Caleb steps forward until he’s close enough for me to smell cold air on him. “We’re taking her home.”
Jane stiffens. “No.”
Weston’s eyes flash. “Jane?—”
“No,” she repeats, louder. “I’m not a horse you can haul back to the ranch because you don’t like where I wandered.”
Boone scoffs. “You’re our sister.”
“And that’s the only thing you ever let me be,” Jane snaps, her words cracking like a whip.
Silence slams into the room. Even the flames in the fireplace seem to dim.
Caleb’s face tightens. “That’s not fair.”
Jane’s laugh is sharp and painful. “Isn’t it? I’m twenty-six, Caleb. You still look at me like I’m ten and about to fall off a fence.”
Weston’s voice softens, revealing his role as a peacemaker. “We were worried.”
“I know,” Jane replies, her breath trembling. “I know. And I love you. But being worried doesn’t give you the right to own me.”
Boone’s jaw ticks. “No one owns you.”
Jane’s eyes flash. “Then why does it feel like I have to ask permission to breathe?”
Caleb flinches. That hits him. Good, because she’s right.
I’ve seen this dynamic a hundred times in different uniforms and families—love twisted into control because control feels safer than fear.
Caleb’s voice drops. “You left. You were deliberately vague when we messaged. We didn’t know where you were."
“I checked in,” Jane says too quickly.
Weston’s gaze flicks to me. “She’s with you.”
“Yes,” I confirm.
Boone’s eyes narrow. “And you think that’s okay?”
Jane turns on him. “Don’t.”
Boone holds up his hands. “I’m not talking to you, Jane. I’m talking to him.”
“And that’s the problem, right there,” she snaps. “You always talk over me like I’m not here.”
Boone's face reddens. “Because you do stupid?—”
“Boone,” Caleb warns.
“Say it.” Jane’s voice is deadly quiet.
Boone looks like he wants to swallow his words, but his anger is too strong. “You do stupid things, and we have to clean up the mess!”
Jane goes completely still.
Her face goes blank in a way that makes my chest ache. She’s shutting down, pulling on the same mask I’ve seen her wear when she’s drowning but doesn’t want anyone to throw her a rope. Because feeling too much hurts, but asking for help hurts more.
Then she nods once, slow and controlled. “Okay.”
