Chapter Twelve
C aleb woke in a panic.
He bolted upright, hot and disoriented, his heart pounding so hard that he pressed his hand against his chest as if that might still it. His breathing was ragged and hoarse, the sheets a tangled mess around his legs, and he was about to kick them off when he realized Jessa was beside him, her back turned, her breaths steady and undisturbed.
Waking her was the last thing he wanted to do. He pulled himself together enough to stagger down the hall to the bathroom, not wanting to risk the creaky door of the one attached to her bedroom.
He switched on the light, braced his hands on the sink, and stared at the man in the mirror—a man he barely recognized.
What in God’s name am I doing here?
Caleb had the vaguely disembodied sensation of waking up from a nightmare, of still having one foot in his hazy subconscious. Only it wasn’t a few hours of sleep he was pulling himself out of, it was a whole month of his very real life.
He cringed, rubbing his hand over his eyes, his stomach filling with the cold regret of a bad hangover. He should’ve known this would happen, and on some level he had. But he’d ignored every instinct, every warning sign, and now here he was, hopelessly in love with a woman he couldn’t keep.
Even worse, he was pretty sure she was in love with him, too.
He was convinced that was what she intended to say to him after dinner, when everyone had finally cleared out and they stood alone just inside the front door, the quiet sudden and heavy. She had something serious on her mind—he could tell from the stern set of her sweet face and the nervous determination glittering in her eyes.
But he wasn’t ready for that conversation, not after that evening with her aunt, not when she’d laid claim to him right there in front of her sisters. He was honored and overwhelmed and scared to death, so he kissed her before she could speak. Before either of them made promises they wouldn’t keep, or offered soft words that would soon sharpen and hurt.
He kissed her and then he made love to her because he wasn’t a good man. He was immoral and inconstant and wrong, so awful that he let his body tell her everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. He loved her with his hands, his mouth, his heart, but not his words, and whenever she drew a breath too near to speaking, he swallowed it into his own lungs, silencing her voice even as he drank in her meaning.
He met his gaze in the mirror then, staring through his thick self-loathing to face the situation he’d created.
“You screwed this up big time,” he told himself. “And she’s going to hate you for it.”
At that he let his eyes drop, his head bowed by the shame of the pain he was about to inflict on the woman he cared for most in the world.
He had to leave. He’d known the minute he saw her again that he couldn’t stay, yet he’d spent weeks deluding himself that a future together might be possible.
What a stupid, arrogant, harmful fantasy, that’d popped like a balloon the moment he’d told Tana how his parents had cut him off. He’d cracked a door he kept carefully locked to do that, and then her contrite expression and motherly touch had shoved it wide open.
He’d told her nothing could heal that wound, but that wasn’t the half of it. He’d been broken long before he left home, and he’d be damned before he visited that ruin on Jessa.
“I never imagined a child of mine could be such a failure,” his dad had said on that tense, cloudy morning all those years ago. Already irritated to be called in from the spring planting, his father’s features had hardened into unforgiving stone as he read the letter Caleb passed over. His mother had already fled the room, practically green with disgust at her oldest son, and once his father finished reading Annette’s departing words he too had risen from the table and gone to the window, as if the solution to his worthless progeny lay somewhere well beyond that quiet kitchen.
“You’re no farmer, you’re no scholar, and you’re certainly no pastor. I thought you’d at least make a decent husband, but you couldn’t even manage that.” His father had shaken his head, incredulous and repulsed. “You poison everything you touch. I used to blame it on your laziness, your lack of will to improve anything about yourself, but now I’m convinced it’s your soul that’s rotten. I can’t help you fix it, Caleb. That’s between you and the Lord.”
Caleb had stared at his hands, flattened on the cheerful, floral placemat left over from breakfast. His father’s authority was second only to God’s, and he believed every word.
Still did—and why shouldn’t he? These last six years he’d pledged to roll too fast to leave a mark, yet look at all the destruction he’d caused. Ensnaring Jessa in that pointless marriage in the first place, stomping all over her orderly fresh start in her hometown, putting Annette’s whole new life at risk by wandering onto her doorstep, and now this—dragging Jessa to the brink of love and parading himself in front of her family, knowing full well he didn’t belong here and would never be the man she deserved.
