Page 166 of The Route to You

She knew that from firsthand experience.

She studied his profile. He looked serious, but didn’t speak, his thumb tapping the neck of the bottle.

“I went to the storage facility where Dad put all my mom’s stuff.”

He ducked his chin, surprise on his features. “By yourself?”

“Yeah. But I called Penny, and we did a video call.”

“And you’re . . . okay?”

She shot him a look. “You know how you didn’t want to be treated like someone frail?”

“I know, but this is different.”

“It’s not.” She frowned, sitting forward in her chair as she turned to face him. “Listen. I know we haven’t really talked much about the whole race-in-Jackson thing, but we probably should. Because I love you and I want to be there for you as you start something important to you, even if I don’t understand it.”

“But . . . ?” He searched her gaze.

“But what?”

“You’re not mad?” He gave her a skeptical look.

“No, I am mad.” She spread her hands out and shrugged. “But I think you knew that. There are consequences for not telling your girlfriend important things and blindsiding her at a family dinner. But, you know, that’s not really what bothers me the most.”

He took a slow pull from his beer. “And what would that be?”

Sloan looked away. “It bothers me that you let me believe we were building something safe and stable, and all the while, you were making plans to quietly gamble with your life.”

He flinched. “I’m not in danger of dying, Sloan⁠—”

“You don’t know that. Just like I’m sure you didn’t think you might die when you hopped on that Jet Ski in January. But you do know you’re taking a risk—one that affects us both if something goes wrong, and you planned to do it anyway. Without even asking me what I thought.”

He exhaled, then swallowed another mouthful of beer. “We weren’t together when I started making plans. We’d . . . only just started something when the offer came through—the same morning you left for San Francisco. And the timeline was tight and you were gone and I had to make a decision without you.”

He’s justifying his actions. Something about that was rubbing Sloan the wrong way. She could also see his point of view, but they were dancing around the real point. Trust. The future.

“Kyle, like I said, I’ll support you.” She reached across and took his free hand in hers, gently. “Just . . . if there’s something you need to tell me, just tell me, no matter how badly you think I’ll take it. I want to be there for you. I want you to tell me what you need.”

He set the bottle down and looked at her evenly. His jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. Then he said, “I need you there, Sloan.”

She nodded, his words crushing her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She wanted him to say he wouldn’t do it so badly. To change his mind. To tell her that he’d thought it over and realized risking himself wasn’t worth it—not if it hurt her.

A still, strong voice spoke from the back of her mind. Let him go. Let him go and he’ll find his way back to the sun. Find the route back to us.

Then she thought of Delilah’s words. “Maybe loving him means accepting him for who he is and stepping out in faith too. Maybe you’re meant to be by his side. With him.”

With him.

Even if he didn’t blame her, even if they’d made a tenuous peace with their past, Sloan knew that if anything happened to him, she’d blame herself. Because his options were limited because of me.

And just like that . . . she knew what she needed to do.

Why she needed to go to that storage facility tonight.

She knew Mom was looking out for her.

. . . and maybe Granny, too.