I lock the door behind me and walk toward my truck, boots crunching against the gravel.
I don't know what happens next.
I just know I can't stand in that barn and act like maybe is enough.
I'm halfway to the truck when I hear boots on gravel behind me.
"Thought that might be you."
I stop but don't turn right away. I know that voice. Easy. Unhurried. Chace comes up beside me, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, and glances past me toward the barn like he's just out here taking in the morning.
"You missed training?" I knew someone would come here looking for me.
"Didn't miss it," I say. "I know exactly what time it is."
He huffs out a quiet breath. "Addie noticed. Hazel did too." He pauses, toeing at the gravel. "Asked where you were."
My chest tightens. "What'd you tell her?"
"Nothing. Figured that was your call." He studies me sideways, not pushing, just taking stock the way he does. "Something happened."
I lean back against the hood of the truck and let out a slow breath. "We talked."
"That bad, huh."
I don't correct him.
Chace shifts his weight, giving me room without going anywhere. That's always been his way — close enough that you know he's not leaving, far enough that you don't feel cornered. He lets the silence sit between us until I'm ready to fill it.
"She asked for more time," I say finally.
He nods slowly, like he already knew. Maybe he did. "And you said no."
"I said no."
"Eli—"
"I can't live in maybe, Chace." My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "I've been living in maybe for five years. I'm done."
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is careful. "She's still here."
"She hasn't decided to stay."
"That's not the same thing as leaving."
The words land harder than I expect. I push off the truck and pace a few steps, jaw tight, hand scrubbing the back of my neck. Chace watches me without comment, letting me work through it.
"You know what kills me?" I say, stopping. "It's not even the leaving. It's the not knowing. Standing here every day not knowing if I'm building something or just — filling time until she figures out she doesn't want it."
Chace is quiet for a beat. "That's fair," he says finally. "It is. But Eli—" He hesitates, and I can see him choosing his words carefully, caught between us the way he always is. "She came back. And she didn't have to."
"I know that."
"And she's still here. Working the ranch, working that colt, working to earn something back with you." He pauses. "I'm not saying you're wrong to need more than maybe. You're not. But I don't think she's as far from a decision as you think."
Something tightens in my chest. "You don't know that."
"No," he admits. "I don't." He steps closer and claps a hand on my shoulder, solid and familiar. "What I know is that you skipping training this morning hurt her. And I think you know that too."
