To the very pit of my soul, I understand.
At the end of the day, you’re the only person you can depend on.
And sometimes, you have to feel like you’re the person meeting the needs of everyone around you to feel like you have any worth at all.
My very, very, very favorite thing about Maisey?
It’s that she turned her whole damn life around to make sure her daughter knew she was loved, protected, and safe. She’s doing for June what I desperately needed my entire childhood and never got.
I can’t judge her for that.
Even knowing what she’s thinking.
Even knowing she’s thinking it without knowing thatI told June I ran away.
And what would it solve if I did?
I’ll tell her. I will. I’ll apologize.
Later.
When she can handle hearing it.
If she’ll give me a chance and let me be what she still wants once she and June come home.
Ifthey come home.
I hold up my hands. “I won’t say a word the whole drive. You can pretend it’s a self-driving car. Just—just let me get you to where you need to be to get to June.”
“Next best thing from here won’t get you in until about seven tomorrow morning,” the clerk says.
Maisey squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m paying for gas.”
“Okay,” I agree quietly.
She hands the clerk her credit card, and five minutes later, she has a paper ticket in hand. “I was always Team Maisey,” the clerk says as Maisey tucks the ticket into her purse. “Dean was such a pompous ass, and I knew there was no way you were as dumb as they made you look. I hope your daughter’s okay.”
Maisey blinks once, then reaches across the counter to hug the woman. “You are a good person, and I will never forget this. Thank you.”
We hustle out of the airport and back to my truck.
Maisey shoves her credit card at me to use for parking.
I don’t argue, mostly because I know she needs a win. And she sees paying for parking as a win.
“Okay?” I ask her hesitantly as we get back on the highway and head toward Denver and its massive airport.
“No,” she whispers. “Not yet. And probably not for a long time. But thank you.”
“Anytime.”
She buries her head over her phone, thumbs flying. June must’ve gotten her phone plugged in. Or else Maisey’s activating the gossip chain back in Hell’s Bells to explain why she won’t be at the parade.
A very, very long two hours and one bathroom stop later, I drop her off at the Denver airport. “I’ll put your truck back at your house,” I tell her as she climbs out of my truck at the curb. “Can you let me know when you get there?”
For the first time all morning, she looks me straight on. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. And thank you.”
I don’t let her drop the eye contact. “I will be here.”
