"She's leaving," I say finally. "I bet she’s already gone in her head, just hasn't packed her bags yet."
"Did she say that?"
"She doesn't have to. She's pulling away. Her curtains are closed, and she skipped our ride to get work done." My fingers tighten around the beer bottle. "I'm watching her disappear, and every move I make feels wrong."
"Did you tell her you love her?"
The question feels like a slap in the face. "Not yet."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because she's terrified. If I come at her with that now—"
"She'll what? Run faster?" His voice goes hard. "She's already running, Cash. Holding back won't change that."
My windpipe narrows. The beer tastes sour.
"I almost lost Neve because I was too afraid to fight," my brother continues, softer now. "Thought I was protecting her by giving her space. Turned out space was the last thing she needed. She needed me to show up and prove I wasn't going anywhere."
"What if it's not enough?" The question breaks something behind my ribs. "What if I fight for this and she leaves anyway? What if I've been holding on to a memory for half my life and she's already moved on?"
"Then at least you'll know you tried." A pause. "But Cash? You let her walk away without telling her how you feel, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering what would've happened if you'd been brave enough to say it."
The truth settles in my bones, heavy and absolute. I finish the beer in one long pull and set the bottle on the counter harder than necessary.
"Don't let her get on that plane without saying what you need to say," he says. "You hear me?"
"Yeah. I hear you."
"Good. Now go get your girl."
He hangs up. I stand there holding the phone, staring at Cabin 5 through the window. The lights are on now. She's awake.Probably pacing. Probably working herself into a spiral about all the reasons she needs to leave.
My feet want to carry me there right now, want to kick down her door and make her listen. But Lucinda's right. Sloane needs tonight, needs space to work through whatever's spinning in her head.
Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow I fight.
Sleep doesn't come. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the night sounds through the open window. Coyotes in the distance. Wind through mesquite. The low call of cattle settling. Sounds I've heard my whole life, but tonight they feel different. Lonelier.
Around midnight, my phone lights up with a text from Sloane:Are you awake?
My pulse kicks hard enough to hurt. I type back:Yeah.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Then:Never mind. Sorry. Go back to sleep.
No. Not happening.
Throwing off the covers, I pull on jeans and boots and head out the door. The night air is cool and sharp, stars bright overhead. I cross the distance to Cabin 5 in long strides, taking her porch steps two at a time. I knock.
The door opens fast. She's wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes are red, lashes wet and clumped together.
"Cash, I said never mind—"
"Too late." I step inside, shutting the door behind me and turning the lock. "You texted. That means you need me. So here I am."
She swallows hard. She backs up a step, arms wrapping around her ribs. "I shouldn't have bothered you."
"Sloane." I close the distance, cupping her face and forcing her to meet my gaze. Her skin is hot under my palms, fever-warm from crying. "You could never bother me. Tell me what's wrong."
