Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Nash guides me to his truck, opens the door, and helps me in like I’m precious.
I look up at him from the seat, still shaky, still trying to process how close I came to being gone. “How do we make this a happily ever after?” I whisper.
His expression softens into something so sure it nearly breaks me. “We do it the hard way,” he says. “Together.”
Then he leans in, kisses my forehead, and closes the door gently—like he’s sealing me into safety. And as the trucks pull away from Quarry Road and head back toward Valor Springs, back toward home, back toward the life I almost lost—
I realize something, crystal clear.
I’m not running anymore.
Not from this town.
Not from this ranch.
Not from Nash Hawthorne.
Not when he came for me like a promise kept.
Not when my heart has already decided where it belongs.
SEVENTEEN
NASH
The ranch is loud in the aftermath.
Not festival loud—thank God Rodeo Days is over—but the kind of loud that happens when fear finally drains out of a place and everybody realizes they’re still standing. Deputies in and out. Statements. Paperwork. Mrs. Coleman crying into my mom’s shoulder like they’ve known each other forever. Which they pretty much have. Mr. Coleman pacing holes into his porch boards because standing still feels like surrender.
Delaney’s safe.
That’s the only sentence my body seems capable of believing.
She’s sitting on the couch now, curled up with a blanket and a mug of coffee that’s gone cold because she keeps forgetting to drink it. Her eyes are tired, but she’s here—breathing, blinking, alive—and every time I look at her, something in my chest loosens.
I’m in the kitchen pretending to be normal—washing a glass that doesn’t need washing—when my phone rings.
BANKS lights up the screen.
Of course.
Because chaos doesn’t call ahead, and neither do Hawthorne brothers.
I answer. “If this is about Mom sewing a wedding dress, I’m hanging up.”
Banks’s laugh is sharp and brief. “Good to know you’re still alive.”
“Barely,” I mutter, eyes flicking to the living room. Delaney lifts her gaze like she can feel the sound of his name through the walls.
Banks’s voice turns serious. “Listen. I’m not calling to give you crap.”
“That’s new.”
“Don’t get used to it.” A beat. “I heard what happened.”
My jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“You handle it?”
“We got her back,” I say, and my voice goes rough on the words. “Kyle’s in cuffs. His buddy too.”
“Good.” Banks exhales. “I’m proud of you.”
That lands heavier than it should.
Banks isn’t the emotional one. Banks is the brother who learned to turn feelings into currency and silence into armor. Hearing pride from him is like hearing thunder in a clear sky.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
He clears his throat, like the moment got too honest and he needs to pivot or he’ll choke on it.
“Alright. Here’s the real reason I’m calling.” His tone sharpens. “A man named Dean Maddox is going to call you. Maddox Security. Out of Saint Pierce.”
I frown. “Why is a guy from Saint Pierce calling me?”
“Because I talked to him.” Banks doesn’t soften it. “And because you need to listen to what he has to say.”
I go still. “You talked to him about what?”
There’s a pause—just long enough for me to know Banks is choosing his words.
“About Dad,” he says.
The air in the kitchen changes.
My hand tightens around the glass. “What do you mean?” I rasp out. “Not unless—”
“Not unless… he might be out there,” Banks cuts in, voice low. “I have a lead. Maddox has resources. Real ones. And he thinks—” His breath hitches. “He thinks there’s a chance Billy Hawthorne didn’t die the night we were told he did.”
My heart doesn’t beat for a second.
It just… stalls.
“That’s not funny,” I say, because my brain scrambles for something solid. “Don’t do that. Don’t call me with—”
“I’m not joking.” Banks’s voice is iron. “You know I don’t joke about him.”
I swallow so hard it hurts.
“If this is some scam—”
“It’s not.” Another pause. “Nash… just take the call. Hear him out. For once in your life, don’t decide it’s hopeless before you’ve got the facts.”
My throat tightens like a fist.
Banks exhales. “He’ll call soon. Don’t ignore it.” Then, quieter: “And… I’m glad she’s okay.”
I can’t speak for a second.
“Me too,” I finally manage.
Banks hangs up.
I stand there staring at my phone like it’s going to explain what just happened.
Dad.
Billy Hawthorne.
The man who disappeared into black water and left a hole the size of a universe.
My brain tries to reject it on instinct. Because hope is dangerous. Because the last time I hoped hard, I got handed a coffin with no body and a lifetime of unanswered questions.
Behind me, Delaney shifts on the couch.
I turn and walk into the living room like my legs belong to someone else.
She looks up immediately, reading my face like she always does. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly.
I sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. Close. Grounded by the fact that she’s here. “It was Banks,” I say.