Chapter 14 #3
Everything I’d buried clawed upward, sharp and impossible to hold down any longer. If I kept it inside, it would destroy what little was left of me.
I forced myself to look at him. “What I felt for you back then was so much. I didn’t want to, but I had to leave.”
Pain flashed across his face, raw and unguarded. “You said you couldn’t love me.”
A strangled laugh caught in my chest—half sob, half disbelief at my own stupidity. “No. I said it wrong.” My eyes burned. “I wasn’t supposed to love you. I needed us to not feel what we did, not when I had to leave. That’s what I meant. Not that I didn’t.”
I pressed a fist hard against my chest like it might stop the ache splitting me open. “Whatever it is that makes your heart belong somewhere else, I felt that for you.”
“You still left me.” His voice was rough, scraped hollow. “I gave you a way out. Gia.” My name came out raw and strangled. “I would’ve given you everything. Yet, you never tried to tell me you were alive after that first day. Not an email or a letter or anything. I tried. I called.”
“I know,” I whispered. A few tears slipped free, which I brushed away. My breath shook. “I wish it hadn’t happened. That I wasn’t forced to leave.” I dropped my head and tried to summon courage. “We had our shot. I can’t promise not to run again, not if staying might get people hurt.”
He nodded, accepting.
I stepped back, reeling. Somewhere deep inside I had expected him to fight for us. Maybe that was selfish. Maybe I should be the one to try harder.
I grabbed my packed duffel of supplies and forced myself to leave.
* * *
TIMOTHY
I gathered Sofia in my arms and carried her back to the house. She barely stirred when I tucked her into bed and pulled the blanket over her.
The moment I eased her door shut my phone rang.
Josh.
“Do I have a nephew yet?” I asked.
A laugh rumbled through the line. “You do. Eight pounds, four ounces, loud as hell. Erika’s doing great. Mom and Dad are headed home now. How’s the horse?”
“Mare is fine. Filly’s strong.” I swallowed hard. “Gia took off. She saved your horse. Why did you call her in? She had a long, rough day yesterday.”
“She’s the best. I probably could’ve asked Dr. Tori, but Gia always gets it done. No fuss. No drama. Just makes it happen. How’d you do with her there?” Josh asked carefully. “Did you behave?”
“Yeah. Sure. I mean… Gia and I…” The words dried up. I sat hard on my sofa.
“Gia and you what?” Josh’s voice sharpened. “Please tell me you didn’t behave like a dick just because she’s a McClary.”
I stared at nothing, feeling everything. “We’re complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Remember how you were when Erika left? How you tore yourself apart waiting on her? Like life was stuck on pause until she came back?”
Josh went quiet. Then softly, “Are you telling me that’s Gia for you?”
My throat burned. “She’d might’ve used to be a long time ago. Just makes us uneasy now.”
Too much had cracked open tonight. I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes. “It’s been a hell of a night, Josh.”
“She’s here. Maybe you can figure things out.”
“Whatever we had feels like it might be gone.” I swallowed hard. “Hey, try to get some rest. Those babies are hard the first few months.” I hung up.
Gia’s words kept circling, relentless and sharp: Whatever it is that makes your heart belong somewhere else, I felt that for you.
For years, I’d built my hurt around the last words she’d said—that she couldn’t love me. I’d worn them like a scar that never quit aching, proof that I had somehow loved harder, needed more, and meant less.
Back then, I’d been drowning in my own grief with my youngest brother gone. Then the farm and HVAC business were suddenly mine. Fear rode my shoulders so heavy that I could barely stand beneath it. I’d barely survived.
I never imagined what survival looked like for her.
In my mind, she’d gone somewhere safe. A relative.
A family friend. Somewhere with walls and food and adults who gave a damn whether she made it through the night.
Not a sixteen-year-old alone with no money in a homeless shelter.
The cruelest truth of all was that she’d still been safer there than with the family she’d run from.
The resentment over what she’d done to me didn’t fade.
I understood what she’d run from and why she felt she had to go, but maybe a month later, or a year—or even five years later—she could’ve reached out.
If I had really mattered to her, she could’ve sent an email, made a phone call to the main house, or even sent a damn physical letter. Just something.
Instead, she’d cut me out. She’d left me alone in a hell that lasted years.
I refused to feel this insanity about her anymore. I’d compartmentalize her the same way I did every other rotten thing in my life. I’d seal it up, shove it down, and move on. It was done. Over. She’d said her piece. I’d said mine. That meant we had closure. As in, we were done. Forever over.
Why, then, did I still feel like nothing about this was settled?