Page 165 of Sunrise & Serenity

And it’s so obvious now I don’t know how the hell I missed it.

I love her.

Jesus Christ.

Fear crawls up the back of my neck. What if I’m already too late? What if she hates me? What if I ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I got scared and ran before she could leave first?

I swear my chest is about to crack open.

Rick watches my expression shift. “Just like that.”

“I’ve got to go.” The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them.

He slowly nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you should do that.”

He glances toward the hospitality tent before looking back at me. “I’ll let them know you’re out.”

For a heartbeat, I look that way too. Twelve years of chasing the next ride. The next buckle. The next season. The next reason to keep running.

Then I turn my back on it.

“Give my apologies,” I tell Rick.

“I will.” With a half-smile, he slaps me on the back. “Safe travels.”

With that, he turns and strides toward the tent where the sponsors are waiting.

I don’t hang around. I toss my coffee cup into the trash, then head straight for the motel, where I throw my stuff in my duffel and get on the road.

Five hours later, darkness stretches across the highway, my headlights cutting along the empty road toward Wild Ember. Every mile closer tightens the screw in my chest.

I should call first. Instead, I keep driving. Partly because I don’t know what to say. Partly because some stupid, hopeful part of me wants to believe maybe Sage is still there. That when I get back, the lights will be on in her cabin. That she’ll let me explain.

Wind rattles softly against the truck as the dark mountains rise in the distance.

I drag a hand across my face. What the hell am I even going to say to her? Sorry I got scared and ran? Sorry I convinced myself that leaving first would hurt less? Christ. I don’t even know where to begin.

By the time the Wild Ember sign comes into view, my pulse is hammering, my shoulder aching along with it.

Warm light spills from the ranch house windows, but I don’t stop. Driving a little too fast, I turn off onto the road that leads up to our cabins.

My stomach drops when I get close, knowing that if her lights were on, I’d see them shining through the trees.

Nothing. No porch light. No glow through the windows.

I pull up outside anyway. Maybe she’s asleep. It’s not that late, but maybe⁠—

Her car’s not here.

Regret punches straight through me, my fingers locking around the steering wheel.

If she went back to New York, I’ll get her details from Sterling and fly there. I’ll go to her wherever she’s gone. Hell, I’ll fly to Milan if I need to.

I make a U-turn and race back down the road, this time turning toward the ranch house.

The front door swings open before I even reach the porch. River steps outside, then freezes.

“Holden?”