Chapter 18 Ride Through the Storm
The Last Drive
The first day was easier than the second.
I didn't expect that.
When I left Blackthorn Ranch, I assumed the worst part would be driving away.
Watching the ranch disappear.
Watching the life I'd built vanish in the rearview mirror.
And to be fair, that part had been awful.
The kind of awful that settled somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to leave.
But at least it had been clear.
Simple.
Painful, but simple.
The second day was different.
Because the shock had worn off.
The numbness had faded.
All that remained was reality.
And reality was considerably crueler.
The highway stretched endlessly ahead of me.
Mile after mile of asphalt cutting through the Texas countryside.
The scenery changed gradually.
Small towns gave way to larger ones.
Open fields became busier roads.
The farther I traveled from Blackthorn, the more distant everything felt.
Like the summer had happened to someone else.
Like Blackthorn Ranch belonged to another life.
Another version of me.
The thought hurt.
Because part of me already missed it so badly it felt ridiculous.
I missed Whiskey.
I missed the workers.
I missed the early mornings.
I missed the endless horizon.
Most of all, I missed Ryder.
Unfortunately.
The realization arrived every few minutes.
Relentless.
Unwanted.
Unavoidable.
I should have been angry.
That would've been easier.
Cleaner.
Instead, I felt lost.
Because despite everything Ryder had said, some stubborn part of me still didn't believe him.
The memory of that final conversation replayed endlessly.
Every word.
Every look.
Every painful second.
The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.
Maybe that was the problem.
I knew Ryder too well.
The man who ended things on the porch didn't match the man I'd fallen in love with.
The difference haunted me.
Because if he'd truly stopped loving me, I could've accepted it eventually.
It would've hurt.
But I could've understood.
What I couldn't understand was the sadness in his eyes.
The guilt.
The pain.
People weren't supposed to look heartbroken while ending relationships.
Yet Ryder had.
The contradiction refused to leave me alone.
Rain began shortly after noon.
At first it arrived as a light drizzle.
Nothing serious.
The windshield wipers handled it easily.
I barely paid attention.
Texas weather changed constantly.
Most storms came and went without much drama.
Unfortunately, this one seemed determined to prove me wrong.
By midafternoon, the sky darkened considerably.
Heavy gray clouds swallowed the sun.
The air changed.
That strange pressure that always arrived before severe weather.
The kind that made animals nervous.
The kind that made experienced ranchers glance toward the horizon.
I noticed it immediately.
Months at Blackthorn had apparently taught me something.
The realization would've been amusing under different circumstances.
A few distant rumbles of thunder rolled across the landscape.
The rain intensified.
Traffic slowed.
Visibility decreased.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
The weather wasn't dangerous yet.
Just unpleasant.
The radio interrupted regular programming with weather updates.
The announcer's voice sounded serious.
Several counties ahead were under flood warnings.
Wonderful.
Exactly what I needed.
The universe clearly wasn't finished ruining my week.
The storm continued building.
By late afternoon, sheets of rain hammered the windshield.
The wipers struggled to keep up.
Water covered portions of the road.
Several drivers pulled off entirely.
The sensible part of my brain suggested doing the same.
The stubborn part remained in control.
Unfortunately.
I kept driving.
Mostly because I didn't want to stop.
Stopping meant thinking.
Thinking meant remembering.
Remembering meant pain.
Movement felt easier.
Even if the destination no longer inspired much excitement.
College suddenly seemed far less important than it had a few months ago.
The realization lingered as thunder cracked somewhere overhead.
The sound echoed across the dark landscape.
A flash of lightning illuminated the world briefly.
Then darkness returned.
The storm felt enormous now.
Alive.
The kind of storm ranchers respected.
The kind that reminded people how small they really were.
I should have found that comforting.
Instead, it only made me think of Ryder.
Because everything made me think of Ryder.
The weather.
The roads.
The horses I'd passed earlier.
The stupid country music station playing through the speakers.
The entire state of Texas had apparently become one giant reminder.
I hated it.
And I missed him.
Both things could be true.
The realization irritated me.
A lot.
Around five o'clock, traffic came to a complete stop.
The line of vehicles stretched ahead for what looked like miles.
Brake lights glowed red through the rain.
Confused drivers stepped outside their cars.
The delay lasted nearly twenty minutes before information finally filtered back.
