“And I said yes.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. “I chose this, Walker. Chose you. Chose this place. Nobody forced me.”
“Jo—”
“I’m not leaving.” The words came out fierce, certain. “Whatever you’re about to say, whatever guilt-spiral you’re working yourself into, stop it. I’m not leaving.”
He stared at her, at the bandage on her throat where his employee’s mother had held a knife. At the exhaustion in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. At the woman who’d sat on a cold garage floor with River, who’d stayed calm with a blade at her throat, who was telling him now that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I almost lost you,” he said, the confession scraping his throat raw.
“But you didn’t.” She leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her breath against his lips. “I’m right here.”
The distance between them collapsed. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he closed the final inches. Her lips were soft against his, warm and alive and real. She made a small sound, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss tasted like coffee and exhaustion and three years of wanting. He tried to be gentle, tried to remember the bandage at her throat, the trauma of last night. But she kissedhim back fierce and hungry, like she needed to prove she was alive, that they both were.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing hard.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered, and despite everything, despite the chaos and blood and fear, Walker felt something in his chest crack open. Something that had been locked down for years, maybe decades.
“Merry Christmas, Jo.”
The sound of boots on the porch made them pull apart. The door opened, and River stepped inside, tracking snow across the floor. He stopped short when he saw them on the couch, close enough that it was obvious what had interrupted them.
“Oh.” He blinked. “Should I... go back outside? I can go back outside.”
“You’re fine,” Johanna said, a flush creeping up her neck.
River stood there, shifting his weight, holding something behind his back. “I, uh. I made something. For everyone. Last night. Couldn’t sleep, so I just... worked.”
He pulled out a cloth bag that clinked softly as he set it on the coffee table. His hands shook slightly as he reached inside.
“They’re not much,” he said, not looking at either of them. “Just scrap metal. But after yesterday, after everything...” He trailed off, pulling out the first piece.
A dog, unmistakably Bishop, crafted from twisted metal. The detail was extraordinary—alert ears, strong back, subtle curl of tail.
Walker took it, his throat tight. “River, this is?—”
“There’s more.” River was already pulling out the next piece. A horse, clearly Sunny, head lowered as if grazing, mane flowing. He set it on the table, then reached back into the bag.
A cowboy on horseback, small enough to fit in Walker’spalm but detailed enough to see the hat, the reins, the saddle. The horse beneath was unmistakably Dust Devil.
“For you,” River said, holding it out. “Because of the name. Cowboy. And because...” He swallowed hard. “Because you gave me a place when nobody else would.”
Walker took the sculpture, words failing him. The metal was cold, but the craftsmanship was warm, alive with care and attention.
Last came a small bird, wings spread in flight, frozen at the moment of takeoff. River handed it to Johanna, his hands noticeably shaking now.
She took it gently, turning it to catch the light. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re always helping people take flight,” River said quietly. “Thought you should have one of your own.”
The silence that followed felt different from the heavy quiet of earlier. This was softer, weighted with something other than trauma.
“Thank you,” Johanna said, her voice thick.
River nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna... I have more work to finish. Just wanted to give you those first.”
He started for the door, then stopped, turning back. “What if who I am isn’t enough?” The words tumbled out like he couldn’t stop them. “What if I can’t ever be fixed?”
