Page 66 of Feels Like Home

“Thing is, I didn’t go back with her,” he says.

“You didn’t?”

“Nope. I spent another two months out there, chasing a dream that wasn’t for me before I could admit she was right. This—” he stops moving and stares out over the ridge— “is what’s right for me.”

I settle my hands on the horn of the saddle and take in the view. Without looking at him, I ask, “How’d you get her to take you back?”

He chuckles softly to himself. “I showed up.”

The words land, an echo of the ones his sons spoke on the way back from the community center. I guess now I know where they got it from. Still, hearing the same message twice in one day? Well, let’s just say I don’t believe in coincidences.

“Just like that, huh?” I say.

He makes a face. “Well, no. Took me about four months of showing up, day after day, but eventually she got the picture that I was here to stay.”

Jensen shifts under me, and I steady him. He wants to run again, but I pat him to calm him down and make him stay put.

“And you were okay with that?” I say. “With giving up on your dream?”

“I’d do it a hundred times over if it meant I got to spend my life with that woman.” He looks at me. “Point is, we’re all stupid when we’re young.”

He nicks Honey, pulls her around, and starts up a walk again. I nudge Jensen to follow, and fall in next to him.

“I haven’t been young for a long time, Briggs.”

We both go quiet for a beat, then he says, “I don’t believe it’s an accident you’re back. It’ll give you a chance to do what you didn’t have the know-how to do back then.”

“Maybe it’s better if I just get through the wedding and go,” I say, not sure I have the know-how to do what needs to be done now.

“Could do that, sure,” he says. “Can’t outrun guilt, though.”

He’s always had a way of cutting right to the heart of it.

“What if I’m too late?” I take my hat off and push a hand through my hair. “What if people don’t want to hear what I have to say?”

It’s why I’ve been dragging my feet with this plan to make it right. I’m not sure where to start. Yesterday, I drove out to Rip McCauley’s place and parked at the end of the driveway. Sat there for twenty minutes trying to figure out what to say if I knocked on his door.

Came up empty and left. I’m no good at this.

Plus, making things right with Hattie feels exponentially more important than everything else I came here to do. The second I saw her, her name moved to the top of my list.

If Hattie let me back into her life, somehow, I think it would be enough. Even if everyone else in this town went on despising me.

Just a couple days ago, it seemed like she was open to it—as a friend. But now? It’s pretty clear she’s had second thoughts, and I get it. I’m a gamble.

Briggs is quiet for a beat, then says, “The right thing is the right thing, and that’s what you’ve gotta do. Not your business how anyone responds.”

I squeeze the horn of the saddle a little tighter, threading the reins through my hand. “Not sure why anyone would want to give me a second chance. Did a good bit of damage while I was here.”

He looks at me. “That was then. Actions speak louder.”

I nod. I get it. There’s one way to move forward.

Just show up.

Show up and prove to these people—to Hattie—that I can be trusted, and let everything figure itself out.

One thing’s for sure. I need to stop putting it off. Time to man up and do what I came here to do.