Buddy wanders a little closer to the fence, not enough to touch, but near enough to notice. Trust, in small pieces.
I swallow hard and keep my eyes on the horse. “For the record, I didn’t come here looking for this,” I say. “I came here because I wanted something honest for once.”
Levi says nothing.
So I keep going. “And for a minute, I thought maybe that’s what you were, too.” Those words hurt to say. I hear it in the waver of my voice.
He hears it too. I know he does. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Dakota.”
I shake my head.
“No. You don’t get to say my name like that and leave the rest unsaid.”
He takes another step closer.
The air changes with it.
“If I let myself—” he starts, then stops. The unfinished sentence hangs there.
I turn and face him fully. “If you let yourself what?”
His expression locks down again. The wall rising back into place brick by brick.
I feel something inside me settle then. I’ve had enough of this.
I step back from the fence. “My bag’s mostly packed already,” I say. “I’ll be out tomorrow.”
His eyes sharpen. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“That fast.”
I almost smile. It wants to come out bitter, so I let it die. “You’ve been in a hurry to say goodbye ever since… you know. Figured I should follow your lead.”
He flinches. A small but real gesture.
It shouldn’t satisfy me. It does.
I brush past him before he can stop me. This time he doesn’t reach for me. Maybe he knows better now. Maybe I do, too.
By the time I make it back to my cabin, the sky has gone pink at the edges, evening settling soft over the ranch.
Inside, I zip the side pocket of my luggage closed, setting it at the foot of the bed.
Tomorrow.
The word aches. But there’s relief in it, too. A clean edge.
A way out before I give more of myself to a man who only knows how to want things he thinks might leave him anyway.
Outside my window, I hear horses moving in the distance and the faint, familiar sound of the barn door opening, then closing again. Like a heartbeat I’ve learned to listen for.
I sit on the bed and stare at my packed bag. Then I say it out loud, just to hear how it sounds. “Go home, Dakota.”
My voice doesn’t shake. That feels like a victory.
Even if it doesn’t feel anything like winning.
