His hand tightened on the wrench, knuckles going white. Something flickered behind his eyes, too fast for her to read. “That’s your big therapy plan? Sit on a cold floor until I... what?”
“I don’t have a plan, River.”
The song ended, leaving a brief pocket of silence before the next track began. In that moment, River’s shoulders sagged slightly, the manic energy faltering.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he said, so quietly she almost missed it.
The admission hung between them, more honest than anything he’d said in five months at Valor Ridge. His hands, always in motion, stilled on the wrench.
“I know,” she said. “But you don’t have to figure it out alone.”
River looked down at his grease-stained hands. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback, a deflection ready to fire. The mask slipped, just for a second, and Johanna caught a glimpse of the pain he carried, the guilt that drove him to fill every silence with noise, every still moment with movement.
It wasn’t a breakthrough. Not yet. But it was a crack in thewall he’d built, a moment of truth in the midst of all his careful lies.
He turned back to the engine, but his movements were slower now, less frantic. “This truck,” he said finally, “it makes this ticking sound sometimes. Right when you think it’s running smooth.” His voice had lost its forced cheerfulness, gone flat and honest. “Keeps you on edge, wondering when it’s gonna give out completely.”
Johanna nodded, understanding what he wasn’t quite saying. The constant fear of falling apart. The exhaustion of waiting for the breakdown.
“Most things can be fixed,” she said.
River’s hands paused on the engine. He didn’t look at her, but she saw his throat work as he swallowed. “Some things can’t.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t offer empty reassurances. Just stayed, sitting on the cold concrete, while River’s hands moved more slowly over the engine parts, the frenetic energy bleeding out of him degree by degree.
Not healing, not yet.
But stopping, just for a moment, in his endless running away.
Johanna’s boots crunched through the fresh layer of snow as she made her way back to the main house. Nearly midnight now, Christmas Eve sliding into Christmas Day while she’d sat on that cold garage floor. Her back ached, her fingers were stiff with cold despite her pockets, but something had shifted with River. Not fixed, not healed, but a crack in the wall. A start. The windows of Walker’s house glowed amber against the darkness, Christmas lights twinkling along the roofline.Through the front window, she could see the tree they’d decorated together, slightly crooked because Boone had insisted on using the stand from last year even though one leg was shorter than the others.
She stomped the snow from her boots on the porch and pushed open the front door. Warmth rushed to meet her, along with the lingering scent of dinner and pine. The house was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace. She shrugged off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, and followed the glow of firelight into the living room.
Walker sat on the couch, one hand absently scratching Cowboy’s ears. The cattle dog lay with his head on Walker’s knee, eyes closed in contentment. A single lamp burned on the side table, casting long shadows across the room. The Christmas tree lights blinked in their uneven pattern, illuminating the few wrapped presents underneath.
“You waited up,” she said, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.
Walker looked up, his face softened by firelight and fatigue. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Cowboy lifted his head at the sound of her voice, tail thumping once against the couch cushions before he settled back down. Johanna crossed to the fireplace, holding her cold hands toward the heat. The flames had died down to mostly embers, glowing orange in a bed of white ash.
“Did you reach him?” Walker asked, his voice carefully neutral.
She sank onto the couch beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Her muscles protested the movement, stiff from sitting too long on concrete. “Maybe. A little.”
Walker waited, giving her space to continue or not. Johanna watched the embers pulse with each subtle draft, remembering the way River’s hands had finally stilled on thewrench, the moment his walls had cracked enough to let that truth slip through. I don’t know how to stop.
“He talked,” she said finally. “Not much, but... honestly. Without the jokes.”
Walker nodded, his profile strong against the firelight. “That’s more than the rest of us got.”
“He’s exhausted, Walker. Keeping up that front, all that energy and noise.” She rubbed her temples, a headache building behind her eyes. “He’s running on fumes.”
“And guilt,” Walker added quietly. “That’s a heavy load to carry alone.”
The fire popped, sending a small shower of sparks up the chimney. Cowboy’s ears twitched at the sound, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“You’re good at this,” Walker said after a moment. “Better than me.”
