20. Luke #2
"She is." Harper's voice is gentler now, sad. "She loves you, Luke. And she thinks you don't feel the same way because you made it clear you want her gone."
The ground feels unstable beneath my feet. Mila loves me. She's not leaving because she wants to—she's leaving because I told her to go.
Because I was so convinced I wasn't enough that I never gave her the chance to choose.
"I was trying to do the right thing," I say again, but the defense sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"The right thing?" Sadie steps closer, eyes blazing. "The right thing is telling someone how you feel. Letting them make their own choices. Not deciding for them that they're better off without you because you're too scared to believe someone might actually want to stay."
Every word lands like a blow, stripping away the careful logic I've built around my decision. I thought I was being selfless. Thought I was protecting Mila from making a mistake she'd regret later.
Instead I hurt her. Made her think she didn't matter. Sent away the best thing that's ever happened to me because I was too terrified to believe I deserved her.
"I didn't want to trap her." My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Didn't want her to stay and then resent me for it when she realized what she gave up."
"So you'd rather lose her completely?" Wyatt's question is quiet, devastatingly accurate. "Rather let her walk away thinking you don't care than risk her choosing you?"
Put like that, it sounds insane. Cowardly. Like I've spent so long taking care of everyone else that I forgot how to fight for something I want.
"She'll be happier with that job." The argument is automatic, one last desperate attempt to justify what I've done. "She's brilliant and talented and she deserves a career that?—"
"What if she wants both?" Harper interrupts gently. "What if she wants the career and you? Did you ever think maybe she can have the job in Helena and still be with you? Still live here?"
I didn't. Didn't let myself imagine any future where Mila stayed because hoping felt too dangerous. Safer to let her go cleanly than to ask for something I might not get.
Except I never asked. Never gave her the option to choose.
Dean appears in the barn doorway, taking in the scene with sharp eyes. "Someone want to tell me what's going on?"
"Your brother's an idiot," Sadie says flatly. "We're explaining why."
Dean looks at me, something knowing in his expression. "This about Mila?"
Just hearing her name makes my chest tight. I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Everyone give us a minute." Dean's tone brooks no argument. Harper, Dad, Wyatt, and Sadie all exchange looks before slowly dispersing—though not far enough that I don't feel them watching.
Dean crosses to me, studies my face for a long moment. "Talk to me. What happened?"
The story spills out in broken pieces—the job offer, my encouragement for her to take it, four days of silence while she packs up her life to leave. Dean listens without interrupting, expression growing more concerned with every sentence.
"Let me make sure I understand this." His voice is carefully neutral. "Mila got offered a job. You told her to take it. And now you're surprised she's actually leaving?"
"I told her to take it because it's what's best for her." I sound defensive even to myself. "I can't ask her to give up her career for?—"
"For what? For you?" Dean's laugh is sharp. "Luke, when are you going to figure out that not everything is a sacrifice? That sometimes people want to choose you?"
The words hit too close to something Harper said, something I can't quite let myself believe.
"She was always temporary," I try. "She said it herself a hundred times. That this town was just a break, not?—"
"Did you ever tell her you wanted her to stay?" Dean's question is identical to Dad’s, cutting through my excuses. "Did you ever actually say the words?"
No. I didn't. Because saying them meant admitting how much I wanted her, how completely she'd disrupted my carefully controlled life. Meant being vulnerable in a way I haven't let myself be since?—
Since Mom died and I learned that wanting things for myself was selfish when everyone else needed me more.
"I can't ask her to give up her future." My voice cracks on the last word. "What if she stays and then realizes she made a mistake? What if she resents me for holding her back?"
"What if she doesn't?" Dean steps closer, forces me to meet his eyes. "What if she wants to stay and build a life here? What if the only thing holding her back is thinking you don't want her?"
The possibility carves through me, equal parts hope and terror. What if I've spent four days pushing away someone who wanted to stay all along?
"She deserves better than ranch life." I'm grasping at straws now, throwing up every defense I can find. "Better than small town Montana and?—"
"Better than you?" Dean's voice is gentle but firm. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? You don't think you're enough for her."
The truth of it steals my breath. Of course I don't think I'm enough. Mila is vibrant and brilliant and full of life that should be lived somewhere bigger than here. She's creative and funny and magnetic in a way that makes people notice her.
And I'm just—I'm the guy who stayed. Who chose responsibility over adventure, routine over spontaneity. Who's so used to putting everyone else first that I don't know how to want something for myself anymore.
"She could have anyone," I say quietly. "Why would she choose this? Choose me?"
"Maybe because she loves you, you idiot." Dean's exasperation breaks through his patience. "Maybe because you make her happy and she's built a life here and she doesn't want to leave. But you'll never know because you never gave her the chance to choose."
The weight of that lands heavy—all the conversations we never had, all the assumptions I made about what Mila wanted without asking her directly. I was so busy protecting her from having to sacrifice anything that I never considered she might want to.
"I don't want to lose her." The admission tears out of me, raw and desperate. "But I can't trap her either. Can't make her feel obligated to stay because I'm—because we?—"
"Then tell her that." Dean grips my shoulder hard. "Tell her you love her. Tell her you want her to stay. Let her make her own choice about what she wants her life to look like. Stop deciding for her that she's better off without you."
Love her. Want her to stay. Let her choose.
The concept feels foreign and terrifying after weeks of convincing myself that letting her go was the right thing. The selfless thing.
But there's nothing selfless about breaking both our hearts because I'm too scared to fight for what I want.
"What if she says no?" The question comes out small, vulnerable in a way I hate. "What if I tell her how I feel and she leaves anyway?"
"Then at least you tried." Dean's grip tightens. "At least she knows. At least you gave her the choice instead of making it for her."
I think about Mila packing boxes in her apartment, thinking I don't want her anymore. Think about her at Red's with Harper and Sadie, smiling through heartbreak because I was too much of a coward to admit how I feel.
Think about three weeks from now when she's gone to Helena and I'm alone in my cabin, surrounded by traces of her presence and drowning in regret for never telling her the truth.
"I told her to go," I say hoarsely. "How do I take that back?"
"You go to her." Dean's expression is fierce, determined.
"Right now. Today. You tell her everything you should've said when she first told you about that job.
And then—" He pauses, makes sure I'm really listening.
"Then you let her decide. Not what she thinks you want.
Not what makes sense on paper. What she actually wants for her life. "
What she wants. The concept is so simple and yet I've spent four days avoiding it, terrified the answer wouldn't include me.
But I'll never know unless I ask.
"She might still leave," I manage.
"She might," Dean agrees. "But isn't that better than watching her go while she thinks you don't care?"
No. It's not better. Nothing about this is better except maybe—maybe if I'm honest with Mila, if I finally tell her how I feel, at least she'll know the truth.
At least she'll understand that pushing her away had nothing to do with not wanting her and everything to do with being too scared to believe I deserved her.
"I have to go." I'm already moving toward my truck, pulse hammering. "I have to—I need to talk to her."
"Luke." Dean's voice stops me. When I turn back, his expression is softer, almost proud. "Tell her everything. Don't hold back because you're scared. She deserves to know how you really feel."
I nod, throat too tight for words, and climb into my truck with hands that shake slightly on the steering wheel.
Four days ago I sent Mila away thinking it was the right thing.
Time to tell her the truth—that letting her go is killing me, and I should've fought for her from the start.