I swipe at my tears with my hands. I know what Wyatt’s up against. Politicians like Senator Martinez will do whatever it takes, by any means necessary, to get what they want. “I can't ask you to choose me over everything your family built. I won't be the reason the Halloway name dies on this land."
I love Wyatt enough to let him go. Love him enough tomake the choice easier by not fighting for us, by releasing him from the promise of forever that was never really ours to make. I love him enough to not tell him I love him. "I won't make this harder than it has to be."
"Kinsley—" He holds up a hand as if he can stop me from backing away. "I wish there was another way. But I can't just—"
"I know," I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "You’ll do this because you have to. Because this land isn't just dirt and grass—it's your family's soul."
He reaches for me, then stops himself, his hand falling to his side like he's forgotten how to touch anything without breaking it.
I turn back to the cattle, waving my arms with fierce determination. "Gaaaaah! Get! Out!" This time, my voice carries authority and the cows actually respond, ambling away with the unhurried pace of creatures who don’t realize the damage they’ve caused.
"I should go," Wyatt says quietly, and the resignation in his voice carries more weight than any argument could have.
I nod without looking at him, afraid that seeing his face will shatter what's left of my resolve. "Goodbye, Wyatt."
I don't watch him leave. Can't. Instead, I wait until the sound of his leaving fades completely before I turn and walk back into my cottage.
The door closes with a soft click, final as a gravestone settling into place.
Inside, the silence is heavy. My phone buzzes incessantly. Beyond Stonegate’s archway, the world keeps spinning while mine has just stopped altogether.
Through the gingham curtains, I catch sight of Wyattstanding by the fence. His silhouette cuts a lonely figure against the morning light, head bowed and hand gripping the weathered post like it's the only thing keeping him upright. There's a stillness to him that's unnatural—this man who's always in motion, always reaching for the next challenge, now frozen by impossible choices. The Wyatt Halloway I know doesn't surrender, but the man outside my window looks like someone preparing to sign away his soul.
Some roads, I realize, you don’t ride together.
Some trails split at the ridge, and you take your own, choosing sacrifice over selfishness, duty over desire.
I now know why my mother tried to teach me this lesson.
If I’d listened to her, I wouldn’t have had to learn it the hard way.
Forty-Four
SHE STOOD THERE AND BROKE HER OWN HEART TO SAVE MINE.
WYATT
The walk back to the main house starts out slow, my boots dragging like I'm walking through mud. But the closer I get, the madder I get, until I'm taking the porch steps two at a time. I slam through the front door hard enough to shake the whole frame and head straight for my room, barely noticing that my parents aren't at the kitchen table anymore.
My gear bag's in the corner. I grab it and start throwing things inside—pressed shirts, clean jeans—don't matter that it's going to wrinkle. I need distance between me and that cottage before I do something idiotic like march back over there and beg her to run away with me.
The zipper jams halfway. I yank it hard enough to break the thing. A boot hits the floor with a thud, followed by my Jackson Hole buckle skittering across the wood floor.
"What the heck are you doing?" Kit’s voice rings out behind me.
I don't turn around, just keep shoving things into the bag. "Packin'."
She leans against the doorframe; arms crossed. "I can see that, dummy. What's going on? Are you getting married to that hussy?"
"How do you know about that?" The words come out hard. She wasn’t at the party.
“I’m sick, not dead.”
I grab my good boots from the closet.
Kit's still standing there, watching me tear my room apart like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
"So, you're running away?" Her voice rasps and she gulps and then winces. She’s been on antibiotics for twenty-four hours but she’s not better yet. I bet it’s killing her that she missed last night. "That's your big plan?"