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“Put me down! I don’t wanna”—hiccup—“go with you,” she slurs stubbornly even as she tucks her head under my chin and her breathing evens out.

Crow called me not just because I am the hellion’s neighbor, but because this month marks the anniversary of her father's death. Twelve years he has been gone, but I know that hurt is still as fresh to her as the day he died. Murphy Wright had been her one source of unconditional love and belonging and when he died we all watched how she wilted beneath that grief.

Her mother left when she and Sophie were young, and her father, Murphy, had died before she graduated high school. This time of year is always tough for her, but after Evie’s near-death experience, she seems to be falling apart. It had been absolute hell on us all, but Lou took it the hardest. Because under her prickly demeanor, that’s who the fuck she is. A woman who loves with every fiber of her broken heart.

She feels she has been abandoned by everyone she loves minus Sophie and the thought of losing Evie had shaken her to the core. She can’t be another person to abandon me here.

Her words from that day in the hospital keep swirling through my head. Now, I’m man enough to admit that I played a huge role in the rift between us. I’m the one who had sex with her on the day of her father’s funeral and then told her what a mistake it was—or more cruelly, how much of a mistake she was. I left her there, sitting on the edge of the tub, her clothes in disarray and my cum running down her legs, adding to her grief and confusion. The weight of my actions is a constant reminder of how I deepened her pain and shattered any remaining trust between us. I see now how my selfishness only left her with yet another scar to carry.

At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. I was about to leave for the police academy, and I wanted to give her the chance to break free, to live life for herself, to finally have a moment where she wasn’t just holding everything together for everyone else.

How fucking wrong I was.

Then I was a stupid kid, now I’m a man starved for just a glimpse of her.

I might take my sweet ass time making my way out of the bar, down the steps, to the parking lot where I parked my blacked-out SUV. Sober, Lou would never let me touch her which is fair, but right now she is out, and I finally get to savor the feel of her in my arms.

I quickly unlock the passenger door and gently sit her inside, buckling her up before setting her things in her lap. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “If only you were this docile all the time.”

Twenty minutes later, I pull into my driveway and kill the engine. The silence settles in thick, broken only by the soft sound of her snoring beside me.

At some point, she’d shifted in her seat and looped her pinky through mine—like muscle memory, like some part of her still remembered what it is to reach for me.

It guts me. Quietly. Completely.

I sit there, letting the weight of her presence sink in, the warmth of her so close without the usual sting of her glare. Let her scent soak into every square inch of the space we are sharing, praying like a mad man it lingers long after she leaves.

I take a minute to just enjoy her presence without the venomous glare she usually reserves for just me. We only live thirty-six yards apart, but it feels like six million. If I am outside and she comes out, she acts as if I’m not even there. One time she lost power in the middle of winter and damn nearly froze instead of just coming to me. My mama called and chewed my ass out good for that one. Like I am the one who chose pride over survival.

But that’s who Lou is. Stubborn as hell. Proud in ways that cut.

Still—here she is. Pinky looped in mine like she never left.

I sit there just letting it be until my ass is numb and my legs fall asleep.

Sighing, I pull myself out of the car and open her door. I unbuckle her quietly as I can before gathering her in my arms. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck and begins to softly cry.

“I can’t sleep there tonight. Please let me stay with you.” Her soft lips graze my neck as she speaks.

I freeze mid-step, my heart beating like that damn drum in Jumanji. She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what she’s even saying.

When she’s sober, she wouldn’t let me near her or let alone even touch her. So, over the years, I’ve taken to provoking her. That fierce fire of hers burns so intensely that I found its heat oddly comforting. I am a dog starved for a fucking bone, taking any and all scraps she gives me.

“Oh, come on Lou. I’m taking you home where you can sleep in your own bed.”

“Henny, please.”

Henny. That playful nickname cuts deeper than any blade. I can still picture a younger Lou, her golden hair spilling like a halo around her as we lay in the back of my truck, gazing up at the stars. Those moments felt eternal, yet now they haunt me like a memory too perfect to hold.

“One day, Henny, we’re going to build a big house with a wrap-around porch and swing big enough for us to lay in. Then while our kids sleep, we’re going to sneak out and still come look for these damn falling stars to wish on.”

Louisiana Rose is every wish whispered to the stars, every hope I dare to hold close, and every dream I’ve ever woven in the quiet corners of my heart. She is the embodiment of all I have ever longed for, a living, breathing manifestation of the desires I’d once thought too far away to touch. In her presence, my world becomes something more—something enchanted, as if every unspoken yearning has finally found its voice.

And just like that, I’m yanked back in time—the same lovesick idiot who trailed after her like it was instinct, walking her to every class, standing guard like she needed protecting. Louisiana Wright with long blonde hair that shimmered like silk in the sun, a mouth made for war, and a chip on her shoulder so damn big it could level a man.

She was standing there that day—backpack slung over one shoulder, wildflowers at her feet, wind tugging strands of her hair loose like it knew it didn’t stand a chance of taming her. She looked like chaos the earth had learned to bloom from. Untamed. Unapologetic. Beautiful in a way that didn’t ask for permission.

Then she looked at me, eyes sharp enough to cut through armor, and let it fly.