69 "the drive"

I didn't sleep much that night.Patsy was curled against my side, warm and steady, breathing soft little puffs into my shirt. I watched her until the sky started to lighten, memorizing her face like I was afraid the road might change her somehow.

Montana.The word felt heavy. Familiar. Like an old scar you keep pressing just to see if it still hurts.By sunrise, I finished packing.Not much had changed in three years...I still didn't own much. Clothes folded into boxes. Patsy's books stacked carefully, her stuffed horse tucked under her arm like it had a job to do. I paused over little things: a cracked mug, a chipped picture frame, the binder of cash I'd worked so hard to fill. Proof I'd survived.Travis showed up mid-morning with a rig big enough to make my trailer look like a toy. He worked fast, efficient, no room for second thoughts. "You sure about this?" he asked, tightening a strap.I looked at Patsy, who was chasing dust in the sunlight, laughing like she didn't have a care in the world. "No," I said honestly. "But you fired me. So I'm doing it anyway." I gave a slight smirk then went back to a frown. Jimmy wasn't there.I told myself not to look for him. I told myself it was better that way. Still, when the trailer finally rolled forward, my chest tightened like I'd left something unfinished behind.The drive was long. Patsy asked questions the whole way."Is Montana cold?""Yes, baby.""Do they have horses?""Yes.""Do I get my own room?"I smiled. "I don't know doll."She fell asleep halfway through, her head against the window, thumb in her mouth. I kept my eyes on the road, afraid if I looked back I'd lose my nerve.As the land changed, so did something inside me. Texas dust gave way to wide skies, then mountains rising like old memories I'd never really outrun. When we crossed the state line, my chest burned."This is it," Travis said.I nodded, throat tight. "Yeah. I know.""Cheer up. This could be worse. You could be pregnant" he smirked. I rolled my eyes. "Jesus Christ don't say that" I shook my head.

Patsy had fallen asleep somewhere past the border, her little chest rising and falling steady in her car seat, curls stuck to her cheek with drool. The road hummed beneath us, long and empty, the kind of quiet that makes men think they can say whatever they want.Travis didn't miss it."So," he said, glancing at me instead of the road, that grin already working its way onto his face, "three years and you still look like hell in a good way."I stared straight ahead. Didn't answer.He kept going."You know, if things were different..." He laughed like it was harmless. Like it wasn't deliberate. "A woman like you shouldn't be driving alone this long.""I'm not alone," I said flatly. "I've got my kid in the back.""That don't count," he said, voice dropping. "I meant a man." I felt my jaw tighten.He talked the next mile away—about how Jimmy was an idiot, how Walker always fumbled good women, how he, Travis, had always seen me. Every word crawled. Every laugh scraped.Then he put his hand on my thigh.Just like that. Casual. Familiar. Like he owned the space. His hand squeezed like he wanted more of me. I turned and looked at him.Not a glare. Not a warning. A look.Before he could even open his mouth, my hand connected with his jaw—hard. The crack echoed inside the cab. The steering wheel jerked, tires squealing as he swore and fought to straighten us out.

"Jesus!.. Willie!"

The truck fishtailed once before he got it under control. My heart pounded, but I didn't look back. Patsy didn't stir. Not even a whimper.

Good.

I leaned in close, voice low and shaking with fury. "You ever touch me like that again, I won't stop at your jaw. You don't own me. You don't get to flirt. You don't get to joke. You're hauling my trailer! that's it. Next time that hand touches me a bullet will go straight in your head! You hear me?!"

The cab went dead quiet.

Then Travis laughed.

Not mocking. Not cocky.

Real.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his jaw, nodding once. "Message received. I crossed a line."

"You obliterated the god damn line" I snapped.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, mouse. Truly. Won't happen again."

I didn't respond. Just kept my eyes on the road ahead, knuckles white on my lap.After that, he stayed in his lane, hands to himself, mouth shut except for directions. And the silence felt a whole lot safer than his charm ever did. I reached back once, touching Patsy's foot just to feel her there.Still asleep.Still safe.By the time the ranch came into view, the sun was low. Lights glowed in the distance. People. Noise. A life I'd left behind waiting like it hadn't skipped a beat.Patsy woke up, eyes wide. "Mama," she whispered. "It's big."I squeezed her hand. "I grew up here.""Is this where I came from?" she asked.I swallowed. "Part of you did."As we pulled in, I saw the house—still standing, still watching everything like it always had. My father's house. My childhood. My ghosts.I took a breath so deep it hurt.I was back.And whatever was waiting for me this time I wasn't the same girl who'd left. "I want to see the horses mama!" She cheered. I stepped out of the truck the. Peeled her from her car seat. "Okay baby. Just a minute"

"I see cows mama! I see cows!!" She cheered. I laughed as I put her teeny boots on her feet. "I see baby. They're not going anywhere. We can go see them later"

"I wanna see them now" her eyes stared in that distance. "Hold on baby. We will see them in a second"

Home. We made it home..