Chapter 45 Stormy
Stormy
We float together, cradled in the arms of the cool, gentle lake. The sky above is streaked with lavender and gold, and the fire on the shore flickers like a beacon.
Fords hair is soaked through, and droplets cling to his lashes. The way he looks at me makes my stomach do somersaults.
We laugh, as we splash each other, spinning in slow circles, limbs tangled and weightless. It’s messy and ridiculous, and it’s perfect.
Then gradually, the laughter fades. We drift closer and closer, until our bodies are brushing lightly. Ford reaches out, cupping my cheek in his wet hand. “You know,” he says, voice low and rough with emotion, “you’re braver than anyone I’ve ever met.”
My heart thuds as I listen to his words.
“You left everything behind,” he continues. “You came here, started over. You’ve poured yourself into that bookstore, into this town, into yourself. And you haven’t given up. Even though it’s hard. Even though you feel scared.”
I swallow. The water is cold against my skin, but his words warm me from the inside out.
“I see you, Stormy,” he says. “All of you. And I promise, I’ll be here. No matter what. However, you need me.”
I run my fingers through his hair, slick and soft from the lake.
“Thank you,” I whisper, forehead resting against his. “For seeing me. For saying that.”
He nods, eyes closed for a beat, like he’s letting it sink in.
This moment feels like something I’ve only ever dreamed of. So, I let it shift, just a little. Not to escape it, but to breathe inside it.
“I think you have the best hair,” I tell him, fingers still threading through it.
“It’s unfair, really. All this cowboy ruggedness and then this stupidly perfect hair.”
He laughs.
“Cowboy, huh?”
“Well, aren’t you?” I tease, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You’ve got the boots, the truck, the animals, the whole brooding, protective thing going on.”
He shrugs, a little sheepish.
“I guess. I mean … yeah.”
I tilt my head.
“So … why don’t you ever wear a cowboy hat?”
He hesitates, and his eyes drift off towards the horizon. Then he sighs.
“My dad wore one. All the time.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I just … I don’t feel like I’ve earned it. Like I’ll never really fill his shoes—never be as great as he was. He was strong. Steady. Everyone looked up to him. I’m just … trying to keep things together.”
I reach for his hand beneath the water, lacing our fingers.
“I miss him,” he says quietly. “More than anything.”
The words hang between us, soft and heavy.
“Everyone does,” he adds. “But I’ve had to put that aside. For the girls, for my mom, and for the ranch. I didn’t get to fall apart. I had to keep things moving, keep everyone together.”
He swallows, jaw tightening again. “I’m trying my best to be enough for them. To be what he was. But some days …” He shakes his head. “Some days I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
I squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t look at me.
“I keep thinking how much I need him now just to tell me I’m doing okay. That I’m not screwing it all up. But he’s not here. And I don’t know if I’m making the right calls or just pretending, I know what I’m doing.”
His voice drops, almost a whisper. “I worry he’d be ashamed of me. Not because I’m not trying. But because I’m struggling so damn much.”
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are shadowed with something deep and aching. “I want to make him proud. I just don’t know if I ever will.”
“Ford,” I say softly, “You take care of your family. You work hard. You show up when it matters. You care, Ford. You really do.”
His jaw tightens.
“He’d be so proud of you,” I say. “I know that. And I think, deep down, you do too. You’re doing your best, and that’s all you can do.”
I pause, letting the silence settle.
“And I see it,” I add quietly. “I see it in you. Even if you don’t.”
He doesn’t speak right away, but his grip on my hand tightens.
And then he leans in, pressing a kiss to my temple. The lake ripples along with a gentle breeze and I shiver, the chill of the water catching up to me. Ford brushes a strand of wet hair from my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“Let’s get you home,” he tells me. “You’re freezing.”
I nod, still breathless and still wrapped in the feeling of him. And as we swim back to shore, I know something’s shifted. Not just between us. But inside me.
I’m not small anymore.
I’m not quiet.
I’m free.