She'd quit her job. She'd chosen to come home. She'd finally figured out what mattered.
But she'd figured it out one day too late.
And now she had to find a way to convince Grant that she was worth taking a chance on. That she wouldn't run again. That she was here to stay.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she'd start fighting.
But tonight, she let herself cry for what she might have lost.
For the look in Grant's eyes when he said it was all fake.
For the empty space between them that used to feel like home.
And for the boy she'd loved since she was sixteen, who she'd hurt so badly she didn't know if he'd ever let her close enough to hurt him again.
Riley closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
It was a long time coming.
TWENTY-FIVE
Grant
Grant woke before dawn and went straight to work.
The Tree Toss was in two days, and there was still plenty to do. He hauled firewood until his shoulders burned. Cleared brush from the throwing field until his hands were raw. Fixed fence posts that didn't really need fixing and reorganized the barn twice.
By mid-morning, his shirt was soaked through with sweat despite the December cold, and his muscles screamed in protest.
It didn't help.
Nothing helped.
Every time he stopped moving, he saw Riley's face in the barn last night. The way she'd looked at him like he was breaking her heart. The way her voice had cracked when she tried to explain.
The way he'd cut her off and told her to leave.
Grant grabbed the axe and attacked the woodpile with renewed fury.
"You trying to split the wood or murder it?"
Grant turned to find his dad watching from the barn entrance, coffee mug in hand, expression carefully neutral.
"Just working." Grant swung the axe again. The log split clean down the middle.
"Uh-huh." Thomas walked closer, surveying the destruction Grant had wrought on the farm in the past four hours. "You've done enough work for three days. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Grant."
The axe came down harder. "I said nothing."
Thomas was quiet for a long moment. Then asked, "This about Riley?"
Grant's hands tightened on the axe handle. "It's about me being an idiot."
