Though I’m grateful, she hasn’t pushed, or asked what I’m going to do or when I’m going back. Or if I even want to. I’ve almost called him countless times, but stop myself mainly because I’m too embarrassed to admit I overreacted.
Monty’s checked in too, but not when Raven’s around. He never stays long, just stands in the doorway with his weathered ball cap in his hands, his eyes full of something he doesn't have words to say.
Raven’s set to move in a few days, so I know my time here is limited. I need to face this before things get worse.
Regardless, I’m grateful they've been here but hate that I needed them.
Every morning, I told myself I’d go back. That I’d call Jase, tell him I just needed space, tell him I still love him. Yet every time I pictured his face—the hurt, the desperation, the way his voice broke when he said he never wanted her—I couldn't do it.
Because I believed him then, and it still broke me, proving I feel deeper than I ever imagined I would. I’ve always been so reluctant to be in a relationship. I’ve got issues, trauma that no one deserves to carry, but most of all I’m co-dependent beneath all the tough girl, ‘I don’t need anyone’ act I put on. I fear being abandoned and not being loved. I ache to be cared for and seen. All of it adds up to a shit ton of baggage Jase is too tolerant to carry the weight of.
Three days ago I realized I had to move forward, and accept that Jase didn’t mean to hurt me. His betrayal was my coping mechanism for the severity of the situation at hand. I was scared, helpless, and created this entire scenario in my head in order to keep the walls Jase had broken down in place.
I’m exhausted in a way sleep can’t fix, not that I’m getting any. My body aches, my head is pounding, and waves of nausea keep rolling through me. I told myself it’s only stress, that I just need to rest, but since yesterday afternoon, I can barely keep anything down.
Raven’s worried, but I’ve ignored her pleas to get checked out. “Monroe, you’re pale,” she says, kneeling by my bedside. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, even as my stomach twists again.
“You’re not.” She stands and crosses the room, her voice sharper now as she grabs her phone. “I’m calling Monty.”
I’m fading in and out of sleep and in a matter of minutes, Monty’s here, crouching beside me, his big hand gentle on my shoulder. “Sweetheart, this isn’t nothing. You’re burning up.”
I try to argue, but the words slip away when another wave of dizziness hits and the room tilts sideways.
When I open my eyes again, I’m on the couch downstairs with a cool wet cloth on my forehead. Raven paces around as Monty whispers into his phone by the door.
“You need to come,” Monty says, low and urgent. “Now. She’s here. She’s been here the whole time, and she’s not okay, Jase.”
My breath catches in my throat. Even through the haze of fear, the fever and tears, my heart lurches at the sound of his name.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jase
Idon’t remember how I got here, only that the moment Monty’s name appeared on my phone screen, I had one foot in the car. The roar of my engine down the back roads, gravel spitting under my tires, rings in my ears. My heart pounding so hard drowns out everything but Monty’s words from the other side of the phone.
“She’s here. She’s been here the whole time, and she’s not okay.”
When I screech to a stop outside the Bishop ranch, Raven’s waiting on the porch, arms folded tight, her face pale. Her worried expression makes my stomach sink, but I push through the panic and head toward her.
“She’s inside,” she says quietly. “Living room, and she’s burning up, but just don’t push her.”
I don't answer because I’m not making any promises. I push through the door and there she is, curled up on the leather couch, her hair damp against her temples, skin too pale, lips cracked from dehydration. Her eyes flutter open at the sound ofmy feet, glassy and unfocused, and for a second she looks at me like I’m just a dream.
Something in my chest cracks wide open. I rush toward her on my knees beside her before I even realize I’ve moved, as my hand brushes the hair off her clammy forehead.
“Jesus, baby, you scared the hell out of me.”
She blinks slowly, her throat dry. “Jase…”
“Don’t.” My words come out sharp. “Don’t say my name like it’s a goodbye. You don’t get to disappear like that. You don’t get to carry my baby and vanish like I don’t matter. You don’t get to make me love you and pretend you don’t love me back, Moonshine.”
Tears fill his devastatingly beautiful blue eyes, a silent plea to quiet her doubts and assure her I’m here for her. To bring her home.
“I didn’t know how to stay,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face as she tries and fails to sit up.
“Then let me show you how.” My plea is raw and desperate. “I’m begging you, baby. Come back to me. Yell at me, hate me if you have to, but don’t walk away again. I can’t breathe without you. I don’t want to learn how to.”
