Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Becoming Yours
Sawyer
The thrumming of the highway filled the silence between us. The early afternoon sun poured across the windshield, and the road stretched long and empty ahead—just the two of us, a tank full of gas, and too many things left unsaid.
Lilly sat angled toward the window, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her knee. She hadn’t said much since we left Lovelace, but I didn’t push. Sometimes, silence said enough.
Several miles out, her stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl that made her blink and laugh under her breath. Mine wasn’t far behind.
“Guess that’s a sign,” I said, smirking.
She turned, one eyebrow raised. “You hungry, too?”
“Starved. Only problem is, there’s not much between here and Billings except Red’s Drive-In. Burgers the size of your face, fries greasy enough to shine chrome.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I glanced over, catching a small smile on her lips. “You sure? Thought you were more of a salad-and-lemon-water type.”
She laughed softly. “Today, I’m whatever type involves food. Lots of it.”
“Fair enough.”
We pulled into Red’s a few minutes later. The place hadn’t changed since I was a kid—faded red roof, hand-painted menu board, the smell of onions and fryer oil clinging to the air. I rolled down my window at the speaker, the static crackling to life.
“Triple Red Burger, large fries, and a chocolate shake,” I said.
Lilly leaned toward me, smiling. “Make that two—except just a single patty for me.”
I shot her a grin. “You sure about that?”
She blinked, surprised, then laughed—a real one this time, warm and alive. “I’m eating for two. Remember?”
When our food came, I handed her the paper bag, and she dug in like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. Watching her there, sunlight streaming through the windshield, grease-stained napkin in her lap, something in my chest eased for the first time in a while.
We ate in a comfortable, quiet place, and the radio played some old country tunes about second chances.
After a while, Lilly brushed a crumb from her shirt and said, “Thank you for inviting me to come along.”
“You didn’t need an invitation.”
She shook her head, smiling faintly. “Still. I know this isn’t easy for you.”
I took a long sip of my shake, buying time. “You’re not wrong. But… talking to Monique never is.”
“I get that,” she said softly. “I think I need it, too. Not the same way you do, but… I’ve got things I should probably unpack.”
I glanced at her then—really looked. She wasn’t just scared; she was trying. And that hit harder than I expected.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “We both have at least one suitcase full of shit.”
We finished eating, tossing wrappers into the bag. I started the engine, the rumble settling under my hands. The world outside felt wider than it had that morning—like maybe there was still room to turn things around.
As we pulled back onto the highway, Lilly rolled down her window, the wind catching her golden hair. She closed her eyes for a second, smiling faintly, and she looked lighter for the first time since the news.
I caught myself smiling, too. Not because everything was fixed—it wasn’t—but because I wanted to believe it could be.
The sign for the VA clinic appeared just as clouds rolled in, dulling the sky to gray. I pulled into the lot, and that old edge kicked in—tight grip on the wheel, eyes tracking exits, muscles remembering things my mind didn’t want to.
Lilly noticed. She didn’t speak; she just set her hand over mine on the gearshift until my shoulders eased. “We’ll be fine,” she whispered.
Inside, the air carried the usual mix— burnt coffee and tired voices. Veterans of every kind sat scattered throughout the waiting area, quiet and waiting for their turn with the ghosts.
Lilly’s gaze moved across the room, curious and gentle all at once. “It’s not what I expected,” she murmured.
“War doesn’t play favorites,” I said. “Doesn’t care what uniform you wore or who you were before. Its pain can last forever.”
She nodded, her voice low. “Guess life doesn’t either.”
That hit harder than she knew. I reached for the grounding trick Monique had drilled into me—five things I could see, four I could touch—and forced my mind to stay in the now.
When the nurse called my name, Lilly stood too.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she said, simple as that.
We walked through the narrow hall hand in hand, the sounds of the waiting room fading away. Monique’s door was ajar, and the scent of sage and sanitizer drifted out. She looked up, her eyes sharp and amused.
“Well, well,” she said with a grin. “You finally took my advice about building a relationship before anything else.” Her gaze flicked to Lilly. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
Lilly managed a small smile. “You, too.”
Monique leaned back, still grinning. “Come on in. Let’s see what kind of trouble you two have gotten into.”
And just like that, the real work began.
Monique was studying us like a puzzle she’d already started assembling. The faint whirring of the air vent filled the quiet, and for a second, I wondered if she would make me sweat it out before saying anything.
“So,” she said finally, glancing between us. “You want to tell me what brings you both here?”
Lilly shifted beside me. “He did,” she said quickly, nodding toward me.
I gave her a look. “We’re both here.”
Monique's brow rose after briefly explaining our relationship and how we met.
“That right?” She sat forward, elbows on her knees, tattoos sliding into view—bold lines of black and blue across her forearms. “Last time we talked, Sawyer, I told you to focus on building something real before adding more complications. You remember that?”
