“Exactly. You’re not leaning on me, or letting me in. You aren’t letting me help you carry this.”
“I don’t want to be carried,” I blurt out, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I’m tired of needing help. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of feeling broken.”
“I know,” he starts softly. “But you’re not broken. You’re—”
His radio crackles to life, sharp and sudden, cutting straight through the moment. He exhales, already reaching for it, turning the volume down just enough to listen without fully stepping away.
I can see it on his face—the shift. Duty pulling him back before he can finish what he was saying.
“I have to go,” he says quietly, like he hates the timing as much as I do. He steps closer and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
I wipe at my cheek and nod, even though my chest feels hollow. “Yeah.”
He backs away, eyes still on me as he moves toward the car. Then he’s turning his head, already responding into the radio, posture changing, shoulders squaring.
The engine roars. Lights flash. Sirens cut through the air.
And just like that, he’s gone.
* * *
Mason didn’t get home until after nine last night.
I’d already changed into pajamas and was curled up on the couch with a book I wasn’t really reading when I heard his truck pull in.
He came through the door looking exhausted, apologized immediately for having to leave me in the parking lot, and I told him it was fine. Because it was. His job is his job. I knew that when I married him.
Mason’s already dressed by the time I come downstairs—jeans, a flannel, boots. He’s leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” he says, looking up with a soft smile.
“Morning.” I cross the kitchen and reach for my own mug. “You ready?”
“Yeah.” He sets his phone down and steps closer, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind as I pour my coffee. “Happy engagement anniversary, Mrs. Jennings.”
I smile, leaning back against him. “Happy engagement anniversary.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my head, and it steadies me.
The drive to the diner is easy. His hand rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing circles over my jeans. The radio plays softly in the background—some country song about small towns, falling in love, and beer.
“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” he says, glancing over at me.
“I know.” I look out the window at the skyline painted blue and orange. “Feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time.”
“Yeah.” He squeezes my leg gently. “Now, here we are, already four months into marriage.”
I smile. “Wild.”
We pull into the parking lot a few minutes later, and Mason hops out first, jogging around to open my door before I can do it myself.
“Such a gentleman,” I tease.
“Only for you,” he says with a grin, offering his hand.
I take it, and we walk into the diner together.
It’s warm and smells like coffee, breakfast cake, and bacon. It’s the same place Mason took me on one of our first dates—a little hole-in-the-wall spot with red vinyl booths and a jukebox in the corner that, surprisingly, still works.
