Chapter 20
Holt's hand is warm in mine. We walk into the shop together and the cliff's still there—behind us, in my chest, everywhere—the sunset and the kiss and the way he looked at me like I'm something he wants to keep.
Then I see Finn at the front desk. And the man standing beside him.
No.
"Scout—" Finn starts, but I've already frozen. Already seen him.
Evan.
Button-down drenched at the collar—he doesn't belong in this heat.
Khakis that look stupid in a garage. Those polished shoes catching the overhead lights like he's at a fucking corporate mixer instead of standing in my space, my life, the place I rebuilt without him.
That smile on his face. The one that used to confuse me—made me feel protected and small at the same time—but now I just see the small part. Now I see what it was always doing.
He looks exactly the same.
I've changed everything and he's standing there like time stopped the day I left his apartment with my dress still in the closet.
"There you are." Like I'm a runaway pet. "We need to talk."
My legs stop working. One second—just one horrible second—every muscle in my body screams run.
Out the back.
Into Finn's truck.
Disappear into the desert until he gives up.
But Holt's hand is on my back. Not pushing. Just there.
And I'm tired of running.
"No." It comes out shaky but it comes out. "We don't. You need to leave."
He laughs. That sound. I hate that sound—patient and patronizing like I'm having a tantrum and he's the reasonable adult waiting for me to calm down and apologize. "Scout, don't be dramatic. I drove all the way here to—"
"I didn't ask you to."
Stronger now. My feet find the concrete—solid, real, mine. I take a step forward and Holt moves with me. Not in front. Beside.
"I left," I say. "That was my answer."
"You embarrassed me." His eye’s narrow. Just a twitch but I see it—muscle jumping under skin. "You embarrassed yourself. It's time to come home and fix this."
The heat presses in. 110 easy, and the fans are just pushing hot air in circles. Evan's cologne cuts through the oil smell, and my face goes hot. Not embarrassment. Anger.
My voice steadies. Clicks into place like a socket wrench finding the bolt. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Scout."
Soft now.
Reasonable.
The tone designed to make you doubt yourself.
"I know you're scared. I know you think you can't trust yourself to make good decisions—"
"Stop."
"But I forgive you. I'm willing to work through this if you just—"
"I said stop."
Louder. Finn shifts and I catch the look on his face—coiled, ready to jump in. But this is mine.
"I don't need your forgiveness," I say. "I don't need you."
His smile cracks. The corners pull wrong—tight instead of up, tearing at the edges. His eyes go flat.
That look.
The one that used to come right before he'd explain how I'd misunderstood him, how disappointed he was, how I'd brought this on myself.
"That's not fair—"
"It's true." My weight shifts. "And I'm done pretending it wasn't. You were controlling. Manipulative. You made me feel like I was nothing without you, like every choice I made was wrong unless you approved it first."
"Scout, you're being—"
"I'm being honest. For the first time in years, I'm being honest."
Every word lands and I feel it—the power in saying this out loud, in standing here and not backing down. "So leave. Now."
His face twists. The mask just—falls. What's underneath is ugly. Eyes hard, jaw locked, mouth pulled tight. He steps forward. Into my space. The way he used to when he wanted me to fold.
But I don't back up.
My feet stay planted. My hands aren't shaking. Every instinct is screaming to apologize, smooth this over, make it stop—but I swallow it down and hold my ground.
"You don't get to talk to me like that."
"Yes, I do." My chin's up. Shoulders back. "This is my life. My choice. And I'm choosing to stay here."
"You think you can just run away and play mechanic in this shithole town?" Louder now. Sweat beading at his temples, collar wilted, face going blotchy. The desert's burning away whatever looked impressive about him. "You think anyone here actually cares about you? They don't know you—"
"More than you ever did."
He flinches.
Actually flinches.
And I see it happen—him realizing I'm not the woman who ran days before the wedding. That woman would've apologized by now. Would've made herself smaller, agreed to talk just to stop the tension.
But I'm not her.
"You're being ridiculous." Red-faced now. Angry. "You're coming home. Now."
He grabs my wrist.
Fingers dig in—tight, controlling, that grip that used to make me freeze because fighting back made it worse.
"Let go of me."
"Not until you listen—"
"She said let go."
Holt's voice cuts through. Low and deadly.
Evan fingers tighten and my wrist throbs—sharp, immediate. "Who the hell are you?"
Holt steps forward. Doesn't shove me aside, just moves so Evan has to look at him. And the difference is stark. Holt's bigger. Broader. Ink spiraling up his arms, sweat-soaked shirt, presence that doesn't need to prove anything. Dangerous in a way Evan will never be.
"Someone who knows what 'no' means." Calm. Terrifying. "Let her go."
Evan's sizing him up. Trying to find an angle. His grip digs harder and pain shoots up my arm.
