Then I opened the door.
Beau stood on the porch, hat in his hands now. His blue eyes—bloodshot, exhausted, but steady—locked on mine. He looked like hell.
He looked like home.
"Hi," he said quietly, his voice rough.
"Hi." The word came out steadier than I felt.
We stared at each other across the threshold—inches that felt like miles.
"Can I..." He gestured vaguely toward the house. "Can I come in? Or at least... can we talk?"
Every instinct screamed to protect myself. But Pops was right behind me, radiating curiosity and protective grandfather energy, and I needed to know.
"Yeah." I stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in."
He crossed the threshold, and the world shifted.
Behind me, I heard Pops mutter, "Well, this oughta be interestin'. I'll just be over here. With my walker. Near the hall closet. Just so we're all clear on the geography."
"Pops—"
"Just sayin'. Options are good to have."
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the two weeks of silence screaming between us—I almost smiled.
Almost.
Because Beau was here, standing in my living room with that duffel bag and those exhausted eyes, and I didn't know yet if he'd come to break my heart or save it.
But I was about to find out.
BEAU
Insanity
Dallas, Texas
One Week Earlier, Monday Morning, 4:32 AM
"The cage is always prettiest right before you realize you're trapped." – Unknown
***
I woke at 4:32 AM, staring at a ceiling that soared fifteen feet above me in my Dallas penthouse, and felt absolutely nothing.
Not the satisfaction of being back in my own space. Not the comfort of Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count I couldn't pronounce. Not even the familiar city hum filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a skyline worth billions.
Just... emptiness. A hollow where something vital used to be.
My phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark, mocking me with its silence. Seven days since regionals. Seven days since I'd stood in that parking lot and told Winnie I loved her, watched her walk away without saying it back, then driven to a hotel because I couldn't face the ranch without her permission to stay.
Seven days since I'd returned to Dallas Sunday afternoon to "think things through" before my father's Monday deadline—which was today, in approximately four hours—and discovered that thinking things through just meant drowning in a city that no longer fit.
I'd tried calling. Twice. Both times, it had gone to voicemail, her voice clipped and professional.You've reached Winnie. Leave a message.
I hadn't. What was I supposed to say?Hey, I'm in Dallas trying to figure out if I'm brave enough to walk away from a million dollars and myentire legacy for you, but I'm pretty sure the answer is yes, I'm just terrified of doing it wrong?
