Didn’t trust myself to speak much at all. My throat’s been tight all damn day, like if I open my mouth too wide, something raw might fall out, like the truth I’ve been avoiding.
That I’m terrified she won’t come back. That maybe I’m not enough to make her stay. That loving her might not be enough if her dreams live somewhere I can’t follow. I’ve always been the steady one, the rooted one. But right now, I feel like I’m standing in quicksand, and every minute without her drags me down a little more.
The ride back to the ranch is quiet, save for the creak of the leather seat and the steady hum of tires on asphalt. Every fence post, every curve in the road feels like a memory with Avery’s name on it. That corner where she stalled out the first week.
The patch of pasture she pointed to and said, “One day, I’ll build my dream stable right there.”
After driving by way of the lake, I pull into a parking spot to avoid going home without her there. I finallyhead home and pull into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the front porch. It’s dark except Emmy's light on upstairs, too quiet without Avery’s humming in the kitchen or Emmy’s little feet padding down the hall.
Even the wind seems reluctant to stir the chimes she hung by the door. The house feels hollow, like it’s holding its breath, like the walls themselves are waiting for her voice to echo through them again.
Inside, I kick off my boots and make my way through the dark. I don’t bother flipping on the lights. Just let the moonlight guide me. Every shadow stretches longer. Every corner feels colder. Her tea mug still on the counter. A sketch Emmy left on the table.
One of the horses, with a smiley face and big heart next to it over the top of a cabin. It damn near guts me. I run my thumb across the corner of the paper like touching it might anchor me to something solid.
The scent of lavender from her bath salts lingers faintly by the stairway, ghosting around me as I pass. I sink into the couch, elbows on my knees, and let the silence press in. My chest aches in a way I can’t fix. This place, this life, it was finally starting to feel like ours.
The mornings with coffee and teasing, the nights with whispered plans on the swing and Avery’s head on my chest. It all felt real. Solid.
The air smells faintly of her perfume, sweet and woodsy, like the memory of something wild you almost caught. I rake a hand through my hair and lean back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. But all I see is the echo of what I want. What I’m scared I’ve already lost.
I close my eyes and whisper, “Come home, Avery.”
Not because I need her to save me.
But because this place, without her in it, doesn’t feel like home at all. I start to drift off a little.
The sound of gravel crunching under her car is soft, barely there, but it wakes me. I see the headlights moving over the ranch.
I push off the couch, heart thudding like it’s already guessed what I haven’t dared to hope for.
My hand hesitates on the knob, breath caught somewhere between dread and hope. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs, palms suddenly clammy.
Part of me is afraid to open that door, afraid it’s just my imagination conjuring her silhouette from the shadows.
But I do it anyway.
When I open the door, she’s standing there in the porch light. Wind in her hair, shoulders tense, suitcase in hand.
My breath catches. “Avery.”
Her eyes are wide, uncertain, but there’s fire in them too. Determined fire. The kind I’ve always admired, and always feared would burn too bright to stay.
“Hey,” she says softly.
I step back, but I can’t speak. Not yet. My throat’s too tight.
She crosses the threshold slowly, like she’s not sure if this is a dream or a mistake. Her boots scuff against the hardwood, and when she sets her bag down, I hear her exhale, deep and shaky, like she’s been holding her breath all the way from Austin.
“I didn’t take the job,” she blurts. “I couldn’t. I sat there in that high-rise conference room with all their glass and chrome and perfect smiles, and all I could think about was this place. Emmy. You. Us."
"I also put in notice to get rid of my apartment."
I move closer, afraid if I blink she’ll disappear. “You came back.”
She nods, and her eyes start to glisten. “I love you, Cash. I didn’t say it before I left, and maybe I was scared, but I love you. And I want this, this life, messy and hard and beautiful. I want you.” Tears are streaming down her face.
The breath I’ve been holding all damn day finally lets go.
