Maybe my leaving would change that. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, I wouldn't stay where I had to shrink myself to fit.
I watched her sleep, burning the image into memory. The way her hand curled loose against my chest. The small sounds she made when she dreamed.
I loved her enough to leave.
When I couldn't stay any longer, I slipped out of bed. I moved carefully, quietly. My boots were by the door. My shirt was on the floor where she'd pulled it over my head hours ago. My belt was on the chair—she'd unbuckled it with hands that trembled slightly, and I'd kissed her so she wouldn't have to explain why.
I dressed in the dark, watching her sleep, making sure I didn't wake her.
At her small desk, I paused. Found paper. A pen.
The note took three tries to get right.
Maggie—
I can't be your secret or your sometimes or your safe thing you keep hidden from the world. I need to be chosen. Not later, not when you're ready, but now—out loud, in front of everyone, without apology.
That's not an ultimatum. It's just the truth of who I am and what I need.
You're worth everything I have to give. But I won't give it in half-measures, and I won't accept it that way either.
If you ever come for me, come all the way.
I'll be waiting. But I won't be waiting here.
Jack
I folded the paper once and set it beside her coffee mug, where she'd find it when she woke and reached for the coffee I wouldn't be there to make.
Then I crossed back to the bed. Looked at her one last time.
She was still sleeping, still peaceful, still completely unaware that her world was about to crack open. I wanted to climb back in beside her. But I couldn't keep pretending. And neither could she.
"I love you, Maggie Blackwood," I said, quiet enough that she wouldn't hear. "I hope you learn to love yourself enough to come find me."
Then I walked out the door.
Sully was waiting on the porch. The dog lifted his head when I appeared, tail thumping once against the wood. He'd been out here all night—sensing something in the air that I couldn't hide from him. Sully always knew. He'd known when Brad was about to have a bad day. He'd known when the missions were about to go sideways. He knew when I was about to run.
I crouched beside him, burying my hands in his fur. His body was warm and solid, his presence steady.
"Yeah, buddy," I murmured, rubbing behind his ears. "Time to go."
Sully made a soft sound—not quite a whine, more like an acknowledgment. He'd done this before. He'd follow me anywhere. That was the deal we'd made when Brad died, and I inherited a dog who'd lost his person. I'd take care of him. He'd take care of me.
He rose without complaint and fell into step beside me as we walked toward the bunkhouse. The ranch was dark and quiet.The stars were fading in the east, making room for a morning I wouldn't be here to see.
I didn't look back at Maggie's cabin. I'd already said goodbye.
19
Jack
The bunkhouse took fifteen minutes to clear out.
I'd never unpacked much—old habit, self-protection dressed as practicality. Everything I owned fit in a single duffel bag and the bed of a truck.
The bag sat open on the mattress, slowly filling with the pieces of my life. Shirts, folded neat the way my mother taught me. Jeans worn soft from years of work. Things that could be replaced anywhere, that didn't mean anything.
