Because earlier today, she’d been crying and then put herself back together with sheer will. Silas looked ready to drive his truck through someone’s front door when he found her in that state.
And now her phone is lighting up, and somebody expects her to answer.
I sit there a long time, breathing slowly, letting my thoughts circle without landing. The kind of circling that turns into a spiral if you aren’t careful.
Delaney shifts in her sleep, a small sound in her throat, and her cheek presses more fully against my chest. Trust, unintentional and complete.
I ease her up carefully and carry her down the hall to her room, laying her on the bed like she weighs nothing. Her phone goes on the nightstand where she’ll see it when she wakes. I tuck her bed sheets tighter around her shoulders to try to keep the world out.
Then I stand.
My joints pop quietly. The house creaks, settling around me.
I go into the kitchen, grab a glass of water I don’t actually want, and lean against the counter, staring at nothing. My mind keeps replaying the way her body locked up when she came back. The way she refused to say what happened.
The way her phone is telling me there’s something else in her life right now.
Against my better judgment, I pull my phone out.
I don’t search her name. I don’t dig through anything I shouldn’t. I don’t even really know what I’m looking for.
But one name pops into my head anyway.
Dottie.
Because Dottie lives on social media. Because Dottie knows everyone’s business before they do. Because if something moved through town today, Dottie probably posted it with a filter and a caption.
I open Facebook. Search her page. It loads fast.
And my stomach drops.
There’s a post from earlier today, just hours ago. A series of photos in town. Smiling faces. Sunlight. Coffee cups. That casual, curated happiness people want to show off.
Dottie is front and center, grinning.
And beside her…
A man.
I recognize him immediately, and I hate that I do.
Sharp haircut. Expensive jacket. City posture. The kind of polished that doesn’t belong here unless it’s trying to sell something.
The caption reads:Unexpected run-ins and good conversations. Sometimes the past circles back.
My jaw tightens hard enough that my teeth ache.
Past.
Circles back.
I scroll, heart pounding, and see his name in the tags.
Marcus Hale.
The name hits as a punch even though I’ve never met him. Because I’ve heard it. Half sentences, careful gaps, the way Delaney’s voice tightens when the past gets too close.
I lock my phone and set it on the counter because it burned me.