He looked at himself one last time, facing the gutless, miserable failure he’d mistakenly thought he’d finally outrun.
Caleb disappointed everyone he cared about.
Calamity didn’t give a fuck.
He straightened, switched off the light, and began moving around the house with swift, stealthy efficiency. He packed his bag methodically, without emotion, fully focused on erasing himself from Jessa’s life as quickly and quietly as possible.
It only took fifteen minutes and two barefoot trips to his truck to consolidate the best month of his life into the backseat. After a final sweep of the house, he moved to the kitchen, where he picked up the manila folder and pulled out the papers tucked inside. He found a pen and leaned over the table, not bothering to sit as he flipped through to find the line for his signature.
Caleb paused, but only for a moment. This was the least he could do for her.
For the second time in his life, Caleb signed his name to end his marriage, forming the letters clearly and carefully. Then he shuffled the papers back into the envelope and left it in the center of the table.
He took two steps out of the kitchen, then changed his mind and took two steps back. He intended to block her number as soon as he walked out the door, so this was his last chance to say goodbye. He didn’t want her to question why he’d left, or if she’d had a hand in it. The blame was his, and he was happy to shoulder it all.
He glanced at the rainbow-bordered notepad she used for her shopping list, but decided that was too permanent—too personal. Whatever final footprint he left should be easily swept away.
He uncapped one of her markers and scrawled a hasty note on the fridge whiteboard, careful not to disturb the matrix of lists and appointments and reminders that filled the rest of it. Then he replaced the marker in its basket, tightened his jaw, and walked out, picking up his boots as he slipped through the front door.
As he rolled out of her driveway the clock on the dashboard read seventeen minutes past two in the morning. The moon was but a sliver, and the warm residential streetlamps quickly gave way to unlit countryside as he left town, yet as he peered through the windscreen, he felt the nighttime should be darker. Daylight seemed too close, even its far-off imminence somehow vulgar and unwelcome.
But maybe that was down to the darkness spreading within him, sorrow and guilt and regret swirling like a dust cloud, black as pitch and twice as thick. It gnawed at his peripheral vision as he drove, filled his stomach, clogged his lungs, settled across his mind so that every thought bore an ominous shadow.
Only his heart remained immune, its beat steady and strong, its purpose clear and unclouded, stubbornly reminding him that he could outrun almost anything— except himself.
*
Jessa cradled her coffee mug in two hands, comforted by its warmth as she stared at the message on the bottom of her whiteboard. She’d read it over and over, probably a thousand times by this point. First on her feet, frozen in shock, and then repeatedly glancing at it over her shoulder as she’d set up the coffeemaker. Now she’d pulled her chair squarely in front of the fridge and watched it like it was a TV screen—like there was any chance at all it might flicker and change to a happier scene.
S ORRY J ESSA, I ’M JUST NOT THE STAYING TYPE. Y OU’LL FIND BETTER.
She tilted her head, studying the slant of the letters, the urgency in the scrawl. Then she sighed and took a long sip from her mug.
The instant she opened her eyes that morning she knew he was gone. The bed was cold, the house’s emptiness palpable in a way it hadn’t been for weeks.
For a moment she’d simply lain there, one arm behind her head, telling herself a fairy tale. He went to get coffee and kolaches. He was outside fixing the timer on the sprinkler system. He’d be back any second, smiling and happy and ready to have a conversation about their future.
Then she’d sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and wept.
Not that she had any right to be disappointed. She hadn’t told him how she felt, and she hadn’t asked him to stay. He’d certainly never promised anything more than he’d delivered.
She’d known all along this wasn’t a love story. She just hadn’t expected the ending to arrive so soon—or feel so tragic.
Jessa had sniffed and stood and stretched, imagining the swan’s wings, bright white as they flexed and unfolded. That wasn’t a love story either, at least not the version she knew. It was about sacrifice, and defeat, and the reality that sometimes love was simply impossible.
She missed him. She ached for him. She’d danced through pain her whole life, but this wound was sharp and deep, and she staggered when she stood up, needing a moment to steady herself in a world made colorless and dull without him in it.
