I tell myself I’m protecting him, that leaving alone is the only way to save Rhett from having to choose between me and everything he’s ever known.
But when I look into hischocolate eyes, at the man I love more than my own breath, I know I’m lying. Protecting Rhett shouldn’t feel like tearing out my own rib cage.
He cups my face, thumb brushing tears I swore he’d never see. “I’m still coming with you, darlin’. I’m not lettin’ go. I can be home for the busy months and drive back and forth whenever I can. It’s only fifteen hours each way. We’ll make it work.”
Smiling, I promise him everything’s fine. Once he’s asleep, his arm heavy across my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. I slip out of bed, press my lips to his temple, take off his mother’s ring, and leave it on the dresser. Then, I walk away before I can change my mind.
My boots crunch over snow as I load my suitcase into the cab. I don’t look back at the window. I can’t. Because if I see him standing there, if I see those brown eyes begging me to stay, I’ll fold. And I can’t fold. Not when I believe with everything in me that staying will kill him slower than leaving ever could.
I tell myself he’ll understand one day—that he’ll thank me.
But as the headlights slice through the night and the road carries me farther from Black River, one truth drowns out every lie I’ve ever tried to believe.
He’ll never forgive me.
And I’ll never forgive myself.
Just like that, the memory spits me back out. I gasp, chest heaving as though I’ve run miles. The mesh still scratches at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the raw burn behind my ribs. Tears slide hot and heavy down my cheeks; there’s no hiding them now. They drip onto the soft fabric in my lap, wetting the boho dress I haven’t even tried on yet.
Grandma Jo’s arms tighten around me, her chin resting on the crown of my head. “He’s not Rhett,” she murmurs, not unkind, but with the sort of brutal honesty only she can wield.
I shake my head because the words won’t come. My throat is raw, my chest a hollow ache.
She pulls back just enough to tip my chin up, her sharp eyes wet but steady. “You don’t cry like that for a man you’re about to marry. You cry like that for a man you already lost.”
The words hit harder than any song lyric I’ve ever written, louder than any crowd’s roar I’ve stood in front of. They undo me completely. I crumble, leaning into her, sobs tearing loose against her shoulder.
I whisper it, a confession I’ve never dared to voice out loud. “I thought I was freeing him.” My voice cracks, splintering. “But I ruined everything.”
Grandma Jo hushes me, her hand rubbing circles on my back, grounding me through the quake. “No, darlin’.You loved him. And maybe you made the wrong call, maybe you didn’t.”
The words cut into me, sharp as barbed wire. For a heartbeat, I want to tell her everything—that she’s right, that I’m still bleeding from the choice I made on that frozen night, that I’m standing here in silk that feels like a costume because the only man I ever pictured waiting at the end of an aisle is the one I left behind.
Instead, I swallow hard, force my throat to work, and let out a breathy laugh. “I’m fine. Really. I chose Bradley. IchooseBradley. That’s the end of it.”
The words don’t sound like mine. They feel like someone else’s script I’ve picked up and read too quickly, hoping no one notices how shaky my hands are as I clutch the dress she’s pressed into them.
“Mm.” Her gaze lingers on me, too sharp for comfort, but she doesn’t push. She just gives my knee a squeeze before sweeping back out of the booth with her mimosa, leaving the faintest trace of perfume behind.
I sit there a moment longer, staring down at the dress draped across my lap. Soft lace, wildflowers tumbling like a meadow at dawn. It’s so heartbreakingly me that it makes the tears threaten all over again.
Sage calls through the curtain, her voice bright and insistent: “Come on, superstar, let’s see it already!”
I pull the silk dress over my head, replacing it with the soft lace one Josie picked for me. The tulle poolsaround me like a secret, whisper-light, nothing like the gowns out there with their stiff boning and rhinestones that scrape my skin raw. This one floats, brushing my calves, cinching at the waist with two thin fabric strips. For a fleeting second, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and finally recognize the girl staring back—free, soft, unchained.
Only I’m not that version of me anymore. The flash of the ring again, glinting on my finger, stark against the lace reminds me of my reality. I press my palms to the skirt to stop their shaking and try to convince the girl in the mirror she’s making the right choice. “You choose Bradley.”
Maybe it’s time I finally lay the past to rest and stop circling what could have been. Thereisno more Rhett Rivers and Noah Lane. We’re nothing more than a song stuck on repeat.
This dress belongs to them.
Closure. Maybe that’s all we need.
RHETT
9
My heavy-duty workgloves bite into my palms as I hook my fingers beneath the twine and haul another square bale onto the stack with a grunt.
