Page 90 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"I'm so sorry," he finally managed, his voice scratchy, barely a whisper. "I didn't—if I could take it all back?—"

The words hung incomplete, a fractured apology that felt desperately inadequate.

Olive's expression softened, a mixture of understanding and something like compassion crossing her face. "I know," she said softly, the sound of forks the only sound in the room.

"These things happen, though. I'm glad that you didn't let the accident ruin your life. If you have all these people vouching for you—hell, Lola sings your praise all the time—then it sounds like you're a guy who really tries to help his family and friends. I just wanted to meet you and tell you that it's alright. I don't blame you anymore. It was an accident, pure and simple."

The words washed over Chase like an unexpected wave of grace. He felt something inside him—a knot of tension he'd carried for years—begin to loosen.

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. She stiffened in his arms, then softened, both of them choking on their sobs and trying to remain strong. It wasn't a quick or long hug, but simply an acknowledgement of pain, survival, and the possibility of healing.

The thing inside him—a tightness he'd carried for years—began to release. Not completely. Not perfectly. But something was shifting, like a long-frozen landscape slowly, imperceptibly, beginning to thaw.

When they broke apart, tears glistened in both their eyes. Olive wiped her cheek, a quick, self-conscious gesture. "Bye," she said simply.

"Bye," Chase responded, his voice thick but clear as she spun on her heel and strode briskly through the door.

Chase could feel the stares from his family at the table. The emotional residue of the encounter still vibrated through him, raw and unprocessed. His hands were trembling slightly, so he fisted them and shifted on his feet.

Jewel stood and reached out, touching his forearm. Her gesture was gentle but grounding. "Do you want me to take you home?"

He couldn't speak, just nodded and avoided his family's eyes. His breath choked, and Jewel pulled him into a hug. "Sh, it's alright. I've got you."

Her voice was soft, and he curled his body around her, wrapping his hands around her waist.

Chase wasn't sure how long they stood there, his face buried in her neck, her fingers stroking the back of his head in soothing, slow motions. The diner sounds faded into a muted background, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

When he finally pulled back, Jewel's eyes were soft, understanding. She didn't ask questions, didn't push. Just waited.

"I need some air," he muttered.

Still avoiding his family's eyes, Jewel told everyone goodbye for both of them as he walked out, dropping cash off with the hostess to cover their meals.

They walked out together, her hand resting lightly on his lower back this time. The parking lot was crisp with fall, leaves skittering across the asphalt. Chase took deep breaths, filling his lungs with cool air.

The smell of freedom, a smell Abigail would never smell again. Survivor's guilt ate at him, and he fought an internal battle against it with every strategy his years of therapy had given him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jewel asked quietly as they walked to her truck.

He shook his head. Not yet. Maybe never.

The ride back to the ranch was silent, the truck's engine a steady rumble beneath the weight of unspoken emotions. Chase stared out the window, watching the familiar landscape of rolling hills and scattered ranch buildings blur past. Jewel's hands were steady on the steering wheel, her profile illuminated by the late afternoon sun.

When they pulled up to the cabin, Chase didn't move. Didn't unbuckle. Just sat, his fingers tracing the seam of his jeans, lost in thought and memories of the past.

Jewel killed the engine and turned toward him. "Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, a quick, jerky movement. But then, unexpectedly, the words started to come. Soft at first, then gathering momentum.

"I never told you everything about that night," he said, his voice rough. "About Abigail."

She turned off the engine. "Come on. Let's go inside, and you can tell me all about it."

The cabin's interior was warm, the soft glow of late afternoon filtering through the windows. Chase settled onto the worn leather couch, his body tense, hands clasped between his knees. Jewel moved quietly, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of him before sitting beside him, close enough to offer support but not so close that she would crowd him.

"I was tutoring Andre," Chase began, his voice low and measured. "We were just kids. Stupid, reckless kids. I was stressing about mid-terms. I—I don't remember it."

Jewel's body tensed beside his. "What does that mean?"

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