My body learned early that safety was temporary, but Ethan has somehow become my safe place without me even realizing it.
He’s listened when I can’t sleep. Stayed on the phone while I relived my time in the foster system. He’s talked to me about fixing gates and rescuing cats. How his brother, Daniel, came home from the Rangers changed, how his mother died giving birth to his younger brother, Gabriel, and how his father, Jacob, never recovered from the loss.
I’ve imagined his mouth moving around words like “sweetheart,” which he said once, three months ago, when I was tired, and I almost wept.
Now I’m driving toward him with a flash drive full of evidence that my company has tried to destroy his family’s livelihood.
My vision blurs. The dark highway stretches out before me, a river of asphalt cutting through nothing. I roll down the window to let the cold air hit my face.
Yellow lines. Yellow lines. Yellow lines.
That’s all there is: the stutter of dashes under my headlights, the darkness pressing in from both sides, and my hands locked on the steering wheel. If I loosen my grip, I’ll release all the chaotic emotions swirling inside me. The dashboard clock reads 2:47 am. I’ve been driving for hours.
I don’t remember the last time I blinked, so I blink hard to prove I’m still in control of one tiny thing. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel tighter, and the skin on my hands cracks where the flare has dried it raw.
I turn up the radio and roll the window down farther. When I pinch the inside of my wrist, it barely registers because I’m so tired that my nerve endings are negotiating a ceasefire.
Ethan’s voice loops in my head.Come to the ranch. Come to me.The low register. The laugh that lives under my ribs.
I’m coming.
The mountains are still invisible against the night sky, but I can feel them, vast and ancient, waiting. I’ve never been to Montana. Never been west of Kansas. I’ve spent my whole life in foster placements that moved me through the Midwest like I was contaminated goods, and the idea of somewhere permanent, somewhere with roots?—
The deer emerges from the darkness without warning.
I yank the wheel, then try to correct as the car skids, but I’m too slow. The car tilts, and the world goes sideways.
The guardrail fills the windshield. My seatbelt locks across my chest, something hits the side of my head, and the last thing I hear is his voice.
Come to me.