Chapter Fifty
The Downpour Knew Her Name
I t’s been a week.
A full fuckin’ week since she walked away from me, suitcase in hand, tears down her face, and my daughter between us—blinking up at the two people who were supposed to make her feel safe.
Now, I sit on the back porch, boots planted on the creaking wood, the monitor balanced beside me like some kind of leash I can’t let go of. Aurora’s out for the night after a long day with my sisters and Mom, while I finished up maintenance on the east irrigation line and pretended I was fine.
I'm not.
I’m not fuckin’ fine.
Don’t think I ever will be again.
My beard’s grown wild. My clothes haven’t matched in days. I haven't shaved, haven’t eaten a full meal that didn’t involve one of her protein bars or something left over from Rory’s tray. I look like hell and feel worse.
The sky’s gone dark, swollen clouds pushing low, heavy with rain. A storm’s coming. I can feel it in my bones—every old break and scar aching under the pressure of it.
And still, none of that hurts half as much as missing her.
I haven't heard a word. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a “ go to hell .”
Just silence.
I’ve called her. Left messages. A dozen voicemails where I start to say something and end up muttering nothing. I’ve sat on this porch every night since, watching the horizon like she might come back on foot, dust in her wake, suitcase in one hand and forgiveness in the other.
But she hasn’t.
And I don’t blame her.
Because I read the letter.
And fuck me, but God, fuck Marlee for writing it.
That woman always did know how to twist the knife and make it look like love. That damn thing was wrapped in guilt and tied in ribbons of nostalgia. It was her voice, sweet and aching, but I know better now. Every word was soaked in manipulation.
She made herself the martyr. Made me the boy who could’ve been enough if only he’d been bigger, richer, better. She tried to rewrite history like I hadn’t sent her every paycheck while she played house with a man who raised his hand to her and let Aurora suffer in silence.
But no, Marlee always wanted tragedy. It made her feel important.
And now Georgia’s gone because of her.
Because of that letter.
Because of the bullshit Marlee wrote from the grave, where she gets to play the victim one more time and leave me to clean up the wreckage.
Worst part was the way she talked about her own flesh and blood. Not once did she say Aurora’s name or speak about her like she was more than a burden or pawn.
After the first time I read it, I threw up in the sink.
Then I forced myself to read it again and again until I could see what Georgia saw. See past what I know to be the truth and picture shit from her eyes.
Eyes that don’t know reality because I never opened my goddamn mouth and gave it to her.
All I wanted was to protect her from something ugly when she’s already lived enough of it, but by doing so, I kept her in the dark, the last place she ever should have been.
The screen door creaks and closes behind me, and I don’t look up until a cold beer lands in my palm.
“Thought you could use that,” Griffin says, dropping down into the chair beside mine.
He’s quiet for a minute. Just lets the silence wrap around us like he knows how close to the edge I am.
“I get it now,” I murmur when the quiet starts to grate at my nerves.
“Get what?”
I tip the bottle to my lips, swallow hard. “Why my dad didn’t start dreamin’ big until after he met my mom.”
He nods once, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
I stare out at the land stretching wide in front of me. “What’s the point of buildin’ all this if you’re doin’ it alone?”
Griff doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me for a long beat before quietly saying, “You’re not alone, though.”
I scoff. “I know I’ve got my family.”
“And a daughter,” he adds.
I nod, my eyes flicking to the monitor. She’s peaceful. Curled up in her crib, arms around that little bear I got her months ago that she won’t sleep without. She’s safe and home and mine, but still missing a piece she doesn’t understand yet.
“And your friends,” Griff tacks on, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder. “But that’s not who I meant.”
I swallow hard, my throat raw.
I can’t cry anymore.
Can’t break anymore.
There’s nothin’ left in me that hasn’t already been shattered.
“She’s in town,” I whisper. “Somewhere close. But I’ve never felt so far from someone in my life.”
Only know she didn’t pack up and move back to New York because she’s still quietly putting finishing touches on the Honey Bea Bash. From what I’ve gathered around town, she’s doing it all from home, telling people she’s really sick, but not letting up on the event.
