Chapter 16
Maggie
I found out by accident.
The morning after the attack, I was hobbling around the main house like a wounded animal, ankle wrapped tight and throbbing despite the painkillers, pride bruised worse than my body.
Sleep had been elusive—fragments of dreams interrupted by pain, by the memory of tusks and fury and the crack of gunfire.
I'd given up on rest around five a.m. and dragged myself to the main house because the alternative was lying there thinking about Jack for another hour.
Momma kept pointedly leaving the crutch within reach—leaning it against the counter, propping it near the door, placing it beside whatever chair I happened to be sitting in—and I kept pointedly ignoring it. I didn't need a crutch. I needed everyone to stop looking at me like I might shatter.
The family was treating me with that careful tenderness that made me want to scream. Daddy's worried glances across the breakfast table. Wyatt's hovering presence every time I tried to do anything more strenuous than breathe. Even Hunter had softened his edges around me.
Momma handed me a cup of coffee and settled into the chair across from me. The kitchen was quiet, and I could tell she was working up to something. "How's the ankle this morning?"
"It's fine."
"Your father said he had a nice talk with Jack last night." Her voice was perfectly casual. Too casual. "Seems like they're on the same page about things."
My coffee cup froze halfway to my mouth. I set the cup down very carefully, using the motion to buy myself time. "What things?"
Momma's expression was perfectly innocent—which meant she knew exactly what she was doing. "Oh, I'm sure he'll tell you himself."
The words hit me like a slap. My brain skidded, caught, then detonated.
Jack talked to my father. About me. About us. Without my permission. Without even warning me it was coming.
"Maggie." Her voice was gentle. "Breathe."
"I'm breathing." I wasn't. Or if I was, it wasn't doing much good because my chest felt like someone had wrapped steel bands around it and was slowly tightening them.
"It was a good conversation, sweetheart. Your father was impressed. And Jack—"
"I need to go."
I pushed back from the table too fast, and my ankle screamed in protest. The pain lanced up my leg, sharp enough to make my vision white at the edges, but I didn't care. I grabbed the crutch—fine, I grabbed the damn crutch—and started for the door.
"Maggie—"
"Later, Momma."
I found Jack near the horse barn twenty minutes later.
How dare he talk to my father.
Sully saw me coming first. His tail gave a tentative wag of greeting that I ignored completely. Jack was sitting on a hay bale near the barn entrance, mending a bridle. He looked peaceful. Content. Like a man who hadn't just torpedoed my carefully constructed life.
He looked up at the sound of the crutch on gravel, took one look at my face, and set the leather down.
"Maggie—"
"You talked to my father." My voice was low. "About me. About us."
Jack didn't flinch. Didn't look away. "He asked. I wasn't going to lie to him."
"He asked because you gave him something to ask about!" My voice rose despite my best efforts to keep it contained. "What happened to following my lead? What happened to letting me set the pace?"
"I did follow your lead." Jack's voice was steady, but I could see something shifting in his eyes—not anger, exactly. Determination. "Right up until I put three bullets in three hogs to keep them from killing you. Things changed yesterday, Maggie. You know they did."
"That doesn't give you the right to—"
"To what?" He stood up, not advancing toward me, just rising to his full height.
"To be honest with a man who asked me a direct question?
Your father came to me, Maggie. Not the other way around.
He brought beer and sat down beside me and asked about us, and I wasn't going to stand there and lie about what you mean to me. "
My chest tightened. The words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn't want to examine.
"What I mean to you?" My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it. "Jack, we've been—this is—you can't just—"
I was spiraling. I knew I was spiraling. Was I angry because he'd talked to Daddy? Or was I angry because talking to Daddy made this real in a way I'd been desperately avoiding?
Was I angry at him at all?
Or was I just terrified?
"You had no right," I managed. "This was supposed to stay—"
"What? Secret?" There was an edge in Jack's voice now, cutting through his calm. "Hidden? Something we only acknowledge in the dark?"
"That's not—"
"Because I'll do that if that's what you need." He stepped closer, not crowding, just present. "I told you, Maggie. You set the pace. You want to keep hiding? Fine. We'll keep hiding. But I won't lie about how I feel. Not to your father. Not to anyone. And I won't pretend yesterday didn't happen."
I opened my mouth to argue. Nothing came out.
Because he was right. God help me, he was right, and I hated that almost as much as I hated being wrong.
The fight drained out of me faster than I expected. One moment I was furious—righteous, justified, ready to burn down everything rather than admit I was scared—and the next I was just… empty. Hollow. The anger faltered and crumbled, leaving behind something raw and frightening in its wake.
"I don't—" My voice cracked again. "I don't know how to do this."
Jack was quiet. Waiting.
"Do what?" he asked finally.
"This. Being…" I swallowed hard. The word felt like it was being pulled from somewhere I'd locked up years ago and thrown away the key. "Chosen."
The word came out like it cost me something. Because it did.
"People need me, Jack. That's how it works.
That's how it's always worked. And as long as people need me, they stay.
They don't leave someone who's useful." The words were coming now, and I couldn't stop them.
The dam had cracked, and everything behind it was pouring through.
"But you're not asking me to be useful. You're asking me to just…
be. To step out where you can actually see me.
" My voice broke on the last word. "And I am terrified, Jack.
I am absolutely terrified that if I do that—if I stop being the person everyone needs me to be—you'll see what's actually underneath all of it and you'll… "
I couldn't finish. My throat closed around the rest of the sentence like it was trying to protect me from saying it out loud.
