My throat tightens.
“Why now?” I whisper.
“Because you’ve been fading,” he says gently. “And because whatever this is between all of us, it deserves honesty. Even if it’s messy.”
I think of the fog. The silence. The way I’ve been holding myself together with duct tape and routine.
“Where?” I ask.
“A cabin about two hours out,” he says. “No service. Fireplace. Space to breathe.”
No service.
The idea makes my stomach flip.
And somehow steadies me.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admit.
“That’s okay,” he says. “None of us are. We’ll figure it out together.”
I glance out the window, where Julia and Sadie are laughing in the pasture, utterly unconcerned with the emotional landmine I’m standing on.
Trust feels dangerous.
But staying frozen feels worse.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
Silas’s breath stutters. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat. “I’ll go.”
Relief softens his face.
“Pack a bag,” he says quietly. “We’ll leave after lunch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Caleb
The drive starts wrong.
Not in the “we’re going to die because Silas thinks speed limits are a suggestion” way. He’s not driving that fast, technically. He’s just driving as if the only way through discomfort is to outrun it.
Which checks out.
He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the edge, conducting an invisible orchestra of tension. His jaw keeps working, chewing on something he doesn’t want to swallow.
Delaney sits in the passenger seat with her coat still on, even though the heater’s blowing. Shoulders tucked in. Hands folded tight in her lap. Eyes fixed on the passing trees. If she looks at any one of us for too long, she’ll see her own reflection and hate it.
Boone’s in the back with me.
He’s too big for the seat. Knees too long. Shoulders too broad. He sits there still as a statue someone carved out of stubbornness and responsibility. He hasn’t spoken since we pulled out of the ranch drive.
I’m not sure he’s breathed.
And me?