She’d shuffled into the kitchen, trying to focus on the long day of entertaining ahead, but every glimpse of his absence had her eyes welling again. The gap on the mat where his boots had been. The empty hook where he’d hung his hat. The total lack of the disarray that seemed to follow him everywhere, the house back to being as orderly and tidy as the day he turned up.
Funny to think he’d annoyed her so much in those early days, tossing decorative pillows on the floor and leaving the bed unmade and never, ever straightening the hand towels in the bathroom. By contrast, the perfection felt stifling, now. Suffocating and oppressive.
She hated it.
Maybe that’s why the note caught her off guard, she considered as she peered at it again, drumming her fingers thoughtfully against the side of her mug. She’d been so engrossed in how she’d changed—how he’d changed her—and then she’d looked up and found a message that was, well, exactly the same as when they met.
I’m just not the staying type.
“Liar,” she whispered.
That’s what bothered her more than anything, she realized, slowly sitting up in her chair. Not the moonlight flit or the signed divorce papers, but the excuse. The assertion that he just was who he was, that there was no more rhyme or reason than that. As if he was somehow powerless against this intrinsic compulsion to flee.
Caleb Ross was never powerless. He made decisions and he understood consequences, even if he chose to ignore them.
Maybe it was a throwaway breakup line he’d used a million times before, intended to absolve her and carry the blame himself—but Jessa didn’t think so. Beneath that carefree smile was a whole lot of sincerity, and she didn’t think he’d do that to her.
Which left the possibility that he actually believed it.
You’ll find better.
“You stupid man,” she muttered hotly, pushing to her feet. Did he really think he wasn’t what she wanted? That he wasn’t good enough for her? She could only guess why. Because he didn’t make enough money? Because he traveled a lot? Because he insisted on climbing aboard agitated hunks of beef that inevitably tossed him into the dirt?
Jessa set down her mug and fumbled for her phone. This was all a ridiculous misunderstanding. She’d call and explain everything—that nothing about him disappointed her, and she didn’t care whether he spent every dime he earned on the next rodeo so long as he came home to her in between.
The call cut off without ringing. Jessa frowned at the screen and tried again—same thing. She tried twice more, then slammed her phone on the table.
He’d blocked her number.
“You stupid, stupid man,” Jessa hollered in frustration.
“Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.” Amy appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Jessa squinted at her twin sister in confusion, and then slapped her hand on her forehead. “Breakfast with Tana. I completely forgot.”
“That’s a problem, since my job was to come over here and help you pack up the food to bring to Georgia’s. I’m guessing there isn’t any?”
“I made the muffins yesterday, but otherwise, no. I was going to cut the fruit here and put it on a nice platter, then make the eggs fresh at Georgia’s, but the fried potatoes…” She trailed off, her elaborate menu suddenly seeming extremely far-fetched and ut terly pointless.
“So we’ll bring the muffins and the fruit. That’s plenty. Tana keeps saying she just wants something light, anyway.”
“Right. With coffee and juice, it’ll be enough.”
“And then I’m doing the tour of the firehouse, so we’ll—have you even showered? You know we’re supposed to be there in ten minutes, right?”
Jessa pursed her lips, willing her eyes to stay dry. She could only imagine what a mess she was, still in her pajamas, rumpled and puffy from sex and sleep and sorrow.
Amy studied her, eyes narrowing in concern. “What’s wrong, sis?”
The old Jessa would’ve put on a brave face, especially for Amy. She would’ve insisted everything was perfectly fine. That she’d forgotten to set her alarm was all, and that if they didn’t hurry, they’d be late. Then she would’ve stuffed it all down, the grief and the despondency and the hollow, ominous certainty that she’d lost the love of her life, plastered on a smile, and made damn sure her despair didn’t dent anyone else’s happiness.
That was before Caleb barreled back into her world and shook everything loose.
Jessa raised her chin, trying to be brave. She knew that once she said it out loud it would be real.
“Caleb left.”
Her voice wobbled only a little, but Amy’s posture went instantly on alert.
“Left for the rodeo? ”
“Left me. Got up in the middle of the night and went. Not that we were anything, officially, but—”
“He’s your husband . That’s pretty damn official.”
“He signed the divorce papers,” Jessa countered weakly, unsure why she was defending him.
