Chapter 11 – Lacey
I keep thinking it’ll get easier once I’ve put some distance between us.
But the truth is, every hour since I left Colton’s house feels like I’ve been walking through water with weights tied to my ankles.
Everything’s slower. Heavier. Wrong.
I’ve thrown myself into helping around the ranch, anything to keep my hands busy. I reorganized the feed room, helped Rachel do the week’s meal prep, even climbed into the attic to look for baby clothes from Mason and Emily’s twins.
But none of it works.
Because my mind is still back in his bed.
Back in the warmth of his hands. His mouth. His voice, low and raw, telling me he meant every word.
And the worst part?
So did I.
It wasn’t supposed to matter this much. It wasn’t supposed to feel like home.
But it does. Too much. Too fast.
And now, it terrifies me.
* * *
Rachel notices first.
She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her watching me from the kitchen doorway as I scrub the same pot three times over. I hear Wyatt’s voice from the other room, soft and low as he coos to the baby. I should feel safe here. I should feel rooted.
Instead, all I feel is like I’m waiting for a shoe to drop. For someone to ask me what the hell I’m doing.
Because I don’t have an answer.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I open my laptop.
It takes less than five minutes to find it — the job posting I bookmarked months ago and never went back to. Senior marketing strategist. Big-name company. Out-of-state. Remote start, in-office preferred after relocation.
I stare at it for too long.
It doesn’t spark anything.
Not excitement. Not ambition.
Just… an exit.
Which feels like the safest thing in the world right now.
I click the application link.
I don’t finish it.
But I keep it open.
That night, I lie awake in bed and go through every excuse in my head.
It’s too soon.
This isn’t what I came home for.
He’s just a childhood crush I never got over.
I don’t want to give up everything I built.
I’m just tired. Burnt out. Vulnerable.
But none of it feels true.
What feels true is that I’ve never felt more seen than I did lying in his arms.
What feels true is that I’m scared — not of him, but of what it means to want something so badly when I thought I’d already made peace with not having it.
* * *
The next morning, I find Wyatt in the barn.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “You got a second?”
He wipes his hands on a towel and nods. “Sure. Everything okay?”
I nod, then shake my head. “I think I need to head back.”
He looks at me for a long second. “You sure?”
No.
Not even a little.
But I say, “Yeah. I think I’ve gotten what I came for. It’s time to move forward.”
He doesn’t argue.
Which almost makes it worse.
“I’ll stay through the weekend,” I add. “But then I think I need to go.”
Wyatt nods slowly, eyes steady. “Does Colton know?”
“No.”
He says nothing.
Which says everything.
* * *
I don’t go to Silver Creek.
I think about texting him.
I don’t.
That night, I sit on the porch and stare out at the moon until it blurs.
And the whole time, one thought won’t leave me alone:
This doesn’t feel like moving forward.
It feels like running away.