Whole thing pisses me off and makes me want to cry all over again.
“She loves you,” Griff says plainly.
“Then why’d she leave?”
“Because she’s scared.”
I shake my head. “We’re all scared. Love is fuckin’ terrifying.”
He gives me a long, hard look. “Did you tell her that?”
“What?” I snap. “That love is hard? That it’s messy and unfair and asks too much of you? I think she knows, man.”
He tilts his head. “That you love her.”
My jaw locks. I drop my gaze and chug half the beer in one go. “Too fuckin’ late.”
“Thought so,” he mutters.
“Don’t you start with the guilt trip,” I grit out. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see her face.”
“No,” he says. “But I saw yours. And I’ve known that look on you for years. When you got that final letter from Marlee. When you lost your dad. And now.”
He turns to face me, deadly serious. “You fought harder battles than this. Did you learn nothin’ in the Rangers?”
“And nearly died,” I snap, fingers so tight, the bottle creaks.
He shrugs, nursing his drink. “But you didn’t. You lived. And for what? To bury yourself in grief, guilt, and a shitty life for years?”
“I got out of the hole I was in.”
“Did you?” he asks, one brow arched.
I hate how sure he sounds.
“Are you really out of it? Because, brother, healing ain’t linear.
It ain’t fast. It’s not some checkbox on a fuckin’ form.
You think you’re fine because the outside looks better.
Because you ain’t drinkin’ yourself into a coma or bleedin’ on foreign soil.
But inside?” He taps his chest. “That takes longer. That takes work. And love? Love’s part of the work. ”
I close my eyes, pain slicing down my spine like a blade.
“Go get your fuckin’ girl.”
“I can’t,” I croak. “She doesn’t want me to.”
Griff stands and yanks me to my feet for a back slapping hug.
“Then take my advice. When she comes back to you, because she will, forgive her. Remember, you ran from your problems for years, but Georgia didn’t inherit her trauma. She was born into hers. It’s gonna take her a minute to believe she deserves the dream.”
“What dream?”
Griff smiles, slapping my back hard. “The happily ever after, man. The thing that makes all the pain worth it.”
I close my eyes and pull him in again, grip tight. “When will you be back?”
“Shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks to wrap up everything back in Tennessee.” He passes me his still-full beer. “Then I’ll be back in your business for good.”
He turns for the steps, flashing a cocky wink. “Make sure she’s by your side next time I see you. I miss lookin’ at her perky ti—”
“Get the fuck out!” I bark, hurling my empty bottle toward him but intentionally missing by a mile. It lands on the lawn with a thud. “Get on a plane and don’t come back, asshole.”
He laughs all the way to his truck, flipping me off without looking back.
And then I’m alone with dark clouds that match my mood again. Minutes later, the first raindrop hits the roof. Then another.
Within seconds, the sky cracks open and the downpour starts, cool and hard and relentless.
Throat tight, I drop my beer bottle onto the railing and make my way down the steps, into the downpour. It seeps into my clothes, soaking me instantly, but I don’t move, just tip my head back and breathe.
Don’t know what I’m hoping for—peace, maybe closure or answers, but all I feel is the absence where she’s supposed to be.
Georgia.
The woman who stole every part of me worth keeping. The woman who brought me back to life with fire and fight and freckles. The woman who made this house a home and helped me become a dad. Who laughed in the rain and told me it made the world feel new.
I remember that day—months ago, just the two of us on the back of Dusty, her body against mine, her heart in my hands.
The day I knew I loved her. Was too afraid to acknowledge it then, to realize what it all meant. The gravity of it.
“I love the rain.”
“Why’s that, darlin’?”
“Love the way it makes me feel.”
“Wet?”
She giggled, elbowing me. “No.”
“Then what?”
“I love when everything goes still, and the air smells new. When the light starts to change and, if you’re lucky, a rainbow stretches across the sky like a quiet little promise. A reminder that something beautiful always shows up after the worst of it.”
I stare into the dark, hoping to feel what she felt. Hoping for that promise.
But all I see is her.
All I feel is her.
And when my tears get lost in the rain streaking down my cheeks, the only person I want to kiss them away is her.