Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
"You really think it’s that simple?"
He leans forward, expression softening just a fraction. "Jack, when I met Indie, I was half-feral and carrying enough baggage to crush a semi. She took one look at me and saw past all of it. Married her as soon as she’d have me. Best decision of my life. She gave me direction, gave me a reason to stop sleeping with a loaded gun under my pillow. Gave me peace."
I stare at him, heart beating like a war drum.
"That woman came back for a reason. She trusted you enough to stay. She just needs you to trust her back."
The jewelry store’s small. Quiet. Just one older guy behind the counter polishing a display case when I walk in.
He looks up. "You look like a man on a mission."
"You got anything with emeralds and snowflakes?"
He blinks. Then grins. He unlocks a display case then pulls out a piece of jewelry.
He lays the ring on the counter.
It’s perfect.
A square emerald, deep and rich, set between two delicate snowflake-cut diamonds. Simple. Stunning. Symbolic.
Me. Her. And our girl.
I don’t ask the price.
I just say, "Wrap it up."
The drive back to Devil’s Peak feels like a thousand years and a second, all at once. My fingers tap the steering wheel the whole way. I keep checking the clock, like every minute I’ve been gone was one too many.
The ring spins slow on my finger. Not fast. Not wild. Just steady.
Like her.
Like the way she walked into my life—soft but unshakable.
I can’t help thinking about the desert.
Dust in my mouth. Heat searing my lungs. Blood on my boots that wasn’t mine.
We lost three guys.
I don’t think I blinked for two days. Didn’t speak. Didn’t sleep. Just stared at the edge of the cot like if I moved, I’d shatter.
Then the letter came.
Kat. That’s what the envelope said.
Her handwriting was always neat. Big loops. Like she still took the time to write with care, even when the world was moving too fast.
I tore it open like it might save me.
And maybe it did.
Dear Jack,
I can’t believe I’m finally going to college. I mean, part of me still wants to say screw it and hop on a plane to anywhere-but-here. But Northern California it is. My parents have been on my back about it every day—telling me to do the practical thing. I’m so tired of being ‘practical.’ What I really want is adventure. Wild, messy, beautiful adventure.
Also, I don’t know if this is weird to say, but... I really hope I get to meet you soon. I know you said there’s a chance you’ll be home on leave for Spring Break. If you are... I’ll be there. I want to see your mountain. I want to see you.
Love, Kat
That part.
That sentence alone cracked me open.
Because at that point, I wasn’t even sure I was someone worth seeing. I was a shadow with a rifle. A heartbeat moving through heat and shrapnel.
But her words...
She reminded me I was still human.
Still wanted.
I remember reading the letter a second time. A third. I remember my eyes burning, my throat tight.
And then I wrote her back.
I wrote like I was bleeding through the page. Told her everything I couldn’t say out loud. How dark it got some days. How I kept a list in my head of all the reasons I needed to make it home—and her name was at the top.
I remember walking across the base, letter in hand, heart pounding like I’d just run five miles.
I dropped it in the mail slot.
And for the first time that week, I breathed.
Because of her.
It was always her.
Even when she was just a voice on paper. A stranger with ink-stained fingers and dreams too big for her tiny life.
Even then—I lived for her.
Chapter Eleven
Holly
He’s gone.
For a full day now.
No note. No message. No gruff voice telling me to lock the back door or not touch his damn drill press. Just silence.
Jack Rivers vanished, and I don’t know if it’s because I broke him—or because he realized he was never supposed to stay.
The town’s too small for secrets. Especially ones that look like Jack.
Fox shows up at lunchtime, knocking on the front door with two brown paper bags and his usual thousand-yard stare. "He told me to make sure you didn’t starve."
I try to thank him.
He just grunts, sets the bags on the counter, and disappears without a word.
That evening while I’m making dinner, the kitchen faucet explodes.
Finn shows up fifteen minutes later, toolkit in hand and a sheepish grin. "Jack told me last month the pipe was ready to go. Figured you might need a hand if he—"
"If he what?"
Finn hesitates. Scratches the back of his neck. "If he was too stubborn to fix it before he blew off steam."
"Is that what this is?" I ask, voice flat. "Steam?"