Chapter 33
Mia
The Montana night sky stretches endlessly above us, a black canvas splattered with more stars than I've ever seen in my life. I've been staring at them for the last hour, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of Sebastian's passenger window, mind too numb to process that we're actually here.
That we drove across state lines.
"We're almost there," Sebastian says, his voice low and gentle, the same tone he's been using since he found me broken on my apartment floor. Like I might shatter all over again if he speaks too loudly.
He might be right.
The miles between Sierra Mercy and here have blurred together.
I vaguely remember stopping for gas, Sebastian's hand on my knee as he asked if I wanted anything to eat.
I remember shaking my head, unable to imagine ever being hungry again.
I remember dozing against the window, waking with tear-crusted lashes to find his jacket draped over me like a blanket.
The car slows as we turn onto a gravel road that winds between tall pines. Our headlights cut through the darkness, briefly illuminating a wooden sign that reads, Walker Ranch.
"Home," he murmurs, almost to himself.
The word pierces something raw inside me. Home. I had one of those once. Before my dad died. Before I failed him. Before I failed Cheryl. Before I—
"Hey." Sebastian's hand finds mine in the darkness and he squeezes gently. "Stay with me."
He can read me too well. It should terrify me, but I'm too exhausted for fear.
The car rounds a final bend to reveal a sprawling farmhouse with warm yellow light spilling from the windows. It's exactly how Sebastian described it, right down to the deep wraparound porch and the rocking chairs facing the fields beyond.
Parking near the front steps, he kills the engine. The sudden silence wraps around us, punctuated only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the distant sound of wild animals.
"You okay?" he asks, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.
I'm not. Not even close. But I nod anyway, because what else can I do? I've been crying for hours. My eyes feel like they've been scrubbed with sandpaper, and my throat raw from sobs that have finally, mercifully, run dry.
Sebastian doesn't push, just releases my hand and opens his door. Cool night air rushes in, carrying scents I've never encountered in the city. It smells like freedom. Like escape.
I force myself to move, to push open my door and step out onto the packed dirt of the yard. My legs shake slightly after hours in the car, and I steady myself against the vehicle's frame. Above me, the stars seem even brighter now.
I’m still admiring them when the front door swings open, and two figures emerge into the porch light. An older man with a weathered face and a cane, and a petite woman with auburn hair streaked with silver, tied back in a bun.
"Sebastian," the woman calls, her voice warm with affection and surprise. "What a lovely surprise."
Sebastian moves forward, and I follow a half-step behind, suddenly self-conscious of my wrinkled clothes and puffy eyes.
"I aim to please," he answers, climbing the porch steps to embrace the older man. "Dad."
I watch as his father, using his free hand, pulls his son into a fierce hug. The easy affection between them sends a physical pang through my chest, a knife-twist of grief as I remember my own father's hugs. The way his arms could make any problem seem smaller, any hurt more bearable.
My throat tightens, tears threatening again when I thought I had none left to shed.
"You look tired, son," Sebastian’s father says. His eyes flick to me, curious but not unkind. "And you've brought company."
Sebastian steps back, turning to me with his hand extended. I take it, letting him draw me up the steps beside him.
"Dad, Ruthie, this is Dr. Mia Phillips." His voice carries a note of pride that catches me off guard.
"She works with me at Sierra Mercy." His fingers tighten around mine.
"Mia, this is my father, Bradford Walker, and Ruthie Bennett, who's been putting up with us Walkers longer than anyone should have to. "
Before I can say a word, Ruthie steps forward and pulls me into a warm hug that knocks the breath from my lungs. "Any friend of Sebastian's is welcome here," she says against my hair.
The unexpected kindness nearly breaks me. I stiffen for a moment, then melt into the embrace, letting this stranger hold me when it feels like the entire world has fallen away beneath my feet.
When she releases me, Bradford extends a hand. He seems to sense my fragility, offering a firm handshake and a nod of acknowledgment instead of the bear hug he gave his son.
Ruthie pulls out a set of keys and presses them into Sebastian's palm. "Cabin five is ready just as you asked."
Sebastian takes the keys. "Thank you, Ruthie."
