Page 30 of Returning to Pine Ridge
“The part where you said there’s nothing in Pine Ridge for you?”
“Yes. Kai, I?—”
I raise my hand to stop him. “You don’t owe me anything, Atlas. I know your life is in Denver. You don’t need to apologize for anything. You never lied about that.”
“But I didn’t speak the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” he says, stepping closer. “I was thinking about work, about money. About all the practical reasons I can’t stay. I wasn’t—” He seems to struggle with the words. “I wasn’t thinking about you.”
“I know we’ve only known each other for a few days,” I say quietly, looking away from him. “I know this is casual. You never promised me anything, Atlas. I’m not expecting promises. But when you said there’s nothing in Pine Ridge for you, I heard it as … I heard it as me being nothing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, urgent.
“I know,” I say, and I do know. But knowing doesn’t make the sting of it any less real. “But that’s what I heard.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
“I spoke to my dad about it,” he says finally. “After I left the café. He pointed out that I could work remotely, that I could look for jobs outside of Denver, that there are options I hadn’t considered. And while we were talking, I realized …”
I look at him, waiting.
“I realized that I was using work as an excuse,” he says. “Because I was scared. I like you, Kai. More than I expected to like someone after just a few days. I’m so scared that I’m messing everything up and that I’ll never have a chance to make it right and that I’ll lose the only good thing that happened to me in a year.”
I turn the coffee cup around, suddenly needing to keep my hands busy. “What are you saying?”
“I want to stay,” he says. “Not just for work or because I have nowhere else to go. But because of you. Because I want to see where this goes with you.”
I look at him, really look at him, and I can see the vulnerability in his expression. The fear that I might not believe him.
“We’ve only known each other for a few days,” I say carefully.
“I know.”
“But I like you too,” I admit, the words coming out softer than I intended. “More than I should, probably. More than makes sense.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “I’ve been hurt before. I’ve been with people who weren’t honest about what they wanted. And I told myself I wouldn’t do this again—wouldn’t let myself fall for someone who wasn’t sure about their feelings for me.”
“I’m sure,” Atlas says. “About staying in Pine Ridge. I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I’m sure about that.”
“And about me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He moves closer, narrowing the distance between us. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been more sure of anything. I’m terrified, but I’m sure.”
I reach out and take his hand, needing the physical connection. “I’m scared too.”
“Of what?”
“Of getting hurt. Of this being temporary. Of you changing your mind once the novelty wears off.”
He squeezes my hand gently. “I won’t change my mind.”
“You can’t promise that,” I say, but there’s no accusation in my voice. Just the truth.
“No,” he agrees. “I can’t. But I can promise that I’m going to try. That I’m going to be honest with you. That I’m not going anywhere.”
