I stood there for a moment, drinking in the sight of Wyatt—sprawled in the truck bed like he owned the world, one arm flung out where I'd been, dark hair mussed from my fingers, that face I'd loved since before I knew what love meant. The moonlight painted him in silver and shadow, beautiful and young and trusting that tomorrow would come with me still in it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to his sleeping form. "I'm so sorry."
Then I grabbed my bike from behind the cottonwood where I'd hidden it and pedaled away without looking back, because oneglance at him sleeping in that truck bed, believing that I'd be there when he woke, would have undone me completely.
The two-mile ride to the Blackwood ranch had never felt longer. The dirt road stretched ahead, familiar yet foreign in the darkness.
The Blackwood ranch house rose up like something out of a dream—two stories of white limestone and cedar beams, wraparound porches on both levels, windows glowing soft and gold even at this hour because Louisa always left a light on "just in case someone needs to find their way home."
I knew every creaky board on that porch, having spent enough dinners at their table to navigate it blind. Fourth step had a loose nail that squeaked. Seventh board from the door would groan if you stepped on the left side.
I circled around back to Wyatt's window—first floor, a blessing since I'd never been good at climbing. His parents had offered him the bigger room upstairs since he was the eldest, but he'd kept this one because it looked out toward the creek, toward our spot.
The window was unlocked because this was Copper Creek, and nobody locked anything because trust was woven into the fabric of this place like thread in a quilt. I slipped inside, careful not to make a sound while my eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness of his room.
It smelled like him—leather from his work gloves tossed on the dresser, soap from his shower, and that cologne his mother bought him that he only wore for church and school dances. His bed was unmade, sheets tangled from where he'd rolled out in a hurry when I'd called earlier, breathless, asking him to meet me at the creek for my birthday.
Boots were scattered by the closet—work boots, church boots, the fancy ones he'd bought for prom. His guitar leaned in the corner, the one he was teaching himself to play, mostly succeeding at three chords and a lot of enthusiasm. Pictures were scattered on his bulletin board—us at last year's county fair, his family at Christmas, the whole rodeo team after they'd won state.
In every picture with me, I was looking at the camera. He was always looking at me.
I reached into my pocket for the note I’d folded so many times that the creases had worn soft. I'd kept it simple because anything more would have destroyed my resolve:
I'm sorry. This isn't about you or us. It's about me needing to leave. Please don't look for me. Please don't wait for me. You deserve better than someone who runs.-Ivy
I placed the note on his pillow, then set the necklace on top of it, the silver horseshoe gleaming in the faint moonlight from the window. My hands shook so badly that it took three tries to get them positioned just right, where he'd see them first thing when he came home.
"What the hell are you doing?"
I spun, heart hammering against my ribs like a spooked horse against a stall door. Liam stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. Wyatt’s cousin never missed anything. I was an idiot to think I could sneak in and back out without him noticing.
My mouth bobbed, struggling to come up with an explanation. "I?—"
He took in the note on Wyatt's pillow, the horseshoe necklace glinting beside it, the way I was poised to bolt like a deer that had scented a hunter. "You're leaving." It wasn't a question. "You'rerunning."
"I have to."
“Bullshit."
"You don't understand?—"
"Then make me understand." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The hallway light disappeared, leaving us in darkness, broken only by moonlight through the window. "Because from where I'm standing, you're about to destroy my cousin. And I'd like to know why."
"I can't—" My voice broke into sharp pieces. "It has to be done. He deserves better than this."
"Better than what? Better than the girl he's loved since he was fourteen? Better than the person he's planning to marry after next year's rodeo season?"
Each word was a knife between my ribs. I pressed my hand to my mouth, holding in the sob that wanted to escape. This was the right thing to do. Theonlything to do. Even if it felt like ripping my heart out and laying it next to that necklace.
“Why, Ivy?" Liam continued, relentless.
"Because if he knows the truth, he'll do something that can't be undone," I whispered. "And I can't let him destroy his life for me."
"What truth?"
I shook my head, unable to voice it even now.
Liam's eyes narrowed, and in that moment, he looked older than eighteen, looked like the man he had to become far too early. "This about your father?”
