My jaw locks. I drop my gaze and chug half the beer in one go. “Too fuckin’ late.”
“Thought so,” he mutters.
“Don’t you start with the guilt trip,” I grit out. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see her face.”
“No,” he says. “But I saw yours. And I’ve known that look on you for years. When you got that final letter from Marlee. When you lost your dad. And now.”
He turns to face me, deadly serious. “You fought harder battles than this. Did you learn nothin’ in the Rangers?”
“And nearly died,” I snap, fingers so tight, the bottle creaks.
He shrugs, nursing his drink. “But you didn’t. You lived. And for what? To bury yourself in grief, guilt, and a shitty life for years?”
“I got out of the hole I was in.”
“Did you?” he asks, one brow arched.
I hate how sure he sounds.
“Are you really out of it? Because, brother, healing ain’t linear. It ain’t fast. It’s not some checkbox on a fuckin’ form. You think you’re fine because the outside looks better. Because you ain’t drinkin’ yourself into a coma or bleedin’ on foreign soil. But inside?” He taps his chest. “That takes longer. That takes work. And love? Love’s part of the work.”
I close my eyes, pain slicing down my spine like a blade.
“Go get your fuckin’ girl.”
“I can’t,” I croak. “She doesn’t want me to.”
Griff stands and yanks me to my feet for a back slapping hug.
“Then take my advice. When she comes back to you, because she will, forgive her. Remember, you ran from your problems for years, but Georgia didn’t inherit her trauma. She was born into hers. It’s gonna take her a minute to believe she deserves the dream.”
“What dream?”
Griff smiles, slapping my back hard. “The happily ever after, man. The thing that makes all the pain worth it.”
I close my eyes and pull him in again, grip tight. “When will you be back?”
“Shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks to wrap up everything back in Tennessee.” He passes me his still-full beer. “Then I’ll be back in your business for good.”
He turns for the steps, flashing a cocky wink. “Make sure she’s by your side next time I see you. I miss lookin’ at her perky ti—”
“Get the fuck out!” I bark, hurling my empty bottle toward him but intentionally missing by a mile. It lands on the lawn with a thud. “Get on a plane and don’t come back, asshole.”
He laughs all the way to his truck, flipping me off without looking back.
And then I’m alone with dark clouds that match my mood again. Minutes later, the first raindrop hits the roof. Then another.
Within seconds, the sky cracks open and the downpour starts, cool and hard and relentless.
Throat tight, I drop my beer bottle onto the railing and make my way down the steps, into the downpour. It seeps into my clothes, soaking me instantly, but I don’t move, just tip my head back and breathe.
Don’t know what I’m hoping for—peace, maybe closure or answers, but all I feel is the absence where she’s supposed to be.
Georgia.
The woman who stole every part of me worth keeping. The woman who brought me back to life with fire and fight and freckles. The woman who made this house a home and helped me become a dad. Who laughed in the rain and told me it made the world feel new.
I remember that day—months ago, just the two of us on the back of Dusty, her body against mine, her heart in my hands.
