I wrap an arm around her middle and pull her a little closer, unable to stop myself. I can feel her shiver before she relaxes against me.
“You were wearing those damn cutoff shorts,” I murmur, the memory so vivid I can almost smell the dust and the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Somehow, we ended up alone at the fairgrounds. Watching the sunrise.”
“We were sitting on the tailgate of your old truck,” she says.
“Yep. You told me to close my eyes. I thought you were about to pour beer on my head or give me a wet willy or something.”
Her laugh is quiet, almost shy. “I should’ve.”
“Instead,” I say, smiling faintly, “you leaned in and kissed me. Just like that. No warning.”
She exhales, a soft sound that’s half sigh, half ache. “It was a good kiss.”
“It was a great kiss,” I admit. “And everything after that… was fast. Wild. Like we were trying to live a whole lifetime before the world caught up to us.”
“We were kids, Jake. We didn’t know any better.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t make it any less real.” I tighten my arms around her. “I loved you, Wills. God, I loved you so much it terrified me.”
She doesn’t respond, and I can feel the tension radiating through her body.
“I need to apologize,” I continue. “Really apologize. Not just for leaving, but for how I left. For making a decision about our future without including you in it.”
“Jake, you don’t have to?—”
“I do.” I take a breath. “I left because I thought I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” There’s an edge to her voice now.
“From having to choose between your career and me. From having to watch me potentially get hurt or worse every time I climbed on a bull. From being responsible for me if something did happen.” I pause. “And underneath all of that, I was just scared, Wills. Scared that if you had to choose, you wouldn’t choose me.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. When she finally speaks, her voice is small.
“You should have let me make that choice for myself.”
“I know.”
“Or at least let me be part of the decision. We were supposed to be partners, Jake. But you just… left.”
“I know,” I say again, and the acknowledgment of what I took from her sits like a stone in my chest. “I was young and stupid and so fucking scared of losing you that I pushed you away first. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
We reach the east fence line, and I rein Pato to a stop. The fence stretches out before us, and I can already see a section that needs repair. I help Willa down, then dismount myself, tying Pato to a nearby post.
The cold November air bites at my face as I walk the fence line, checking posts and wire. Willa follows a few steps behind, her hands shoved in her pockets, her breath fogging around her.
“Did you ever think about us getting back together?” she asks suddenly. “In those six years, did you ever think about it?”
I stop, turning to face her. “Every day. Every single day, Wills. But I’d made my choice, and I thought… I thought it was too late to unmake it.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know that now.” I take a step closer to her. “But at the time, I convinced myself you’d moved on. That you were better off without me.”
“I tried to move on,” she admits. “Dated other people. Went to California. Built a whole life that had nothing to do with you or this place.” She looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes. “But I never stopped missing you. Never stopped wondering what would have happened if you’d stayed.”
The confession breaks something open in my chest. “I wondered that too. All the time. What our life would have looked like if I’d given us the choice.”
“Would you have stayed?” she asks. “If I’d asked you to?”
