Chapter 37
Jules
“I got something for Genie,” Oak mumbles the next morning from the doorway.
I’m standing on the porch of the big house, Genie in my arms as we watch the black and white dairy cows meandering out in the pastures.
The cows don’t seem concerned with anything at all, let alone what we’re doing.
What a life that must be. To be pampered, catered to, milked, and then set back out to pasture. No stress. No one hunting you down.
No one trying to put you in a cage you don’t belong in.
I turn toward Oak as he appears beside me, a small narrow box in his hands. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, frowning.
“I don’t have to do anything,” he says, shuffling his weight on his boots. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the man uneasy, and that’s what really makes me pay attention. “But this is something I wanted to do.”
I stare at the box, almost too afraid to touch it.
Genie, on the other hand, reaches out for Oak to pick her up.
He smiles and hands her the box before taking her in his arms, booping her on the nose as she pries the box opens.
When she finally gets it separated, the item inside comes flying out and Oak just barely catches it before it flies away.
When I see what it is, my eyes start to mist. “Oak . . .”
“What?” he asks, holding the small necklace up to Genie. “Every little girl should have a strand of pearls. I’m just lucky I get to give her the first ones.”
Genie takes the pearls and coos, excited.
She loves playing dress up and this is just another item to dress up with.
I step forward, my throat thick as I unhook the necklace and place it around her neck.
The pearls are a soft pink, pretty and exactly the kind of thing she loves.
She giggles and wraps her little arms around Oak’s neck, hugging him in thanks.
“Don’t worry,” Oak says, reaching into his back pocket. “I know it’s not your first, and you probably had much nicer ones, but I figured you ain’t ever had one gifted by a cowboy at the very least.”
He holds out another box for more and I stare at it. This time, I can’t stop the tears. They come trickling over my lashes as I take the box and pull it open. Inside is a perfect strand of black pearls.
“They’re beautiful,” I choke out.
He shuffles again. “I got black, because I thought it would go well with your Vanta stuff and wearable all the time outside of that. But I can get you something else if—”
“No,” I interrupt his nervous words. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
I immediately put them on my neck, making Genie coo at my pretty necklace, and it’s not lost on me that we seem to match now, the three of us.
I touch my hands to the strand around my neck and look up at the man holding my daughter like she’s his own.
Everything is going to shit right now. We’re about to face the very real danger of my father dragging me back home to Washington D.C.
But at the very least, I’ll have these moments to look back on.
No matter what.
Without thinking too hard about it, I wrap my arms around Oak, letting him tug me in close, and whisper the words I thought I’d never say.
“I love you.”
He tenses but he doesn’t call attention to it, letting me settle into the feeling. Only when he feels like I can handle it does he repeat the words.
“I love you, too, darlin’,” he murmurs. “More than I can ever explain.” He hugs Genie tight. “I hope I can do right by you two. We all do.”
And I realize, that all this time I’ve been running, all this time I’ve been hiding, I’ve only longed for one thing.
To be valued for who I am. I’ve been desperate for someone to hold my hand when things get tough because they want to, because the like who I am completely.
It’s not about who shies away from your hurt or your problems. It’s about the ones who stand in the rain with you, in the middle of a storm, when they had the choice to be dry.
Cash, Oak, and Sawyer are standing with me in the rain.
It seems only fitting that I cry when I realize, but Oak is there to wipe the tears away. He holds me through it.
I’ve never felt so safe. So free . . .
But when Cash and Sawyer come out on the porch to join us, we don’t get to sit in that feeling for long.
Not when the line of black Suburbans turn down the driveway in the distance. Not when the one in front rams through the metal gate and starts crunching along the gravel toward us.
We’re too late. It’s all too late.
The storm is here.