Page 12 of The Only Road Back

JACK

I’ve been sitting in my truck outside Beth’s apartment for over an hour, replaying every reason I shouldn’t be here. Patience has never been my strong suit, but waiting like this, not knowing if she even wants to see me, is its own kind of torture.

When Lori texted earlier about Beth struggling, I didn’t hesitate.

I threw clothes in a bag and drove straight here, not even sure what I’d say when I arrived.

Now, parked in the fading light, I start to doubt myself.

Maybe I should have waited for Beth to reach out.

Maybe showing up out of the blue is one more thing she doesn’t need.

But I keep thinking about the last time I saw her, how she paused before driving away, the way her hands shook as if she knew she was making the wrong choice. That memory refuses to let me go.

She shouldn’t have left. She belongs with me.

I scroll through my contacts, thumb hovering over her name, then press Call before I can overthink it. Two rings before she answers.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is so tired that it makes my chest ache.

“Hey, yourself.” I try to keep things light, teasing, like we usually do. “How’s your day?”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, you know. Just another disaster starring Beth.”

My gut twists. “That bad?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

That tells me everything.

I glance down the block and see headlights swing into the lot. Her car. My heart kicks up.

“I get that,” I say. “But maybe you should.”

“Jack—” She stops when she spots my truck. Her car jerks to a halt. Through the windshield, I see her eyes go wide. She still has the phone to her ear, lips parted in shock.

I grin, even though she can’t see it. “Surprise.”

The next second, she’s out of the car, keys rattling in her hand. I do the same, standing beside my truck, eyes fixed on her. She nearly trips but recovers and rushes toward me. Before I can speak, she throws her arms around me.

I catch her. She clings to me hard, holding on like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“I’ve got you,” I say quietly, breathing her in. Her hair smells like vanilla and something floral; I’ve never smelled anything better.

For a long time, I hold her. She shakes, silent tears hot against my neck. I want to tell her everything will be okay, but I know better than to make promises. I just hold her tighter.

Eventually, she pulls away and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is rough, but there’s hope in it.

I lift her chin so she’ll look at me. “Lori called. She was worried. So was I.”

Beth groans, half-laughing. “Of course, she did.”

“She did the right thing,” I say. “I wanted to see you.”

She studies me, searching for something. “I quit my job.”

I nod. “Good.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate.

“That’s it? Just ‘good’?”

“You hated it. You were miserable. I admire your strength for walking away.”

She exhales and gestures at her car. “If you’re here, you might as well help me carry my stuff.”

I smirk. “Bossy. I like it.”

I grab a box from her trunk—papers, picture frames, a coffee mug. Beth takes a bag, and we head upstairs.

Inside, her apartment feels like her: cozy, warm, every surface cluttered with things she loves. Blankets drape the sofa, photos fill the walls, candles fill the air with vanilla and wildflowers. For the first time today, I let myself exhale.

I set the box down and turn to find her collapsed on the couch, hands covering her face.

She sighs. “Go ahead. Say it.”

I cross to her and sit close enough for our knees to touch. “Say what?”

“The lecture. Or the ‘I told you so.’ Or that I never should’ve come back here.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I want to say.”

She peeks at me, doubtful.

“I want you to know I’m proud of you. You stood up for yourself. Left a job that didn’t deserve you. Walked away from people who didn’t see your worth. That takes guts.”

Her lips tremble. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels like I set my whole life on fire.”

“Sometimes, that’s what it takes.” I squeeze her hand. “Things’ll be okay.”

She leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, grounding her and myself.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

A lump rises in my throat. “I missed you, too.”

We sit in silence, her breathing steadying against my side. Then she draws back and looks at me, searching my face.

“What now?”

I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “That’s up to you.”

She bites her lip, thinking. “I can’t stay here, Jack.”

Relief. “Then don’t.”