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “This is different.”
Her eyes narrowed with the kind of amusement that made you feel both seen and exposed. “So what happened?”
I hesitated, then went for blunt honesty. “Lady Luck intervened, and Lilly got pregnant.”
Lilly’s fingers tightened in her lap. “It happened fast… our first time to… You know… the first time we were intimate,” she said quietly. “I was going to take the Plan B pill, but I went to visit my parents in Arizona and forgot. And now—well, here we are.”
Monique didn’t flinch, didn’t look surprised. She just nodded, like she’d seen a hundred versions of the same story. “All right. So now it’s real. The question is, what are you going to do with that reality?”
She glanced between us again, eyes sharp but not unkind. “You two have three big issues sitting between you—trust, communication, and control.”
Lilly’s gaze flicked toward me, then back to Monique.
“You,” Monique said, nodding at me, “try to protect people until they can’t breathe. You equate control with safety. It’s what kept you alive, and it’s what’s keeping you stuck.”
Then she turned to Lilly. “And women like you? You build walls so high nobody gets in. That’s how you survive heartbreak, but it’s also how you end up lonely. You think self-reliance will save you, but it’s already isolating you.”
Neither of us spoke. There wasn’t much to argue with.
Monique sat back again, eyes softer now. “This doesn’t have to break you,” she said. “But it will if you keep trying to manage each other instead of meeting in the middle.”
Her words hit hard, like the quiet before a storm.
“You’re not here to fix each other,” she continued. “You’re here to learn how to stand next to each other. Start with small things. Talk about what you need before assuming the other one knows. And don’t rush to define what this relationship looks like yet—let it breathe.”
I nodded, trying to absorb it all. My brain felt like a kettle about to boil.
Monique’s gaze pinned me again. “Sawyer, you keep up your individual sessions. PTSD doesn’t take a vacation. And Lilly…”—she turned toward her— “you might want to find someone to talk to, too. Change, even good change, can shake your foundation.”
Lilly nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“Good.” Monique stood, signaling the end of the session. “You’ve both been through hard things. Hard doesn’t mean hopeless. It just means you’ve got work to do.”
I stood with her, tucking my hands into my pockets, not trusting myself to say much.
Monique’s tone softened a little as she looked at Lilly again. “You’re tougher than you look, sweetheart. But tough doesn’t mean you don’t need help. Let him in, just a little.”
Then to me: “And you—stop trying to earn your right to be happy. You already have it.”
For a second, no one moved. Then Lilly exhaled, the sound trembling just slightly, and I felt something in me loosen right along with it.
Monique smiled faintly. “Now, get out of here before I start charging overtime.”
We both laughed—a small, shared sound that didn’t fix anything but felt like the first breath after coming up for air.
The sky over Billings had started to fade into that gold-and-lavender mix that always hit right before sunset. Lilly and I walked across the parking lot in silence, the sound of our boots on the asphalt the only thing cutting through the quiet.
She looked more relaxed, like Monique’s words had loosened something in her shoulders. Me? I felt rung out but steady. For once, the session hadn’t sent me spiraling—it had leveled me.
When we climbed into the truck, I turned the key before easing back onto the interstate. Several miles rolled by, and neither of us said a thing. The silence wasn’t heavy this time; it just… existed.
Finally, Lilly spoke, her voice softer than usual. “She’s tough, your Monique.”
I smirked, eyes on the road. “Yeah. That’s why I go to her. She doesn’t pull punches.”
“I liked her,” she said. “Didn’t think I would, but… she’s real.”
“She is.”
Another stretch of quiet followed. The headlights caught the shimmer of fog rising above the pavement after a shower, and for the first time in days, I let myself relax into it.
Halfway home, I glanced at Lilly. “You know,” I said casually, “we didn’t get around to one important topic.”
She turned, brow arched. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Baby names.”
Her head snapped toward me, and the look on her face made me laugh out loud. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” I said. “Seems like something we ought to start thinking about.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You really want to go there already?”
“Why not? We’ve got two hours of open road and no one to interrupt.”
She shifted in her seat, pretending to think. “Fine. If it’s a girl… maybe Hope. Because I think we could both use some.”
That hit me right in the chest—simple, perfect. “Hope,” I repeated. “I like that.”
She smiled faintly, eyes still on the horizon. “And if it’s a boy… Ezekiel. For strength. We could call him Zeke.”
I nodded slowly, the names settling into the cab like they belonged there. “Hope and Zeke,” I said quietly. “Strong names.”
She looked over at me, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Guess we could both use a little of that, too.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “We could.”
Lilly leaned her head against the window, one hand resting over her stomach.
As for me?
I wasn’t running anymore. I was just driving toward us.