“That reporter is gone,” I say. “He realized he was outnumbered. The town—”
“The town won’t be enough next time.”
He turns then. And God, the look in his eyes—fear, guilt, something bruised and breaking—it hits harder than the wind ever could.
“I’ve been stupid, Ava,” he says. “Letting myself pretend this could last. That I could just act like the world wouldn’t come looking eventually.” He shakes his head. “If he found me, others will too. Bigger names. People who don’t take no for an answer.”
“Jax—”
“I won’t put you or Violet in their crosshairs.” His voice thins, like he’s holding it together by sheer force. “I won’t risk this place. These people. You.”
My heart slams hard and bright. “So, you’re just running again?”
“It’s not running,” he insists, though his jaw tightens like he knows that’s a lie. “It’s facing what I should have faced two years ago. The past doesn’t disappear just because I do.”
“But disappearing saved you,” I say softly.
“And it ruined everything else.” His eyes flick toward the cabin, grief shadowing his features. “I should’ve been here sooner. Better. More prepared. If I hadn’t—”
“No.” I step closer, cutting off the spiral. “You saved her.”
He flinches—like the truth hurts more than blame.
“I don’t deserve that,” he says. “I don’t deserve any of this. Peace. A life. You—”
“But you have it,” I interrupt. “You already have it, whether you think you deserve it or not.”
He looks away, breath fogging the air. “If I stay, I put you in danger.”
The truth is, he’s terrified of being loved again. Because love is what he keeps losing.
I take another step, until I’m close enough to feel the heat of him beneath the cold.
“What about me?” I ask, voice trembling. “Do I get to choose if I want to risk it?”
“Ava—”
“No,” I say, stronger this time. “You don’t get to decide for me again.”
His chest rises in a shuddering breath. His eyes meet mine, searching—like he’s afraid of what he’ll find.
“I choose you,” I whisper.
“I choose you,” I repeat, stepping into his space, my gloved fingers brushing the cold fabric of his jacket. “Not because you’re broken. But because you’re healing. Because I’m healing. And because we’re better at it together.”
His face crumples like the weight he’s carried is finally too heavy to hold alone.
“Ava…”
“You don’t have to leave,” I say, lifting his hand, guiding it to rest against my heart beneath the layers of coat and sweater. “You don’t have to run. Just… stay. Stay here. Stay with us.”
He looks down at our joined hands, snow catching in his lashes, melting on his skin.
“You really want that?” he whispers.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Silence stretches.