"This is between me and my fiancée—"
I yank free. "I'm not your fiancée. I never was."
"You think you're protecting her?" Evan's talking to Holt now. Dismissing me like I'm not even here. "She's unstable. She needs help—"
"She needs you to leave."
Holt's not moving. Not posturing. Just standing there like a wall.
Evan snaps.
I see his face twist and then he's lunging. Swinging at Holt—wild, furious—and the punch connects with Holt's jaw. The sound makes my stomach flip.
Holt barely blinks.
Then he moves.
Fast. Grabs Evan's arm, twists, and suddenly Evan's on the ground with Holt's knee on his chest. It happens in seconds. Less. Despite the prosthetic, Holt's balance is perfect. This isn't a bar fight. This is something else. This is military Holt.
"She said no." Quiet. Calm. "That's the end of it."
Evan's gasping. Face red. Eyes wide. He looks small down there. Smaller than I've ever seen him.
Holt just took him down. Barely tried. And Evan—Evan who always seemed so in control—is just a man on the concrete.
Truck doors slam outside.
Multiple trucks. Boots on pavement. The sound multiplies and the garage fills with bodies—Maeve climbing out of her pickup, the baker from down the street, someone from the diner. More. They come through the bay doors and form a wall around us, silent but there.
They came.
Finn called them and they came.
For me.
Finn's grinning. "Cavalry's here."
The sheriff walks in. Boots on concrete. He looks at Evan—still pinned, shirt rumpled, shoes scuffed—and takes in everything. "What's going on here?"
"This man showed up uninvited." My voice is steady. How is my voice steady? "He grabbed me when I told him to leave. Holt stopped him."
The sheriff looks at Evan. At the outsider who doesn't belong. "That true?"
"She's my—"
"She's nothing to you. Not anymore." The sheriff looks at Holt. "Let him up."
Holt stands. Steps back but stays close. He's right there—solid, unmovable.
Evan scrambles up. Adjusting his shirt, brushing off dust like he can salvage this. "She needs to come home—"
"Son." The sheriff's voice could freeze this heat. "I suggest you get back in your car and leave town."
"She made a commitment—"
"She is home." The sheriff gestures to everyone—Maeve with her arms crossed, the mechanic leaning in the doorway, Finn still grinning. All of them saying you're not welcome here. "And if you come back, you won't be leaving Coyote Bend in one piece. Understand?"
Evan looks around. At the crowd. At me standing next to Holt with my chin up and my shoulders back. At everything he just lost.
"You're making a mistake."
"The only mistake I made was staying with you as long as I did."
He flinches again. Like he can't believe I'm still talking back. Still standing.
He turns to leave but Holt leans in. Says something too low for me to hear. But Evan's eyes go wide. Scared. He believes every word.
He gets in his rental—parked crooked outside like he was too angry to care—and drives off. We all watch. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Just watch until the car disappears and the dust settles.
He's gone.
My legs give out.
Holt catches me. Wraps his arms around me and holds me up and I smell sweat and oil and safety. "He's really gone?"
"He's gone."
I start crying. Can't stop it. Relief and exhaustion and leftover fear crashing together and I'm shaking against him, falling apart right here. But he just holds me. Doesn't tell me to calm down. Just lets me break.
Maeve's hand touches my shoulder. Gentle. "You okay, honey?"
I nod against Holt's chest. "Yeah."
"That was badass, Scout." Finn sounds proud. "Standing up to him like that."
"I was terrified."
"Yeah, but you did it anyway." His voice is warm. "That's what counts."
The sheriff clears his throat. "You're one of us now. We look after our own."
I lift my head. Look around at all these faces. People I barely know. People who dropped everything because Finn called. People who just—decided I belonged here.
"Thank you." Barely get it out. "For coming—"
"Don't." Maeve squeezes my shoulder. "That's what family does."
They start to leave. Handshakes. Promises. Maeve says she'll bring tamales tomorrow. The baker offers to help this week if we need it. The sheriff tips his hat, tells me to call if Evan comes back.
Then it's just us. Me and Holt and Finn in the empty garage.
I'm still shaking. Still pressed against Holt like I'll collapse without him. My wrist throbs where Evan grabbed it—dull ache reminding me it happened.
"I thought I'd feel different." Muffled against his shirt. "But I just feel tired."
"That's normal." Finn's voice is gentler than usual. "You just faced your demon. Now you get to rest."
Holt's hand guides me toward the stairs. Steady. Patient. "Come on. Let's get you inside."
I look back once. At the empty road. At the space where Evan stood and tried to make me small and failed.
He came all this way thinking he could take me back. Thinking I was still that scared woman who couldn't say no.
But I'm not her.
I'm still here. I stood my ground. I said no and meant it and didn't back down.
And that's enough.