My throat tightens again. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”
His face shifts, pain flashing. “Not happening. Not in any universe.” His mouth brushes mine—just a whisper of a kiss, gentle and grounding, not taking more than I can give right now. It steadies me better than any words.
Outside, sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.
Kyle’s shouting fades as they drag him out.
The room is suddenly quiet except for my breathing and Nash’s heart pounding against my palm where I’m still holding his shirt like a lifeline.
He cups my face. “We’re going home,” he says. “To your parents. To your ranch. And then we’re going to figure out the rest.”
“The rest,” I whisper, because my brain jumps there automatically—Saint Pierce, distance, the future.
Nash’s gaze is unwavering. “Yeah. The future. The part I tried to give up on. The part I don’t want to lose again.”
I swallow hard. “Nash…”
“I don’t care where you live,” he says quietly. “I’ll fly. I’ll drive. I’ll split my time. I’ll build you a porch swing in Saint Pierce if that’s what it takes.” His thumb strokes my cheek, steady. “But I’m not letting you go because logistics are scary.”
My chest aches in the best way. “You’re really saying that,” I whisper.
“I’m saying it,” he says. “And I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me.”
The sheriff arrives. Statements happen. Gray handles the details with the cold competence of a man who’s seen this kind of ugliness before and refuses to let it win. Nash never lets go of me while it all unfolds—his hand on my back, his body between me and the world.
When we finally step outside, the air hits my face like freedom.
The sky is streaked with late-day light. The quarry road is dusty. The Lone Star trucks sit like guardians in the gravel.
Nash guides me to his truck, opens the door, and helps me in like I’m precious.
I look up at him from the seat, still shaky, still trying to process how close I came to being gone. “How do we make this a happily ever after?” I whisper.
His expression softens into something so sure it nearly breaks me. “We do it the hard way,” he says. “Together.”
Then he leans in, kisses my forehead, and closes the door gently—like he’s sealing me into safety. And as the trucks pull away from Quarry Road and head back toward Valor Springs, back toward home, back toward the life I almost lost?—
I realize something, crystal clear.
I’m not running anymore.
Not from this town.
Not from this ranch.
Not from Nash Hawthorne.
Not when he came for me like a promise kept.
Not when my heart has already decided where it belongs.
SEVENTEEN
NASH
The ranch is loud in the aftermath.
Notfestivalloud—thank God Rodeo Days is over—but the kind of loud that happens when fear finally drains out of a place and everybody realizes they’re still standing. Deputies in and out. Statements. Paperwork. Mrs. Coleman crying into my mom’s shoulder like they’ve known each other forever. Which they pretty much have. Mr. Coleman pacing holes into his porch boards because standing still feels like surrender.
