Liam listened without interrupting.His face stayed calm—that Ranger composure—but I could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"I was a coward," I said. "I couldn't claim him in front of a woman I haven't seen in five years. And now I'm paying for it."
"Where'd he go?" Liam asked when I was done.
"I don't know." The admission scraped my throat raw. "He didn't say."
Liam nodded slowly, processing. I watched the Texas Ranger in him kick into gear—the way his eyes narrowed, the way he shifted into that methodical focus I'd seen him use on cases.
"Men like Jack don't vanish," he said. "They move with purpose. Leave patterns. People remember them."
"How do I find him?"
"Patience. Paper trails. Old connections." Liam leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "You know anything about his service? Unit? Buddies he kept in touch with?"
I thought about it. Sifted through every conversation we'd had, every fragment of his history he'd shared.
"Army Rangers," I said. "He served with a guy named Brad—they were close. Brothers, basically. Brad didn't make it home." I swallowed. "Sully was Brad's dog first. Jack inherited him."
Liam nodded, filing that away.
"His family had a ranch in Montana. His parents and sister died in a plane crash while he was deployed—six years ago. He sold the land after, never went back." I searched my memory for more. "He mentioned an inheritance once. Said he'd never touched it, though.”
"That's good." Liam's voice was steady, reassuring. "That's a start. Montana gives us direction. Rangers gives us a network. Someone will know something."
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “You think you can find him?” I didn’t know what I’d do if he couldn’t.
"I can make some calls. If Jack's picking up work along the way, someone will remember a quiet guy with a good dog."
I felt something loosen in my chest. Not hope—not yet. But the beginning of something that felt like a plan.
"Liam." My voice cracked again, and I hated it. "I have to find him. I have to?—"
"I know." He reached over and squeezed my hand, his grip firm and sure. "We'll find him."
That word—we—hit me harder than I expected.
Stephanie appeared in the doorway then.
She'd been listening from the kitchen—I could tell from the way she was holding two mugs of tea, already prepared, already anticipating what we'd need.
"You're not doing this alone," she said, crossing the room and handing me one of the mugs. The tea was warm against my palms, some kind of herbal blend that smelled like honey and comfort. "That's not how this family works."
"Stephanie—"
"I mean it." She settled onto the arm of Liam's chair, her hand finding his shoulder automatically. The casual intimacy of it—the easy way they touched—made my chest ache. That's what I wanted. That's what I'd been too scared to reach for.
"What are you suggesting?" I asked.
Stephanie grinned. "Road trip."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Stephanie?—"
"Not a panic spiral," she clarified, holding up a hand. "A deliberate search. You follow the leads, track his movement, and when you find him—" she looked at me with fierce certainty, "—you tell him everything you should have said at that bar."
I blinked. "You want to come?"
"Someone has to keep you two from being too serious." She shrugged, but her eyes were warm. "Besides, I've been wanting to see Montana. And I make excellent road trip playlists."