“Asshole,” Amy hissed, scowling deeply.
Jessa’s gaze dropped to her hands. “To be fair, I never asked him to stay.”
“Don’t even start. I suspected Caleb had feelings for you right from the get-go, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted, and I didn’t think he knew, either. But the way you staked your claim to him last night made it obvious. He knew damn well how you felt, so don’t you dare make excuses for him on that account.”
“I think you’re right. Worse, I think that’s why he’s gone.”
Amy frowned. “Because you were into him like he was into you?”
“He wrote this.” Jessa indicated the whiteboard. Amy frowned at it, then rolled her eyes.
“Horseshit. Pathetic, manipulative horseshit, trying to blow this all off like it was nothing. Here I thought he was such a nice guy, but he’s just like all the rest of them.”
“He’s not, though,” Jessa insisted, stubbornly refusing to merge the hands that had touched her with such gentleness and adoration with the ones that had scribbled those dismissive words.
“He is, or he’d still be here,” Amy told her softly.
Jessa shook her head. “He wants everyone to think he’s this free-spirited cowboy who doesn’t care about anything, but there’s so much more underneath. He’s kind and sweet and caring, and I think his parents hurt him badly when they cut him off. I thought he was over it, but what he said last night, and now this—I think he was truthful, Ames. He wasn’t good enough for his parents, and now he thinks he’s not good enough for me.”
Amy looked skeptical. “I guess you could try to talk to him about it.”
“I can’t. He blocked my number.”
“Then that’s the answer you need.”
“It’s not,” Jessa retorted, her sadness bubbling into anger that buoyed the second word. “He can’t just unilaterally end everything like this.”
“He shouldn’t, but he did.”
“Well, I don’t accept that.”
“Great, but what can you do about it?”
“I could call him from your phone.” Jessa smiled entreatingly.
Amy shrugged, passing it over. “Knock yourself out.”
Jessa dialed his number, then hurled the phone across the room when the call cut off just like it had with hers.
“Dammit,” she shouted as Amy dove to catch it before it hit the floor.
“What the hell, Jess? I just bought this two months ago. ”
“He blocked you, too. He probably blocked all of us.”
“Like I said, he’s an asshole. I know it hurts, but your focus needs to be on moving on, not chasing him. He clearly doesn’t want to be found.”
The notion that she’d spoken to Caleb for the last time, would never again feel the warmth of his embrace or the pressure of his kiss sent a fresh wave of anguish washing over her. Jessa pressed her hand over her eyes, but the tears flowed anyway, hot and salty.
“I can’t,” she managed as Amy brought her in for a hug. “I can’t lose him like this.”
“It’s horrible. I’m so sorry this happened to you,” her sister soothed. “I know it’s hard to imagine right now, but you’ll survive. You’ll be tougher, and wiser, and you’ll forget about him. You’ll let him go, and you’ll find someone else.”
“Did you forget about Logan?”
Amy stiffened at the mention of her ex-boyfriend.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“No, it’s okay. I just haven’t thought about him in a while. So, yeah, I guess I did move on.” Amy held Jessa at arm’s length, offering a tragic imitation of a reassuring smile.
It was so bad that Jessa had to laugh. She wiped the tears from her face, her resolve hardening as she considered the differences between the two of them.
Jessa used to think she was so boring compared to her fun, impetuous twin. That Amy went after whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, and that her endless pivots made her exciting and interesting.
Jessa knew better now. She saw the value in her ability to commit, to be disciplined, to remain undeterred no matter how rough the road ahead. She was rooted and steady and that made her strong. Strong like the anchor that kept the swiftest ship still and safe; strong like the thick root of an oak that patiently endured the seasons and stood steadfast against the wind.
Strong enough to rope a wayward cowboy and pull him back to where he belonged.
“We’re ridiculously late,” she told Amy, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. “You text Georgia and Josie and catch them up while I get a quick shower. We’ll bring over the food and see out the rest of the visit as planned. Tomorrow morning, I need to make some calls, and then I want Easton to have a look at my car, make sure it’s ready for a long, hot drive.”
Amy arched a brow. “A long drive to where?”
To my husband. To a man I won’t quit. To all I’ve ever wanted.
Jessa smiled. “To the rest of my life.”