and urgent one.

Her heart slammed and, for one terrible second, she imagined deputies on the porch with paperwork and orders. She pressed a hand to her mouth and forced herself down the hallway. At the door, she leaned in and peered through the peephole—one glance and a broken breath tore out of her.

Colter.

Her pulse spiked. If she stayed quiet, if she just didn’t move, maybe he would turn around and go home. Maybe he’d let her disappear before her world was carved up.

She backed away from the door, holding her breath like silence could make her invisible. For a few heartbeats, there was nothing. No movement. No knock. Just silence.

“I know you’re in there.” Colter’s voice filtered under the wooden door.

A long minute passed where she weighed her options.

Softer, gentler, the voice was back. “Freckles, open the door. I’m not leaving until I see you’re okay.”

Wiping the residual tears from her cheeks, she opened the door, just enough to peek her head out. “You’ve seen me. Goodbye.”

She went to slam the door shut when Colter stuck his big ass foot in the way. It rebounded and opened wide enough that he could see her in all her glory. Hair like a squirrel’s tail, mascara bleeding down her face, still in yesterday’s clothes.

Colter stood there—out of breath like he’d sprinted here. His hair was windblown, his jaw tense, and his eyes—her daughter’s eyes—they were devastated.