I said nothing else. I didn’t need to.
I started the engine.
And we drove away.
The sun was low, glinting off the windshield, painting everything gold. Ruby sat rigid beside me, hands in her lap like she didn’t know what to do with them. I glanced at her once, just to watch her profile—those lips, that jaw, the little twitch at the corner of her mouth when she was holding back from yelling.
God, I wanted her.
Not just in the filthy, desperate way I always did. But in the quiet way, too. The way I dreamed about when I couldn’t sleep. Mornings like this. Her in the passenger seat. Our daughter behind us, safe and soft and happy.
I’d played this fantasy in my head a hundred different ways.
And now?
Now it was real.
And I wasn’t letting go. Not ever again.
No matter what it fucking took.
