Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dustin
“Why did you leave?” Halsey asks quietly, her voice cutting through the steady hum of the car as the driver navigates us through the dimly lit streets, heading toward the Merkel Hotel downtown. There’s an edge to her tone, soft but filled with curiosity and maybe a tad of anger in between.
“I had a few things to do,” I reply, keeping my tone light, even though I know she won’t buy it that easily. She never does.
I glance out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, but the real answer is stuck between my throat and the lump choking me, preventing me from swallowing and breathing since I saw them together.
But really, what’s there to say? That I needed time to get my shit together?
That there’s been this tug-of-war between my heart and my very broken brain, and I don’t know which side is winning?
Leaving could be easier, I think to myself, it’s logical, but walking away doesn’t make sense to my heart.
That stupid, stubborn organ that keeps insisting I belong with them.
That I’m not whole unless I’m close to them.
Being away from either of them makes me feel .
. . incomplete. Like a part of me wilts when I’m not near them.
There’s a part of my soul that shrinks at the thought of never seeing them again, never loving them again.
“You were gone for more than five hours,” she presses.
I sigh and turn to face her fully. I see it, skepticism written all over her expression.
“Gavin and I had a ton of stuff to handle,” I explain, though my voice softens, knowing it’s not the full truth.
“Especially with you and San moving onto the ranch. There were things I couldn’t leave for later.
” I pause for a beat, watching her eyes search mine.
“I wanted to make sure everything was ready for when you both get there. The doctor said he’ll be home in a few days.
I want the ranch to be perfect by tomorrow, just in case. ”
She narrows her gaze. Halsey is trying to figure out if I’m lying.
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole story either.
The truth is, I felt like I was intruding on something between her and San, like they needed time without me hovering around.
And if I’m being honest, a part of me wanted to disappear—to melt into the background like I always do, to retreat before things got too complicated.
Isn’t that what I’ve done best since I was a kid?
Make myself invisible? Disappear before anyone realizes how little value I bring? How much of a burden I am?
That feeling, that fear—it’s always been there, lurking in the back of my mind, whispering that I’m just in the way. It’s easier to fade out, to remove myself from the equation before anyone has the chance to confirm what I’ve been afraid of my whole life.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Disappearing doesn’t fix anything. It just leaves me feeling more lost, more disconnected, and . . . hollow.
Halsey’s gaze softens a little, like she can see through my half-answers, into the parts I’m not saying. She’s always been able to do that—read me in ways no one else can.
“Dusty,” she begins, her voice gentle now, “you don’t have to disappear, not from us. You’re ours and a part of our soul. When you try to run away, you hurt us. You’re not doing anyone a favor.”
I look at her, trying to find the words, but they’re caught somewhere deep in my throat. How do I explain that sometimes disappearing feels safer? That it’s easier than staying and facing whatever this is between us—the mess, the uncertainty, the fear?
But then her hand finds mine, warm and steady, calming me in this moment. And for the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe again. She stares at me as if saying leaving isn’t the answer. Staying is.
“Let’s say I believe you.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You could’ve told us where you were going and what you were doing.”
“I didn’t want to add more to your plate,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been dealing with so much—San, your mom, work. I thought if I could just handle it, if I could make sure everything was set, you wouldn’t have to worry about one more thing.”
Her gaze softens, the tension in her face easing just a little, but there’s still something behind her eyes—doubt, maybe even hurt. “It’s just . . . Five hours, Dustin. It felt like you disappeared and weren’t coming back. Like you didn’t want to be around us, or maybe . . .” Her voice trails off.
“You thought I’d run off to find a dealer or drown my sorrows in some seedy bar?” I ask bluntly, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended. “You need to have more faith in me, beautiful.”
She sighs, looking down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Oh, I have faith in you, Dustin. But I don’t know this part of you—these demons. They’re not something I can just brush off.”
I reach for her hand, intertwining my fingers with hers, and give it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m not going anywhere, Hals. Last night was rough, yeah.
But you helped me more than you know. And today .
. .” I pause, taking a breath. “It was hard seeing you two together and not being able to be there. With him. With you. It’s just .
. . we can’t do that in public. He’s not ready. ”
Her eyes search mine, and I can feel the tension between us—the things we can’t say out loud yet, the parts of our lives that don’t fit neatly into the world around us.
But I keep going. “And like I said, I just needed to make sure everything was perfect for you. Even if he chooses to stay in Portland, I want you to have the option to move to Baker’s Creek.
I want you to have something for yourself. ”
When Dr. Aldridge offered her that job in Baker’s Creek, I saw the flicker of excitement in her eyes.
It was real—genuine. But, of course, she immediately thought about us first. Because that’s who Halsey is.
She doesn’t make decisions for herself. She always puts everyone else first. It’s like she doesn’t know how to be selfish.
Like she doesn’t think she deserves to be.
And maybe that’s the part that kills me the most. She’ll be so busy making sure San and I are okay that she’ll forget about herself. We need to find a balance.
“You need to start looking out for yourself too, Hals,” I say, my voice softer now, almost pleading. “I know you’re always thinking about the bigger picture—about us. But sometimes, you have to come first.”
She looks away for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. I can tell she’s fighting with herself, with the idea of putting her own needs above everyone else’s. I know that feeling all too well. But it’s different now. It has to be.
Not that I’m one to talk. I’ve been running from my own mess for years. Still, every therapist I’ve ever seen has told me the same thing: “You can’t keep giving pieces of yourself away and expect to stay whole.” Maybe that’s something Halsey needs to hear too.
“You’re allowed to take the job if you want it,” I add quietly. “We’ll figure the rest out. Together.”
“Let me think about it,” she says, letting out a long breath and leaning back into the seat. “Still, you should’ve told us you’d be gone for that long.”
“I know,” I admit, my thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand, the familiar warmth of her skin comforting me. “Next time, I’ll be better. I promise.”
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me, her eyes filled with that quiet understanding that always makes me feel like she sees more than I’m ready to admit.
“To make it up to you,” I continue, “how about dinner? Something fancy—candlelight, reservations, the whole deal. We’ll dress up, maybe grab a table at some trendy spot downtown. Wine, steak, the works. I’ll even pretend to know which fork to use.”
She laughs, but shakes her head, glancing down at her outfit—a mix of comfort and exhaustion, like she’s too tired for anything that demands more effort. “Fancy, huh? You really think that’s my vibe right now?”
Her eyes lift back to mine, playful but tired. She gives me that really? look, the one that’s always a step ahead of me.
“Maybe not tonight,” she adds, a teasing smile on her lips. “But if you had a little hole-in-the-wall joint that serves the best pizza or a place with greasy hamburgers, now that sounds like something I could get behind. Something comforting, you know?”
I grin, squeezing her hand. “Pizza it is. No white tablecloths, no fancy silverware. Just us, and the best damn food we can find.”
“Now you’re talking,” she replies, her eyes brightening just a bit. “Throw in some garlic knots, and I’m all yours.”