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Hope walked into the room with a tray of snacks, setting it down on the coffee table. “Sounds like they’re up to somethin’,” she mused, sitting down next to Rory.
A few more comments floated around, but I wasn’t really listening anymore. I made my way to the couch and sank into the cushions, holding my glass of wine close, letting the warmth of the drink settle in my chest. The others continued chatting aboutthe guys and their strange plans for the night, but eventually, the conversation shifted.
“How are you doin’, Kota Bear?” Laney asked gently, her eyes soft as she looked over at me.
I paused, taking a slow sip of my wine before answering. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess... I guess I’m still processing everything.”
“Of course you are,” Aubree said, her face full of sympathy. “Tucker leavin’ like that... I can’t imagine how you’re feelin’ right now.”
The girls were quiet for a moment, all of them waiting for me to continue. Normally, I’d crack a joke or brush it off, but tonight? Tonight, I just didn’t have it in me.
I set my glass down, running a hand through my hair as I let out a slow breath. “It hurts,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I knew he was gonna leave, but like he said before he did… knowin’ doesn’t make it any easier. And the way he said goodbye... I don’t know. It was rough, y’all.”
Laney reached over and squeezed my hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “It sounds like he was strugglin’ too, though.”
“Yeah, but what good does that do me?” I muttered, leaning back against the cushions. “He’s gone. He went back to his life in Colorado, and I’m stuck here, tryin’ to pretend like I wasn’t fallin’ for him the whole time.”
“You don’t have to pretend,” Rory said softly from her chair, her green eyes filled with understanding. “We know you, Dakota. We know this wasn’t just some fling.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Funny because that’s exactly what we told ourselves it was.”
Aubree shook her head. “That was just your defense mechanisms talkin’. You don’t just kiss a guy in the middle of the ER like that if it’s only a fling.”
“I didn’t,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “He did. And then he left.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of my words settling over all of us. I could feel their sympathy, their understanding, but it didn’t do much to ease the ache in my chest.
It felt like I’d been walking a tightrope this whole time—balancing between hope and reality, between wanting something more with Tucker and knowing it could never happen. And now, I’d fallen. Hard.
Bailey spoke up, her voice soft. “Do you think you could try long-distance?”
I shrugged, not trusting myself to answer. He sure didn’t think we could, or he wouldn’t have said it would never work between us. Because the truth was, Tucker had always been so closed off, so hard to read, and now that he was gone, I had a feeling he was right.
I finished the rest of my wine in one long sip, the bitterness lingering on my tongue. “I just... I don’t know how to let him go. But I guess I’ll have to figure it out.”
Hope leaned forward, her brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t have to do it alone, though. We’re here for you. Always.”
I smiled at her, grateful for the support, but the ache in my chest remained. And as the evening wore on, and the conversation drifted back to lighter topics in the name of distraction, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was brewing. Something bigger than this heartache, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
A storm was coming. I could feel it.
25?/?
tucker
The highway stretched out ahead of us, miles of empty road and forests giving way to open fields as far as the eye could see. Colt sat in the passenger seat beside me, his gaze fixed on the horizon, while Austin was slumped in the back, glued to his phone like he’d been for the entire drive.
The kid had barely looked up in the two hours since we left Charlotte Oaks. Just occasional mutterings of "I’m fine" when we’d ask him if he was good. I wasn’t dumb. I knew who he was texting—Phoebe. The two of them had grown close in the last few weeks, and I couldn’t say I was surprised he was having a hard time letting go of that.
I could relate.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles white as we sped down the highway. The guilt over the mess I’d made of this case gnawed at me, worse than any of the wounds I’d ever gotten in the Marines or in my life as a PI. Even the ones that should’ve haunted me from that abusive relationship that I never did get around to telling Dakota the details of. Maybe I always thought we’d have more time, even though I’d also known it was limited.
Didn’t matter much now.
It wasn’t just the guilt over the case that had me in such a twisted headspace or that the case was so stupidly unresolved. It was guilt over Dakota. Her face kept flashing in my mind—those eyes full of hurt when we said goodbye, the way she clung to me during that final kiss.
I should’ve done better in a lot of ways. Syd Wharton was clearly unhinged considering how he’d played all of this, and that note he’d left her? The one that apparently wasn’t meant to scare her but to manipulate me? That was bad enough considering how scared she’d been, but what if he really would’ve had something violent attached to that ominous “or else”?
