“Maybe…maybe this will be the thing that wakes Dad up.”
Maybe it would be, and if it was anything else—a moment, a change, instead of a person—she’d be hoping so hard for that. But… “Why couldn’t it have been us? Why aren’t we ever enough?”
He didn’t release her. She tried to step away, but Caleb gripped her harder. “Dad’s stuff isn’t about you.”
“And it’s about you?”
“Look.” Finally he released his hold, only to go from hugging her to grabbing her by the shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “Maybe it won’t be all right.”
“Caleb.”
“I’m trying to be honest here. I think maybe…we’ve been missing out on that, for a long time. So maybe things won’t be perfectly okay. Maybe they keep being fucking hard, but if you promise not to run, and I promise not to drink, and we both promise that girl…she’s a part of this if she wants to be…”
Mel waited, but he didn’t say anything. Not for the longest time.
“I don’t know if we can bring Dad back,” he continued. “I don’t know if we can save this ranch. But let’s at least save ourselves.”
“How do we do that?” Because of all the things she’d been trying to do most of her life, saving herself was not one of them. Not until she’d walked off of Shaw property and into Dan’s cabin. So how on earth could coming back be the answer?
“I don’t know,” Caleb said on an exhale, his hands falling off of her arms. He turned away, and it almost appeared as if he was shaking. His eyes were gleaming in a way she’d never seen from him.
Absolutely determined. Absolutely all in. “I think the first step,” he said, straightening, “is admitting we need to.”
Mel turned away, taking a step away from the garage, away from the house, to where she could see the mountains, the field where their meager herd of cattle grazed. She’d once thought this place was her heart, and then she’d been convinced it wasn’t.
Now, she didn’t have a clue which version of her was right. Maybe neither. Maybe there was some answer she was missing, and maybe…admitting was the only way to find it.
“I need saving,” she said quietly.
Caleb’s hand clamped on her shoulder, squeezed. “You’ll come home?”
She took a deep breath of Shaw air, felt her feet sink into Shaw ground. “I’ll come back.” Home was something she was still figuring out.
*
Dan sat at his kitchen table, going through his notes, trying to ignore the message on his phone. He still had an hour before he was supposed to go pick up Mel. An hour to dwell and stew in this beautiful summer evening.
He’d thrown all the windows and doors open, attempted to put some lame-ass chicken dish in the oven, tried to make the whole thing homey and inviting and happy, because Lord knew Mel would need that. Hopefully be comforted by it.
He wanted to be, but the voice mail on his phone was looming over him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, poking the screen with more force than necessary to bring up the voice mail.
“All right, Sharpe.” Scott’s voice rang out into the quiet evening. “I talked with Phoenix and your father talked with Phoenix and you’ve been given a reprieve. Two weeks from tomorrow. Get in fighting shape. I got you what you wanted, so you better not fucking back out now.”
Dan let out a breath. He hadn’t promised Scott shit, and he’d just spent a lot of breath telling Caleb he wasn’t going anywhere. He hated that suddenly, after that talk with Dad, after an afternoon alone, he felt the itch.
The hockey itch. Skates, cold air, control. He pushed away from the table, scattered with llama books and Mel’s notes and his damn phone. The smell of chicken that had about a ten percent chance of turning out.
But the funny thing about the itch, the dissatisfaction, the little niggle of worry and guilt, was it melted away when he stepped out onto the porch. It really did. It wasn’t even just escaping, it was breathing in the mountains and realizing this was what he chose.
It was a good choice, and even if the itch popped up now and again, he’d only have to look around to remember that it paled in comparison. That it gave him a satisfaction that was only season-long, game-long, and then he’d have to go back to his loft in Chicago and try to ignore all the ways he didn’t add up.
Here, he added up. Here, he stood his ground. Here, he’d found himself, as cheesy as that sounded. This place made him something better, and he wasn’t going to ignore that for a few twinges or Dad’s reputation.
Dan stalked back inside and dialed Scott’s number. Faintly he heard someone driving up the road, a car he didn’t recognize. He’d deal with that after.
“You had better be calling to accept,” Scott said.