The canyon leading into Moraine is narrow. Granite walls climb high on either side; the frozen river runs like a ribbon beside the road. The climb feels endless until the valley opens and the town spreads beneath the snow-capped peaks.
Finally, I’m driving down our street. The house comes into view, small under the mountain sky.
Chase steps outside—he must have been watching for my SUV from the window—and he stands, waiting on the porch. His smile is wide, almost boyish, and it cuts something deep inside me.
The drive has been long, but not long enough. Hours of winding canyons and snow-laced peaks, of trying to steady myself with coffee and silence, and still nothing could prepare me for the way Chase is waiting.
Chase steps off the porch when I pull into the driveway, shoulders squared against the cold.
For a heartbeat it feels like I’ve stepped backward in time, like nothing has broken between us.
Before I turn off the vehicle I send a quick text to Skye, realizing only now that in my hyper focus to make things happen I completely forgot to tell my roommate I wouldn’t be home after work.
Tori, 5:02 p.m.: I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.
I don’t check to see if she responds, instead switching my phone todo not disturbbefore dropping it into my handbag.
Chase walks to my door and opens it, his voice warm, hopeful.
“Dinner’s ready. We’ll get your bags later.”
There are no bags.
He doesn’t even check.
I step out, letting him fall in beside me, but my chest is already tightening, bracing for the weight of what’s coming.
When we step onto the porch I pause, my hand gripping the rail. I can’t go inside.
It feels… wrong. Like a lie.
“Let’s sit a minute,” I say softly, lowering myself onto the top step. The wood feels frigid through my jeans—it’s insanely cold right now, but we both have on jackets. We’ll live.
I pat the spot beside me. He sits, close enough that our shoulders touch.
I take his hands in mine, look at them—at us. The way we’ve always fit, the way it once felt like home.
“Chase,” I say, softly. “I need you to hear what I’m about to say.”
He smiles faintly, still believing.
“Of course, baby.”
He leans in to kiss me, but I turn away, eyes fixed on our fingers knotted together.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “You’re here now. Everything’s going to be fine, we can work on things?—”
I lay three fingers gently over his mouth.
“No. Not this time. I need you to listen. Not to argue, not to twist my words, not only to hear what you want. Just listen. Can you do that?”
He studies me, something nervous flickering in his eyes, then nods.
I lower my hand and take a breath that cuts sharp in the cold. “I love you. I always will. But when I left… that wasn’t an ultimatum. That was the end.”
The hope drains from his face. His grip on my hands tightens, then falters.
“But you said?—”
