Macon squeezed the back of my neck, then let his hand drift down to the line of my shoulder. “You matter more than you think. You always have.”
I laughed, wet and half hysterical. “Tell that to the rest of the family.”
He shrugged. “Fuck ‘em.”
That did it. I started to laugh for real, the kind that left me breathless and weirdly light. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel invisible. I felt seen—not just by Macon, but by someonewho’d known me since birth and decided I was worth the trouble anyway.
It was terrifying, and wonderful.
We sat there in the truck, windows fogged and hearts still pounding, until the world outside slowed down enough to make sense again.
Then Macon put the truck in gear, looked over at me, and said, “You ready to go home?”
I nodded, and he drove us out of the lot and back toward the ranch, the card still clutched in my hand. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a lifeline. It felt like a beginning.
And for once, I was ready for whatever came next.