Flooding.
The road ahead was underwater.
Several sections had become impassable.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
I rested my forehead briefly against the steering wheel.
The storm responded with another crack of thunder.
Mocking me.
Probably.
Eventually traffic began moving again.
Not forward.
Backward.
Vehicles turned around one by one.
Searching for alternate routes.
I followed.
The detour added nearly an hour to the trip.
Then another road closed.
Then another.
The weather seemed determined to trap everyone.
The daylight continued fading.
The storm continued growing.
My patience continued disappearing.
By early evening, exhaustion had joined the party.
I hadn't slept properly in days.
My emotions were a disaster.
The weather was a disaster.
Everything felt like a disaster.
The realization arrived as I turned onto a narrow rural highway.
I needed to stop.
For the night.
The admission felt like failure.
Necessary failure.
Still.
The rain hammered the windshield relentlessly.
Visibility had dropped to almost nothing.
The smart decision was obvious.
Eventually a flickering neon sign appeared through the storm.
MOTEL.
The letters glowed weakly against the darkness.
The building itself looked ancient.
Weathered.
Lonely.
The kind of place travelers only chose when they had no better options.
Which described my situation perfectly.
I pulled into the parking lot.
The tires splashed through standing water.
The storm raged overhead.
Thunder shook the air.
Lightning illuminated the empty road behind me.
For a brief moment, I simply sat there.
Listening.
Breathing.
Thinking.
The motel looked isolated.
Forgotten.
Cut off from the rest of the world by miles of highway and one very determined storm.
A fitting place for someone trying to outrun heartbreak.
The thought made me laugh softly.
A pathetic sound.
Then I grabbed my overnight bag and stepped into the rain.
The downpour soaked me immediately.
Cold water plastered my clothes against my skin.
The wind howled across the parking lot.
The storm showed no signs of ending anytime soon.
Neither, apparently, did my bad luck.
A few minutes later, I checked into the motel and carried my bag toward a small room overlooking the highway.
The neon sign flickered outside the window.
The rain continued pounding against the glass.
The road beyond had completely disappeared beneath darkness and water.
There would be no more driving tonight.
No escape.
No distractions.
Just me.
My thoughts.
And the storm.
As lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the empty parking lot in brief bursts of white, I realized something unsettling.
For the first time since leaving Blackthorn Ranch, I had nowhere left to run.
And that terrified me almost as much as the storm outside.
Come Back to Me
The storm arrived just after sunset.
By then, I'd already spent most of the day making myself miserable.
An impressive achievement, even by my standards.
The rain started slowly.
A few drops against the ranch house windows.
A distant rumble of thunder.
The usual warning signs.
Within an hour, the entire sky had turned black.
The kind of black that swallowed stars.
The kind of black that made experienced ranchers pay attention.
I stood on the front porch watching lightning split the horizon.
The storm looked angry.
Violent.
Relentless.
Exactly how I felt.
The sketchbook rested on the kitchen table behind me.
Open.
Waiting.
I'd spent half the night reading through it.
Then most of the morning.
Then part of the afternoon.
Like an idiot.
Like a man trying to punish himself.
Every page revealed another reason I should've fought harder.
Another reason I should've trusted him.
Another reason I should've stayed on that porch and told the truth.
The truth.
God.
The truth was so simple.
I loved Oliver Hayes.
I loved his stubbornness.
I loved his kindness.
I loved the way he talked to horses.
I loved the way he saw beauty in ordinary things.
I loved the way he looked at me like I was worth saving.
The realization wasn't new.
What was new was understanding something even more important.
Loving him didn't give me the right to decide his future.
That choice belonged to him.
Not me.
Never me.
The truth hit hard.
Hard enough to finally crack through months of fear.
Months of guilt.
Months of convincing myself that sacrifice and love were the same thing.
They weren't.
Sometimes sacrifice was just fear wearing a noble disguise.
The thought sat heavily in my chest.
The storm rumbled again.
Closer this time.
I barely noticed.
Because another realization had arrived.
Sharper.
More urgent.
Oliver was gone.
Actually gone.
Not across the ranch.
Not in another building.
Gone.
Miles away.
Driving toward a future that no longer included me.
The image made my stomach twist violently.
For the first time, losing him felt real.
Permanent.
Not a possibility.
A reality.