He left the clinic with a pamphlet crumpled in one hand and a prescription in the other.In the truck, he sat with the engine off and let the numbness crawl over him.
Parkinson’s.
Not a death sentence.But a different life.
Could he give Fern what she deserved?A partner who might need care in his forties?Who might someday need help dressing, eating, riding?—
His throat locked up.
That night, he couldn’t face anyone.He drove past Red Boot, past the turnoff to town, kept going west until the foothills swallowed him in silence.He pulled into a gravel turnout, killed the lights, and leaned his head on the steering wheel.
This was what a coward did.Hide.
But he couldn’t bring himself and his news to Fern, not until he figured out how to say the words without shattering.
It was hours before he dug out his phone.He typed the message and stared at it so long the screen dimmed and went dark.When he finally pressed Send, his thumb was trembling.
Cody: I need a couple days to clear my head.Camping out west, no signal.I’ll be back.Please don’t worry.
He hesitated, then typed the last line.The truth, unvarnished.
Cody: I love you.
It was cowardly, maybe, to say it in a text.But he couldn’t choke it out in person yet, and it had to be said.
He set the phone aside and let the night come down around him, quiet and cold.
In the morning, dawn found him still awake.He climbed out of the cab, stretched, and let the wind scour some of the heaviness off his skin.If he was going to be any kind of man, any kind of partner, he couldn’t hide forever.
But for a day or two, he needed to remember who he was without the label.Just Cody.A man who loved horses and early mornings and a woman who deserved everything he was afraid he couldn’t give.
He’d come back.He would look her in the eye and tell her the truth.
But for now, he watched the sun climb over the hills and let himself pretend he was healthy and sound.
Just for a little while longer.
Fern readthe text three times, the words blurring as her heart crashed against her ribs.
I need a couple days to clear my head.Camping out west, no signal.I’ll be back.Please don’t worry.
Then, the last line.
I love you.
Her throat closed.She pressed a hand to her mouth and breathed through the tremor building in her chest.That was the first time he’d said it,I love you.
So why did it read like a goodbye?
She swallowed hard, willing her hands to steady enough to type.
Fern: I’m here when you’re ready.I’m here even if you’re not ready.
She hit Send before she could overthink it.Then she dropped the phone onto her bed and braced her forearms on the mattress.For a moment, she just let herself feel it all.The elation of knowing he loved her, the dread that he might think he had to set her free.
No.
She wiped her cheeks and forced herself upright.There was no kindness in letting him hide from the one person who would stand beside him no matter what.
