"I need to talk to Liam."
If anyone could help me find Jack, it was him. Liam had connections I didn't—people who knew how to track someone who didn't want to be found. And more than that, Liam understood. He'd almost lost Stephanie. He knew what it meant to fight for someone you loved.
Momma smiled—small, proud, knowing. The smile of a woman who'd been waiting thirty-two years to see her daughter finally fight for something she wanted.
"That's my girl."
I left my mother's arms wrecked but determined. My face was blotchy, my eyes swollen, my carefully constructed armor in pieces on the office floor. But somewhere underneath all the devastation, something new was taking shape. Something that felt like courage.
Finding Jack was only the first step. Choosing him out loud—in front of everyone, without fear, without apology—would be the hardest thing I'd ever done.
But Jack had asked me to come all the way.
And for the first time in my life, I was ready.
22
Maggie
I went to Liam because I always have.
Not Wyatt—who would want to fix it, manage it, take over. Not my parents—who would worry and hover and ask too many gentle questions when what I needed was action.
Liam. My quiet brother. Not my brother by blood, but in every way that truly mattered. The one who understood what it meant to almost lose someone and have to fight to get them back.
I showed up at his place as the sun was setting, the sky bleeding orange and pink over the Texas hills. I was still raw from breaking down in Momma's arms, but I was steadier now. Determined. The devastation had transformed into something harder, sharper. Something that felt like purpose.
Liam took one look at my face when he opened the door. "Whiskey?"
I nodded. Couldn't speak.
He disappeared into the kitchen without another word. I heard the clink of glasses, the low gurgle of liquid being poured. When he came back, he handed me a generous pour of Blanton's and tipped his head toward the front door.
"Porch."
I followed him outside. The evening air was cool and soft, carrying the smell of cedar and dry grass and something faintly sweet—wildflowers, maybe, blooming stubborn and late in the fields beyond his fence line. Liam had two old wooden rockers out here, the kind with wide arms worn smooth from years of use. He settled into one, and I sank into the other, and for a long moment neither of us said anything.
Just the creak of the chairs. The ice shifting in our glasses. The last of the sun spilling gold across the hills like it had nowhere else to be.
Liam didn't push. He never did. He just sat there, steady and patient, sipping his whiskey and watching the light change. Giving me room to fall apart or hold it together—whichever I needed.
I took a long drink. Let the burn settle in my chest.
And then I told him everything.
Not just about Jack leaving. Not just about the bar, orranch hand, or the note that was still searing a hole in my pocket. I went back further than that. I told him about the moment Jack walked onto Copper Creek with Sully at his heels and those quiet, knowing eyes that saw too much. About the way he listened when I talked about the horse program—really listened, like my dreams were worth something. About how he never tried to fix me or manage me or shrink me down to a size that was easier to hold.
And then I told him the rest. The stuff I'd never said out loud to anyone.
How I'd been carrying this family on my shoulders for so long, I didn't know how to set the weight down. How I'd convinced myself that if I just worked hard enough, planned well enough, controlled enough variables, I could keep everyone safe.Keep everything from falling apart. How exhausting it was to be the one who always had to have the answers.
And Daniel. I told him about Daniel. About being twenty-one and in love and showing someone every corner of myself—all the intensity, all the drive, all thetoo much—and having him look at me like I was a problem to be solved. How he'd left, and I'd sealed that part of myself away, bricked it up behind walls so thick I'd almost forgotten it was there.
How terrified I was of being fully seen. Because the last time I let someone see me—really see me—he'd walked away.
And now Jack had walked away too.
The whiskey was gone by the time I finished. The sun had slipped below the hills, leaving the sky bruised purple and deep blue. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote called out, high and lonesome.
