Chapter 15 Jason
JASON
Istood on Emily’s dad’s porch with rain pouring off my hair and jacket, water pooling at my feet. My chest rose and fell like I had run the whole way from the diner, because I had.
Emily’s father took one look at me and stepped aside. “She already left.”
I nodded, breath tearing at my ribs. “What? I need to find her.”
He watched me for a second. “What happened?”
“I told her to go,” I said. The words hurt. “I thought it was the right thing. I thought I was protecting her. But I love her. I’ve always loved her. And I want to marry her. Not someday. Now.”
He stared at me like I’d said something obvious. “Then what the hell are you still doing here?”
I blinked. “I thought maybe… But she’s gone…”
He grabbed his keys and jacket from the hook. “We’ll take my truck.”
The truck tore down the wet road, wipers scraping back and forth. The cab smelled like coffee and peppermint. I picked at the zipper on my hoodie, my hands useless, my head full of words with no place to land.
“I keep thinking about the morning she came back,” I said. “She walked into the diner like time hadn’t touched her. Like everything in me didn’t light up just seeing her.”
Dan kept his eyes on the road. After a moment, he said, “She doesn’t need someone to protect her from hard choices. She needs someone who won’t walk away when they get hard.”
My throat tightened. “I think I already did.”
“Then fix it.”
We spotted her near Exit 14. Her car held the middle lane, lights blinking through the rain.
“That’s her,” I said. “That’s her.”
I rolled down the window and waved, shouting her name into the wind. Rain slapped my face. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.
Emily looked over, confused, then shocked. Her mouth moved. I couldn’t hear the words. I pointed toward the shoulder and pressed my hands together like a prayer.
She drove another stretch before pulling over. Tires hissed on wet pavement. I was out of the truck before it stopped.
I ran across the gravel, shoes slipping, lungs burning. Headlights cut through the rain and threw light around us like a stage. Wind yanked at her coat and whipped her hair into her face as she got out of her car.
“I love you,” I said. “I love you, and I was wrong. I thought letting you go was the right thing. I thought it made me good. It didn’t. It made me scared. I should have asked you to stay. I should have told you that this place means nothing without you.”
She stared at me, eyes red, rain tracking down her cheeks. “Why now?”
“Because watching you disappear felt like losing my whole world.”
She laughed, then broke. “You couldn’t say this yesterday?”
“I was afraid,” I said. “I’m not anymore. I want a life with you. Hard days. Good coffee. You kicking me under the counter when I forget your side of the story.”
Her grip tightened on her keys. “You don’t get to say this unless you mean it.”
“I want to marry you.”
The words landed and stayed.
I pulled a napkin from my pocket. It was crumpled and stained. A ring folded from silver gum foil sat in the center.
“I didn’t have a ring,” I said. “I made this the day after you kissed me in the back office. Just in case.”
She stared at it. Then at me.
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
“I am,” I said. “But I’m yours, if you want me.”
She looked at her car. The highway. The rain. Then she looked back at me.
“I’m staying.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her close. Rain poured down and soaked us, cold and sharp, but I barely felt it. Headlights streaked past, engines roared, the world kept moving, but it all fell away.
I kissed her there on the side of the road, with the rain in our hair and our hearts pounding together, like nothing else existed, like we had finally found our way back to each other and there was nowhere else we needed to be.