Page 18 of The Promises We Broke
"This," he said, gesturing around the room. "Them. Family dinners and acceptance. Forgiveness I haven't earned. The chance to be someone's uncle when I helped cost them their father for ten years."
"What about what they deserve?" I asked. "Don't they deserve to make their own choices about forgiveness? Don't they deserve to have their brother back if that's what they want?"
He didn't have an answer for that, but I could see that the question had hit home.
"Your next session will be Friday," I said, standing and gathering my things. "Same time. And Gage? Your family is going to be at that investor meeting all day tomorrow. Long day, important decisions about their future." I paused at the door, not looking back. "Try not to do anything stupid while they're gone."
The drive back to town was a blur of conflicted emotions and professional second-guessing. I'd crossed lines today that I shouldn't have crossed, said things that went far beyond physical therapy, let my personal investment show in ways that could compromise everything.
But seeing those job sites on his laptop, seeing the evidence that he was already planning his next escape, had shattered something inside me. Not my heart. I'd been guarding that too carefully for it to break again so easily.
No, what had shattered was the professional distance I'd been hiding behind. The careful clinical approach that had been protecting me from the truth I didn't want to face.
I was falling for him again. Not the memory of who he'd been, but the man he was now. Broken, confused, desperately trying to do the right thing even when he couldn't figure out what thatwas. The man who wanted to stay but was terrified of wanting it. The man who loved his family so much he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness to protect them from his perceived toxicity.
It was pathetic really. A few weeks and I was right back to that lovestruck teenager who had stars in her eyes when it came to Gage Farrington. Maybe I'd never get over him. Maybe him leaving would be the best for me as well as him. And maybe I was just terrible enough to look past the hurt it would cause his entire family if he did. Because this was the only way I thought I was ever going to survive Gage Farrington walking into my life again.
Tomorrow, when his family was away and he was alone with his doubts and his laptop full of escape routes, I'd have to figure out whether I was strong enough to watch him make the same mistake twice.
Whether I was strong enough to let him go if that's what he chose.
Or whether I was foolish enough to fight for someone who might never stop running long enough to be caught.
Chapter 6
Gage
The ranch felt too quiet without the usual chaos of family life. I sat in Booker's living room, my casted leg propped up on the coffee table, laptop open to the same job site Billie had caught me looking at yesterday. I'd been staring at it for the past hour without actually reading. The cursor blinked in the search bar like a heartbeat, waiting for me to commit to the next phase of running away.
Bridge construction supervisor, Montana. Experience required. High-risk, high-reward environment.
The words blurred together as I tried to make myself feel something about the opportunity. Excitement. Relief. The familiar anticipation that came with planning the next escape. Instead, all I felt was a hollow ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my injuries.
I hated that I'd even opened the laptop. Hated that my default response to feeling wanted and cared for was to start researching how to disappear. Eleven years of moving from job to job,state to state, had rewired something fundamental in my brain. Stay too long anywhere and people started to care. Care led to expectations. Expectations led to inevitable disappointment when they realized who I really was.
Better to leave before the fantasy wore off.
Except this time felt different. This time, I didn't want to go. Maybe.
For the first time in over a decade, I was in a place where I felt like I belonged. Where people knew the worst thing I'd ever done and somehow still wanted me around. Where I could be useful, needed, part of something bigger than my own self-destruction. But eleven years of running had taught my body that staying was dangerous, that getting comfortable was a luxury I couldn't afford.
My physical therapy exercises were spread out on the coffee table beside the laptop, rubber bands and instruction sheets that represented the slow, methodical work of healing. Billie had been right about everything, of course. Following her treatment plan, taking the medication, respecting my limitations instead of fighting them. My shoulder moved with less pain today, the ache in my ribs when I breathed deeply was more manageable, and I could navigate around Booker's house with one crutch instead of feeling like an invalid.
Progress. Recovery. All the things that should have made me feel hopeful about the future.
Instead, they felt like countdown markers. The better I got, the less excuse I had to stay. The stronger I became, the more obvious it would be that I was choosing to be here instead of being trapped by circumstance.
And choosing meant taking responsibility for the choice. It meant admitting I wanted this life, these people, this chance at happiness I'd convinced myself I didn't deserve.
It meant risking everything.
I was in the middle of my shoulder exercises when I heard the car pull up, tires crunching on gravel faster than normal. Too fast for a casual visit. Val, who'd been sleeping at my feet, immediately lifted her head, ears alert.
"What do you think, girl?" I asked, scratching behind her ears. "Someone in a hurry?"
The car door slammed, and I could hear someone calling out before they'd even reached the front door.
"Trace! Xander!"
