"He came back anyway."
"That's not on you. That's on him."
I look up at him.
He says, "You were polite because that's how your mama raised you to handle men whose intentions you weren't sure of. You don't need to apologize for that. You used the tools you had. Next time, you'll use different ones."
"What ones?"
"Mine."
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I close the distance between us by one step and I put my hand flat on his forearm.
I put it right above the Shotgun Saints patch, where the dark ink ends and the bare skin starts.
His skin is warm and the patch is fine against my palm. I keep my hand there for a long second while he doesn't move.
"Thank you, Rogue."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
He looks down at my hand on his arm. He looks back at my face.
"You can thank me," he says, low, "by telling me when something scares you. Even if it's small. Even if you think you're making it up."
"I wasn't scared yesterday. I was furious."
"That works too."
I almost smile. I don't quite. I pull my hand back slow, and the warmth of his skin stays on my palm long after I do.
"Thanks, Rogue."
"You’re more than welcome, Hadley."
I leave and I don't look back.
I don’t know what’s happening between me and Rogue, but something is.
Am I ready to move on?
Am I ready to give love another shot after losing Garrett? Hell if I know, but I think I’m going to.
Before I know it, it’s sundown and I'm on my porch with a glass of water that I'm not really drinking.
Nash is inside watching Lilo and Stitch for what I'd guess is the four-hundredth millionth time.
Raine went home with Mama Lou around four with a promise to come back tomorrow if her daddy says so, and Nash has been singing about a four-wheeler and a peach pie ever since.
The county road is empty. The Explorer is gone.
I sit on the porch swing and I look across the yard at Rogue's cabin, where the front room light is on as it has been all day.