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Rain drummed steadily against the roof while the pugs snored around her, oblivious to the storm raging outside. Felicity tapped the cellphone against her chin.

Then she admitted defeat and opened his messages.

Starting from the earliest one.

“Lissy-love, I got back as fast as I could. But … you’re gone.” Silence. “Please don’t run from this. From us. Come home. Please.”

His voice.

God, his voice.

Raw. Frayed. Panicked.

Ronan didn’t panic.

Heart thumping as hard as the wind rattling the cottage windows, she set the phone aside, unable to listen to another second.

It took her until the following evening to find the courage to continue.

The next several messages carried the same plea.

Come home.

Talk to me.

Listen.

Give us a chance.

Then his tone shifted.

“I knew I’d likely lose you. But I didn’t think you’d run. My deputy faces life head-on.”

The next message was recorded three days later.

“You’re angry with me. I understand that. Doesn’t change anything. I’d do it again. Tomorrow. Next year. Every damn time.”

Felicity forced herself to keep listening.

To honor him by hearing every single message.

Somewhere along the way, the desperation faded.

In its place was something infinitely harder to listen to — acceptance.

“Wherever you are, please be safe. And give the ladies a rub from me.”

Then.

“Going to Texas for my birthday. Mom insisted. Guess turning forty is some kind of milestone. Wish you were with me. I’d love to show you where I grew up.”

Gah.

If she’d heard that message before reaching Texas, she would’ve steered the van well away from the Lone Star state.

Instead, she’d spent three days walking through the world that had shaped him.

“It’s late. I … I told my dad about you tonight. About us. Everything. Don’t hate me for that. I just … needed his wisdom.” A soft exhale. “He told me to give you space. His advice has never steered me wrong, so … I’ll try to limit the number of times I give in and call or text.”