Page 12 of Redemption in Misty Mountain

I nod. “Pretty much. This time it was more my fault than his. He texted me each night on my drive to make sure I’d arrivedsafely and then once I got settled in. It was non-stop and I had to tell him to stop.”

Maisie groans, covering her face with her hands. “No, you didn’t… You really didn’t. And he listened?”

“He said that if he couldn’t tell me who he is now, he’d show me. That was two weeks ago.”

She groans even louder. “Ugh, I already hate myself for what I’m about to say because living with you is literally all I’ve wanted since you left home. But… you’ve got to go back. You have to go back to Misty Mountain and give him a chance.”

My stomach twists. “And what if I end up right back where I was after the divorce? He’s got no money, no security. He’s going to chase some dream, and I’ll be on the backburner all over again.”

Maisie tilts her head, watching me closely. “But what if it’s different this time? What if he’s actually showing you that he’s grown into the man you always believed he could be?” She leans forward, grabbing my hands. “I’ll be here. Kingridge Ranch is it for me. You can live here anytime. Except right now.” She gestures around. “You’re just… existing here right now. And that’s not you. You haven’t even made it onto a single episode of the Boots and Bitching Podcast. That’s embarrassing.”

I bark out a laugh despite myself. “I know you're right. In my gut, I believe him. I think I’m scared.”

Maisie squeezes my hands. “Then do it scared.”

I swallow and my throat is tight. She’s right. I know she’s right.

“Yeah, I will.”

When she leaves, the emotions I’ve been keeping at bay bubble up all at once.

Dawson is the reason my heart has felt like it’s been stuck in a pressure cooker for six weeks straight. He’s the reason I can’tsettle, no matter how hard I try. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved. It’s never been over for me and it still isn’t.

I throw back the blanket and stand, my muscles protesting after three days of being curled up on the couch. I grab a pair of jeans from my closet. But when I catch my reflection in the mirror, something stops me.

My breasts are tender. There’s a nausea that I can’t seem to shake. When was my last period anyway? The thoughts don’t even have time to seep through me before I reach my conclusion. “Oh shit… I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?!” Maisie’s voice comes from the other side of my door loud and shrill.

CHAPTER 9

DAWSON

“Excuse you, bro.”

A walking brick wall of a man clips my shoulder as I step back into the dark corner booth of The Rusty Elk Tavern. The guy reeks of alcohol and bad decisions. His bloodshot eyes barely register me before he staggers toward the bar.

I roll my eyes.I knew I didn’t want to be here.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low and edged with irritation as I take a sip off the top of my beer.

My grip tightens around the bottle and my jaw clenches as I shove past him. He doesn’t realize how lucky he is that I’ve got bigger things on my mind. Because ever since Rosalie left, I’ve been looking for a reason to unload on someone.

But right now isn’t the time. It’s almost sunrise and I haven’t seen my bed yet… Not that it’s anything new.

The last few weeks have been a blur of long hours and restless nights. Every spare second has been spent trying to fix what I broke. Because getting Rosalie back is the only thing that matters. Nothing else registers, not even sleep or food. They’re all just distractions. I don’t even know what I’m still running on. Fumes, maybe. Stubbornness, definitely.

The only thing new is the fact that I’m standing in a tavern in a half-assed attempt to unwind. And I’ve got Ella to thank for that.

Ever since the Hollow Tree Inn came back to life, Ella’s been buzzing around me like an over-caffeinated hornet. Yes, she owns the place which also means she’s technically my landlord. But that doesn’t explain why she’s made a damn hobby out of throwing unsolicited advice my way like it’s her life’s calling.

When Ella first told me about these monthly gatherings, I laughed in her face. I told her it sounded like a bunch of washed-up heroes hitting the bottle harder than they should. She didn’t argue. Instead she just slipped a flyer under my door. And then another. By the third one, I had to admit the description fit me a little too well.

Most of the time, I let it roll off me. But tonight she wore me down and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the doorway of the Elk for Beer and Darts Night. I was already regretting my life choices as she shoved a beer in my hand and wandered off to find her wife.

Now here I am. Several drinks deep, no closer to sleep, and still just as wired as when I walked in. Rosalie’s face is burned into the back of my mind, a loop I can’t shut off. And no amount of beer or forced small talk is gonna change that.

I thought coming here would be a massive distraction. But once I stepped through the doors, I realized I was wrong. This place isn’t bad.

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