CHOICE
ELLIOT
I didn't go back to Pat's that night.
Or the next one.
Not because I didn't want to. But because I needed to think without her warm skin and lake-soaked hair making it impossible to see clearly.
I needed to be sure.
On the third day, I called my principal in Spokane.
"Elliot! Good to hear from you. Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Everything's fine. But I need to talk to you about school."
"Sure. What's up?"
"I'm not coming back. I’m sorry to spring this on you at the last minute, but I know there are plenty of teachers waiting for a chance."
Silence on the other end. Then: "You're resigning?"
"Yes."
"Can I ask why?"
"I found something better."
"Teaching position somewhere else?"
"No. SAR work. In Bitterroot Ridge."
Another pause. "That's... quite a change."
"I know."
"Are you sure about this? You've been with us for fifteen years."
"I'm sure."
"Elliot..."
"I appreciate everything, Doug. I really do. But I'm done going through the motions. I want work that means something. And I found it."
He sighed. "Well. I can't say I'm not disappointed. But I understand. You've got my recommendation if you need it."
"Thanks."
We wrapped up the details, transition plans, benefits, final paycheck, and when I hung up, I felt lighter than I had in years.
One thing done.
Next was the house.
I called a realtor that afternoon. Set up a meeting for when I got back to Spokane at the end of August. Told her to price it to sell fast because I wasn't interested in waiting around.
Then I called Blaze.
"Burns. What's up?"
"You said SAR could use year-round people."
"Yeah. Always. Why?"
"Because I want in. Full-time. Starting October."
He was quiet for a beat. Then: "You're staying?"
"I'm staying."
He laughed, surprised, pleased. "Well damn. Okay. Let me talk to admin, get the paperwork started. You'll need to do the full certification course, but with your experience, that shouldn't be a problem."
"Good."
"This about Pat?"
I could've deflected. Could've made it about the work or the place or anything else.
But Blaze had been doing this long enough to know better.
"Yeah," I said. "It's about Pat."
"She know yet?"
"Not yet."
"You planning to tell her?"
"Soon."
"Good. Because she's been miserable the last few days, and I'm tired of her snapping at everyone on dispatch."
I felt that like a punch to the chest. "She's upset?"
"She's pretending not to be. Which means she's upset." He paused. "Don't screw this up, Burns."
"I won't."
"Good man."
We hung up, and I sat there on my cabin porch, looking out at the lake, feeling the weight of what I'd just done.
I'd quit my career. Started selling my house. Committed to a future I couldn't see clearly yet but wanted more than anything I'd wanted in years.
And then offering it to her freely. Without conditions. Without expecting anything in return.
And I wanted Pat in it, not because I needed her to justify the choice, but because I couldn't imagine doing it without her.
The sun was starting to set, throwing orange light across the water, and I pulled out my phone.
One more call to make.
I dialed dispatch.
It rang twice before she answered.
"SAR dispatch, this is Pat."
God, her voice. Even clipped and professional, it did something to me.
"Hey," I said.
Silence. Then: "Elliot."
"Yeah."
"You need something?"
"Just checking in."
"You're not on assignment today."
"I know."
"Then why are you calling dispatch?"
"Because I wanted to hear your voice."
She made a small sound, frustration, maybe, or something softer. "Elliot..."
"I'm not seasonal anymore."
Silence.
"What?" she said finally.
"I quit my job in Spokane. I'm staying. Full-time SAR, starting October."
"Elliot, you can't just..."
"I already did. Called my principal three days ago. Set up a realtor for the house. Talked to Blaze about full-time placement." I paused. "It's done, Pat. I'm staying."
"Why?"
"Because I want to. Because this place feels more like home than anywhere I've been in years. Because the work matters and the life fits, and I'm tired of pretending I'm fine going back to something that doesn't."
"And me?" Her voice was quieter now. "Is this about me?"
"Partly. But not the way you think."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I didn't do this because you asked me to.
I'm doing it because I want the life I have here, the work, the place, the way I feel when I wake up in the morning.
" I took a breath. "And yeah, I want you in that life.
But I'm not asking you to want me back. I'm just telling you I'm here.
Permanently. And if you want me, I'm yours. "
I heard her breathing on the other end, uneven, shaky.
"Pat?"
"I'm here."
"Say something."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say you believe me."
"I want to."
"Then do."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Where are you?"
"My cabin."
"Stay there. I'm coming over."
"Pat..."
But she'd already hung up.
I sat there on the porch, phone still in my hand, heart hammering.
Twenty minutes later, I saw headlights coming down the access road.
Her truck pulled up, and she climbed out, still in her dispatch uniform, hair pulled back, face unreadable in the fading light.
I stood, suddenly uncertain.
She walked straight to me, stopped a foot away, and looked up.
"You really quit?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"And you're selling your house."
"Yeah."
"And you talked to Blaze about staying."
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you tell me first?"
"Because I needed to do it for myself before I told you. Needed to know it wasn't just talk."
She searched my face for a long moment, and I let her. Didn't try to convince her or explain further.
Just stood there and let her see that I meant it.
Finally, she said, "You're an idiot."
"Probably."
"You just upended your entire life."
"I did."
"For a woman you've known for three months."
"For a life I actually want to live. You're part of that. But you're not the only part."
"Good." She moved closer. "Because I don't want to be responsible for your happiness. That's too much pressure."
"I'm not asking you to be."
"What are you asking for?"
"Nothing. I'm just telling you I'm staying. And if you want this, us, I'm here."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'm still here. Just... alone."
She studied me for another beat. Then she smiled, small, cautious, real.
"You're really not leaving in September."
"I'm really not."
"You're staying through winter. Through mud season. Through all the parts of Bitterroot that aren't pretty summer nights."
"Yes."
"And you're okay with that."
"More than okay."
She reached up, fingers curling into my shirt. "Then kiss me, you idiot."
I did.
Pulled her in and kissed her like I'd been wanting to for three days, like I had all the time in the world now and didn't need to rush.
When we pulled apart, she was smiling wider.
"I missed you," she said.
"I missed you too."
"Don't do that again."
"What?"
"Disappear for three days without telling me why."
"I needed to be sure."
"Are you? Sure?"
"Very."
"Good." She kissed me again, quick and certain. "Because I'm keeping you now."
"Yeah?"
She took my hand and started pulling me toward the cabin. "Come on."
I followed her, chest light, heart steady.
I'd made the choice.
And she'd chosen me back.
Not because I'd asked.
But because I'd finally shown her I meant it.
The rest, the logistics, the paperwork, the actual move, would work itself out.
Right now, all that mattered was her hand in mine and the road ahead.
And for the first time in years, I knew exactly where I was going.
Home.