“So,” she echoes, her voice tight, eyes fixed on her boarding pass like it might rewrite itself and saystay.
I clear my throat. “Knock 'em dead in London, Darlin’”. Show those Brits what Texas swimming does to a girl.”
She smiles at that, small and trembly, the kind of smile that tries to be brave but folds at the edges. “I will.”
“And maybe...” I hesitate, my throat tight, then push through it. “Maybe send a postcard or something? Let me know you haven't been kidnapped by the Queen's Guard?”
She snorts softly. “The Queen died in 2022, cowboy” she corrects automatically.
“See? Exactly why I need you,” I say, half-grinning. “I need you to keep me culturally informed.”
We laugh—sort of—but it’s hollow. A space-filler. A last defense.
We're dancing around the goodbye, both reluctant to make it final.
“I should go through security,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Right. Yeah. Of course. Flight and all.” I nod. “Well, have a safe flight.”
Neither of us moves.
And then she does—drops her bag and throws her arms around my neck like letting go would split her wide open. I freeze, stunned by the sheer emotion in her hold. Then I wrap her up in my arms and bury my face in her neck, breathing her in like I’ll never get another chance, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, memorizing the feel of her body against mine.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck.
“For what?” My voice cracks.
“For letting me go.”
The words cut deeper than she could know. I've never been good at letting go—not of Jake. Not of people I love. Not of mistakes. Not of grief I've carried for so long. But for Mia, I'm trying.
“Always,” I murmur, though it costs me everything.
She steps back, and I see the shimmer in her eyes—mine match, I’m sure. My arms feel cold. Empty. Her absence already aches.
“Goodbye, Grant,” she says, her voice breaking on my name.
“Not goodbye,” I say, forcing out a smile even though it’s killing me. “Just… see you later.”
She hesitates. Just long enough to make me think she might stay.
But then she picks up her bag, turns, and walks toward security without looking back.
And I just stand there. Big boy brave face on. Cowboy posture locked in.
Dying inside.
***
The drive home is the longest of my life. Every mile feels like a physical strain, pulling me further from her. By the time I reach the ranch, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel, my jaw aching from clenching it.
I park outside my parent’s house rather than my own place, needing the chaos of family to drown out the silence in my head. Inside, I find Dad on the couch watching rodeo highlights.
“She gone?” he asks, turning down the volume.
“Yup.” I drop onto the couch beside him, emotionally exhausted.
“You let her go without telling her you love her, didn't you?” He shakes his head. “Dumbass.”
