Chapter 50
Sutton would burn down the entire state of Montana before she let anyone take her child.
She could barely breathe as she moved through the bedroom, yanking open drawers and tossing clothes into a duffel.
Socks, shirts, the stuffed pony Lynlee couldn’t sleep without.
She grabbed medical records, school papers, and birth certificates.
Her hands shook so violently she dropped things, knelt to gather them, and dropped them again.
Every rustle of fabric sounded like a clock running out. Every zipper sounded like goodbye.
Lynlee was still asleep in her room, exhausted from the parade, unaware her mother was planning escape routes instead of breakfast.
I won’t lose her. I won’t let him take her. No judge, no ranch, no bloodline will ever get between me and my child.
Her breath came fast and shallow—she could feel a panic attack closing in. Sutton shoved another stack of clothes into the bag and snapped it shut.
She reached for Lynlee’s favorite books next and that was when a knock sounded at the door. Not a timid knock but a hard and urgent one.
Her heart slammed and, for one terrible second, she imagined deputies on the porch with paperwork and orders. She pressed a hand to her mouth and forced herself down the hallway. At the door, she leaned in and peered through the peephole—one glance and a broken breath tore out of her.
Colter.
Her pulse spiked. If she stayed quiet, if she just didn’t move, maybe he would turn around and go home. Maybe he’d let her disappear before her world was carved up.
She backed away from the door, holding her breath like silence could make her invisible. For a few heartbeats, there was nothing. No movement. No knock. Just silence.
“I know you’re in there.” Colter’s voice filtered under the wooden door.
A long minute passed where she weighed her options.
Softer, gentler, the voice was back. “Freckles, open the door. I’m not leaving until I see you’re okay.”
Wiping the residual tears from her cheeks, she opened the door, just enough to peek her head out. “You’ve seen me. Goodbye.”
She went to slam the door shut when Colter stuck his big ass foot in the way. It rebounded and opened wide enough that he could see her in all her glory. Hair like a squirrel’s tail, mascara bleeding down her face, still in yesterday’s clothes.
Colter stood there—out of breath like he’d sprinted here. His hair was windblown, his jaw tense, and his eyes—her daughter’s eyes—they were devastated.
“Sutton.”
“If you came to threaten me again, don’t. Lynlee is asleep.”
He shook his head quickly. “I didn’t come to threaten you, I came to apologize.”
The word hit her like a sudden impact, stealing her breath.
He dragged both hands through his hair, breathing hard. “I was angry and blindsided. I said things meant to wound because I didn’t know what else to do with the pain.” His eyes found hers, raw and glassy. “But I do not want to hurt you and I do not want you to run.”
“I have to protect her.”
“Then let’s protect her together. That’s all I’m asking.”
Sutton shook her head, tears threatening. “You said custody. You said lawyers.”
The words went straight to her spine. That had always been her worst fear—the one she never said out loud but thought about every second of every day.
For months after Lynlee was born, Sutton had lived in a state of quiet vigilance, half-expecting a knock on the door or a certified letter that would take her daughter out of her arms and call it lawful.
She’d waited for Lynlee’s other parents to come back and demand her, waited for the life she’d built to be ruled temporary.
Even now, with years behind her and a court-signed document stating Lynlee was legally hers, the fear hadn’t disappeared. It had just learned how to hide—patient and ready to come back with vengeance.
“I know. I was terrified and I thought the only power I had was force. But I don’t want a courtroom or a split schedule. I want a life and a family. I want to show up and earn a place—not demand one.”
Sutton’s face crumpled. “You are her father.”
“Not if you run.”
Something inside her gave way—anger collapsing into grief, grief collapsing into exhaustion.
He reached out but didn’t touch her. He let the space exist—her choice, her pace.
“I want to be in both of your lives, but it’s your call, Freckles. You choose what that looks like. How much space I get. How often. Whether I earn the right to love you—both of you.”
Her breath trembled. "That's not the question."
"What is?"
Her voice came out stripped of everything but honesty. "What are we now? Not what you'll allow. Not what I've earned. What are we—the three of us—on the other side of all of this?"
He looked at her for a long moment. Long enough that she felt the weight of it.
"A family," he said quietly. "If you let us figure out what that means."
It wasn't a clean answer. It wasn't a promise that nothing would be hard. It was just the truth of it—two people standing in a doorway with a little girl asleep down the hall, deciding whether the thing they'd built on complicated ground was still worth standing on.
Sutton exhaled. "I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I," he said. "But I'd rather not know with you than know without you."
“You hurt me.”
“I know,” he said. “I hate that I did and I’m sorry.”
She pressed a fist to her shaking mouth. “I’m so scared.”
“I’m scared, too.”
A thick silence settled, the air still as if waiting for the world to realign.
“I love you, Colter.”
His inhale was sharp, like she’d just detonated something inside him. He stepped closer, eyes glassy, and whispered, “I love you, too.”
Her last line of resistance collapsed. The duffel bag slid from her hand and thudded to the floor. Colter reached for her—slow and gentle, giving her time to say no. When she didn’t, he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his forehead to hers.
There was no yelling or accusations, and no more legal threats. They stood there, just two broken people holding on.
Relief came first—weakening her knees. Then hope—small but present. Then something quieter, steadier—a beginning.
Sutton let herself breathe against his chest, the steady rise and fall of him anchoring her.
When she tipped her chin up, he met her halfway, his mouth brushing hers—soft at first, then deeper, a promise instead of a demand.
She curled her fingers in his shirt and clung to him, because this was forgiveness and surrender all colliding all at once.
A small gasp sounded behind them.
Sutton broke the kiss just in time to see Lynlee standing in the hallway in horse pajamas, hands slapped dramatically over her cheeks.
“Oh my gosh,” Lynlee announced. “You two kissed with your mouths.”
Sutton wiped at her face, half laughing, half crying. “We did.”
“That was critically dramatic,” Lynlee said, using her and Colter’s inside joke. “I want a kiss too,” Lynlee declared, as if she were placing an order at a restaurant.
Colter huffed a broken laugh, scooped her up with one arm, and held Sutton tight with the other—like the three of them were meant to fit that way. Lynlee planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then demanded one from Sutton, and he turned so Sutton could receive her daughter’s affection too.
Pressed together, held together, they felt like a unit. Not perfect or resolved but raw and real.
Sutton rested her forehead to Colter’s shoulder and let the moment sink in. For the first time in her life, she didn’t think about running. She was too busy thinking about staying—about a future stitched together by forgiveness and small hands and love that terrified her in all the right ways.