Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
J ack
The first thing I notice is the moonlight splashed across her hair as she sits on the porch. Swing creaking. Her hair’s messy, eyes tired, bare feet curled up under her in my flannel shirt like it belongs to her.
Because it does.
Because she does.
I stop a few feet from the steps, not sure if she’s going to cry or throw something.
Neither. She just stares. And that hurts more than if she’d screamed.
"You left," she says, voice raw.
"I did."
"You didn’t call."
I nod once. "I should’ve."
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything I never said.
Then I hold out the box.
She doesn’t move at first. But then she sets her mug aside and stands. Walks toward me with that slow, deliberate grace that always unhinges me.
She stops when we’re toe to toe.
"What’s that?"
I pop the lid.
Emerald center. Snowflake diamonds on either side. No frills. Just meaning.
She inhales softly.
"It’s beautiful," she whispers.
"You and that little girl—you’re mine. And I’m done hiding from it."
Her gaze flicks up to mine. Eyes glistening.
"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going," I add. "I needed to get my head straight. Figure out how to carry this without dropping it. Without dropping you. "
Her lip trembles. "I didn’t think you’d come back."
I close the box. Slide it into my back pocket.
Then I step up onto the porch. Crowd her against the railing.
"Too late. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
So I press in.
"Stay with me. No mail-order bride bullshit, I want you. I can’t picture my life without you in it.”
Her breath catches. "You don’t fight fair."
"Never claimed to. Say it, Holly. Say you’ll stay."
Her voice breaks. "Yes. I’ll stay.”
Then I kiss her like I’ve been starving since the day she left—and she kisses me like she’s been drowning without me.
Because maybe we have been.
But we’re home now.
And we’re not going anywhere.
The box is heavier than I remember.
Buried under flannel shirts I haven’t worn in years, pushed to the far back of the closet like I thought ignoring it would erase the weight of what’s inside.
But tonight, I can’t ignore it anymore.
The house is quiet. Holly put Josie to bed an hour ago. There’s a fire going in the main room, low and slow, casting amber light across the floors I laid plank by damn plank. It smells like pine and home and something sweeter—her lotion, maybe. Or maybe just her.
I carry the box to the living room and set it down by the fire.
She looks up from the couch, barefoot in leggings and one of my old thermal shirts that swallows her frame. Her hair’s down, her cheeks still a little pink from the cold outside. She looks soft. Content.
Until she sees the box.
Her smile fades. “What’s that?”
I sit beside her and open it without answering.
She gasps.
Stacks of letters.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Holly’s hand flies to her mouth. "You... you kept them?"
I nod. "Every one. Even the one where you said you hated me for missing your birthday."
She lets out a watery laugh. “That was middle school. I did hate you. For like twelve hours.”
I pick one off the top and hand it to her. The ink’s faded, the paper creased from being opened a hundred times.
She holds it carefully. Like it might fall apart. Then she starts to read.
"Dear Jack,
Today it rained all through recess, so I sat under the awning and watched the puddles fill up. I thought about how dumb it is that you get to live in the mountains and I’m stuck in flat, boring Michigan. It’s not fair. But also, I kind of like that you’re out there. It makes it easier to picture you when I write."
Her voice breaks on the last line.
She sets the letter in her lap.
“I read them to Josie sometimes,” she says. “I told her it was written by a boy I knew a long time ago. I never said his name.”
My chest tightens.
She reaches into the box and pulls out another. “I have all yours too, you know. Every damn one. When things got bad, I’d reread them. Especially the one where you drew that dumb little sketch of Devil’s Peak and told me it was the most important place in your world.”
“It still is,” I say, voice low.
Her eyes meet mine. “Because it’s where I found you?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She exhales. Shaky. Raw.
“I remember when you told me you were joining the military,” she whispers. “I cried so hard my mom thought someone died. There are tear stains on that letter.”
I reach over and take her hand. “It was the first time I realized I had something to come home for.”
She sniffles. “And that Spring Break… my first year in college. I knew I had to come. My parents thought I was staying with a friend. But I got on a bus and came here. I needed to see you in person. I needed to know it was real.”
My heart twists.
“That night,” she says, voice shaking. “You gave me Josie. The best thing that ever happened to me. And I never told you. I let them keep her from you. I let them convince me it was better this way.”
Tears spill down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Jack. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve?—”
I shut her up with a kiss.
Because she’s here now.
Because the past is a pile of ashes.
And this? This moment, with her shaking in my arms and the fire warming our feet, this is the only thing that matters.
She melts into me, clinging tight, burying her face in my neck.
When she pulls back, her voice is steadier. “We’re here now. We’re back. And we’re not leaving.”
I nod.
And silently, I swear to never let her go again.