Jack waited. He didn't fill the silence. Didn't rush me.
"That's the voice in my head every single day.
Too much. Too rigid. Too intense. Every time I show up as the full unfiltered version of myself, there's this voice telling me that this is the moment people figure it out and leave.
" I finally looked at him. Really looked.
"So I stay where I'm needed, because needed is something I understand.
Needed I can control. But you're asking me to come out into the open with you, and if I do that and you see all of it—the too much, the too everything—and you decide Daniel was right…
" I swallowed hard. "I won't survive it a second time. Not from you."
The silence stretched between us. Jack didn't rush to fill it. He just looked at me with an expression that stripped me down to the bones—not pity, not concern, something deeper than both. Like he was seeing every wall I'd ever built and wasn't intimidated by a single one.
When he spoke, his voice was rough. Low. The voice he used in the dark when it was just us. "Come here."
"Jack—"
"Maggie. Come here."
I went. Because my body chose him before my brain could object, the same way it always did. He reached out—slow, careful, giving me every chance to pull away—and cupped my face in both hands. His palms were warm and calloused, and I wanted to close my eyes and disappear into the steadiness of him.
"You are too much," he said.
My stomach dropped. The floor opened up beneath me, and I started to pull away—
His hands tightened. Not hard. Just enough to keep me there. Keep me looking at him.
"You're too smart. Too fierce. Too stubborn.
Too beautiful. Too brave." His thumbs traced my cheekbones, and his eyes held mine, leaving nowhere to hide.
"You're too much for any man who needs you to be less so he can feel like enough.
And Daniel was that man, and he was a coward, and he was wrong. "
My eyes burned. I would not cry. I would absolutely not cry. I was Maggie Blackwood, and I did not fall apart in front of—
"I don't need you to be less," Jack said.
"I don't need you to stay in the safe zone or manage yourself down to a size that's comfortable for me.
I need you to come into the light, Maggie.
All the way. The full, unfiltered, too-much version of you.
" His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper.
"Because that's the woman I'm falling in love with.
And I'm not Daniel. I'm not going to break under the weight of you. I want the weight."
I cried.
Not big, dramatic sobs. Just tears slipping free despite my best efforts, years of self-containment cracking open in the face of being seen. Being wanted. Being chosen.
He didn't tell me it was okay. Didn't try to fix it. He just pulled me close and held me while I fell apart, and he didn't flinch. Didn't step back. He just held on tighter.
I pressed my face against his chest and let the tears come. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear. His arms were solid around me. The crutch clattered to the ground. I didn't care.
Sully pressed against our legs, and I felt Jack's hand stroke down my back in slow, soothing passes. Not trying to stop the tears. Just being there.
When I finally pulled back, wiping my face with embarrassed fury, I couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"I'm not good at this," I managed.
"I know."
"I'm going to be difficult."
"I know that too."
Was that a smirk? It was absolutely a smirk. I was having an emotional breakdown, and Jack was smirking at me. But he was also watching me with something that looked terrifyingly like tenderness, his hands still resting lightly on my waist, his expression open in a way that made my chest ache.
"And I'm not—I can't promise—" I stopped. The words kept tangling up on my tongue. "Just… don't rush me. Please. I need time to figure out how to do this without losing myself."
Jack's thumb brushed my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I'd missed.
"I'm not going anywhere, Maggie." His voice was quiet. Certain. A promise that didn't demand anything in return. "Take all the time you need."
Instead of feeling like a trap, it felt like the first full breath I'd taken in years.
I stood there in the morning light, held loosely in Jack's arms, and let myself feel it. The terror of being vulnerable. The strange, fragile hope blooming in my chest like something I'd forgotten how to name.
Jack didn't push for more. Didn't try to kiss me or escalate the moment. He just held me until I was ready to step back on my own.
When I finally did, I felt lighter. Like I'd set down a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"I should probably let you get back to work," I said. My voice was rough, post-cry raspy.
"Probably." But Jack didn't move away. "You okay?"
"I don't know." It was the most honest thing I'd said all morning. "But I think… I think I might be. Eventually."
He nodded, accepting that. Not needing more.
I bent to pick up the crutch—carefully, because my ankle was still furious with me—and when I straightened, Jack was watching me with a small smile.
"What?"
"Nothing." But the smile grew. "Just thinking you're beautiful when you're a mess."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
I didn't. That was the problem.
I turned and started hobbling back toward my cabin. I could feel Jack's eyes on my back—warm, patient. Not pushing. Just there.
Halfway across the yard, I stopped and looked back. He was still standing by the barn, Sully at his side, watching me go.
"Jack."
“Yeah, beautiful?"
"You're still in trouble for talking to my father without warning me."
His smile widened. "Fair enough."
"But…" I hesitated. "Thank you. For yesterday. For… all of it."
"Anytime, Maggie." His voice was soft. Sincere. "Anytime."
I turned and kept walking, and I didn't look back again. But I felt it—the shift between us. There was a door now where there used to be solid stone. And instead of feeling trapped, I felt free.
That night, lying in my cabin with my ankle elevated, I realized I hadn't pushed him away.
Someone had seen the full version of me and hadn't flinched. Had looked me straight in the eye and said I want the weight.
When I finally fell asleep, I didn't dream about tusks or gunfire or the crack of a .357 in a dry creek bed.
I dreamed about light.