My thumb swipes before I can think, and then…
“Lo?”
“Hey,” I whisper. And suddenly I’m crying again, tears slipping hot and fast down my cheeks because I didn’t know how much I needed my brother until right now.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, relief cracking through the line like sunlight. “I just heard from Mom. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I choke out, even though fine is the last thing I am. “I just… Jamie, they tried to?—”
“I know what they tried. And screw them, Lo. You hear me? Screw them. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
The words hit harder than they should. Maybe because I’ve been waiting years to hear them.
“I thought…” My breath stutters. “For a second, I thought everyone would believe them. Like before. But the whole town kinda went to war for me.”
“Good.” He pauses, softer now. “I’m proud of you, Lo. You stayed. You fought. That’s more than they’ll ever do. It’s more than I did.”
I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, breathing through the tangle of relief and love and exhaustion knotting in my chest.
“Thanks, Jamie.”
He chuckles. I’ve missed his chuckle. “Always, you nut.”
We talk a little longer, about nothing and everything, until I’m still inside again and the night feels less heavy. When I hang up, the guys are waiting, patient and watchful.
Hayes tips his head. “Better?”
“Yeah.” My smile wobbles, but it’s real this time. Mywordsare real this time. “Better.”
CHAPTER 42
Hayes
I’ve never been good at standing still. Not really. I’m the guy who fills silence with work, repairs, errands, and meetings about meetings that could have been emails, because it’s easier than figuring out what I actually want. But now?
Now, everything’s different.
I’ve got Lo. The girl I never stopped wanting. The girl who makes the whole damn world feel like spring after a long winter. And yet, here’s the thing I didn’t expect—being happy with her doesn’t erase the question that’s been chewing at me for weeks.
What the hell do I do with the rest of my life?
I’ve never had the luxury of choosing before. Every path I’ve walked was laid out by Dad. Stay in line. Keep the peace. Do what’s needed. And I did, because it mattered. Because it kept people safe. But now… no one’s holding the leash. Which is good, right? Freedom and all that.
Except freedom comes with this annoying side effect called possibility.
So I’m pacing through town like some cliché midlife crisis case. Main Street smells of coffee and sawdust. The diner windows are fogged up, probably full of Beck and Ford planning the wedding that’s apparently going to feature seventeen distinctkinds of pie. Sylvia Hammond’s already on the steps of Town Hall, shrieking about someone moving her geraniums six inches to the left.
And me?
I’ve got no plan.
I stop at the overlook because that’s what you do when you’re spiraling existentially. You look at the view and hope it talks back. The river cuts through the valley below, silver bright under the sun. Pines stretch for miles, stitched with trails I could hike blindfolded. I know every inch of these woods. Every creek bend. Every old miner’s path.
And it hits me, just like that.
Not a whisper. A roar.
This is what Iknow. This land. This history. These stories we’ve kept alive in porch talk and campfires. And if I’ve got a shot at something that’s mine, shouldn’t it be built on that?