"There's food in the fridge," she continues, her eyes darting between us with a knowing look that might have embarrassed me if I had any emotional energy left. "And fresh linens on the bed. Fireplace is all set, just needs lighting."
"You didn't have to do all that," Sebastian says.
Bradford waves away his son's words. "Ruthie's been buzzing around like a bee since you called from the road." He gives me a conspiratorial look. "Can't help herself. Mothering is in her blood."
"And don't you forget it," Ruthie says, swatting at his arm. She turns back to us, her expression softening. "You both look dead on your feet. Go on now. Get some rest. We'll have plenty of time to catch up in the morning."
With that, she loops her arm through Bradford's and guides him back toward the house, giving us the space I didn't realize I desperately needed until this moment.
Sebastian's hand finds the small of my back, a gentle pressure that grounds me as the door closes behind the older couple.
"That's my family," he says simply.
I lean into his touch, too exhausted to do anything else. "They're nice."
"They're nosy," he corrects, but there's no heat in it. "But yes. They're nice." He jingles the keys in his palm. "Come on, Trouble. Let's get you settled in."
His hand remains steady on the small of my back as we walk away from the main house, following a dirt path barely visible in the darkness.
Small solar lights appear at intervals like fireflies, just enough illumination to keep us from stumbling.
The night has grown cooler, or maybe it's just the emotional toll of the day leaving me chilled from the inside out.
"Dad offered us rooms in the farmhouse," he says, his voice low against the cricket symphony surrounding us. "But I thought you might want some space. Away from questions and... people."
The consideration is almost too much. "Thank you."
With a nod, his fingers press slightly firmer against my back, guiding me around a bend in the path where the trees open to reveal a collection of cabins scattered among the pines like something from a postcard.
Unlike the old farmhouse, these structures look newer, their log exteriors gleaming slightly in the moonlight.
We pass several cabins, all dark and silent, before Sebastian steers us toward the one furthest from the others. It sits nestled among a stand of pines, partially hidden from view.
"Here we are." He steps forward, keys jingling in his hand as he unlocks the door. "Cabin five. Best view of the sunrise, according to Ruthie."
The door swings open, and he reaches inside to flip a switch before he steps aside to let me enter first.
I step over the threshold, my exhausted brain struggling to process the rustic beauty of the space.
It's a single large room with a stone fireplace dominating one wall and a kitchenette tucked into the corner.
A door off to the side presumably leads to a bedroom.
Everything is wood and stone and natural textiles—a world away from my plant-filled apartment or Sebastian's sleek, minimalist condo.
"This is..." I trail off, not sure how to articulate what I'm feeling.
"Too rustic?" he asks, shutting the door behind us. "We can go back to the main house if—"
"No." I turn to him, managing a small smile. "It's perfect."
He studies my face for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with what he sees. "Let me get the fire going. It gets cold here at night."
He moves with quiet efficiency, crouching by the fireplace to arrange kindling over the logs already stacked there.
I sink onto the couch, running my fingers over the handmade quilt draped across its back.
The fabric is soft with age and countless washings, the pattern intricate and clearly crafted with love.
A lump forms in my throat. When was the last time I was surrounded by things made with such care? My apartment is filled with IKEA furniture and basics, assembled during rare days off between hospital shifts.
The fire catches with a soft whoosh, flames licking up around the logs. Sebastian stands, brushing his hands on his jeans.
"Hungry?" he asks.
I should be. We've barely eaten all day. But the thought of food makes my stomach twist. "Not really."
Instead of pushing, he simply nods. "How about a bath then?"
Before I can answer, he's already moving toward the door I noticed earlier, pushing it open to reveal not a bedroom, but a surprisingly spacious bathroom. From where I sit, I can see a large claw-foot tub positioned near a window.
The sound of running water fills the cabin and steam curls from the doorway.
I remain on the couch, suddenly aware of how filthy I feel—not just physically, from the long drive and crying jag, but deeper, as if Cheryl's death and my spectacular breakdown have left a layer of grime on my soul that no amount of scrubbing can remove.
Sebastian reappears, rolling up his sleeves. "Bath's running. There should be some of Ruthie's herbal stuff under the sink. She makes it herself. Lavender and something else. Good for sore muscles."