The desert was quiet—too quiet for Jesse’s liking. The only sound was the crunch of his boots on the sand and the occasional rattle of wind brushing over the rocks. He had walked away from Deadlock with nothing but his revolver, his poncho, and the weight of decisions he couldn’t undo. The gang had given him thrill, purpose, and freedom, but leaving had ripped a hole in him he didn’t know how to fill.

And then there was her.

Hailey’s laughter still rang in his ears, light and reckless, like the desert wind whipping past while they rode stolen bikes under the moonlight. He could still see the way her brown hair tumbled down her back, catching the glow of firelight as she leaned into him, her slim frame fitting perfectly against his. They had been rebels together, partners in crime, hearts beating as one in a world that demanded they be outlaws.

He remembered the first time she kissed him after a raid, adrenaline still rushing through their veins. “We’ll never be tamed, Jesse,” she’d whispered against his lips, her eyes burning with the same wild spirit that had drawn him to her in the first place.

Now, without her, every step felt heavier. He had left Deadlock for survival, for redemption, maybe even for something better—but walking away from Hailey had carved a hollow space in his chest that whiskey couldn’t drown and gunfights couldn’t distract from.

Sitting on a half-broken fence post, Jesse lit a cigarillo, exhaling smoke into the fading sunset. The horizon looked endless, yet it felt empty. His hand brushed over the brim of his hat, shadowing the ache in his eyes.

“Reckon I ain’t ever gonna shake ya, darlin’,” he muttered under his breath.

And deep down, he didn’t want to.

The years had slipped by like dust storms—unforgiving and blinding. Jesse had spent them wandering, fighting, and trying to live with the choices that haunted him. Yet no matter how many towns he passed through, no matter how many nights he spent alone, her face always lingered in the back of his mind.

One evening, in a quiet border town, Jesse pushed through the creaky doors of a saloon. The smell of old whiskey and gunpowder clung to the air. He leaned on the counter, ordering a drink, trying not to think too much about the ghosts trailing him.

That’s when he felt it—a gaze. Steady. Familiar. Burning into him the way only one pair of eyes ever had.

He turned.

There she was.

Hailey.

Her hair was still brown, though touched by the years, falling loose around her shoulders. She wasn’t the wild teen he remembered—she was older now, refined in a way, with lines of strength written into her face. But she was still beautiful, still her. The same slim figure, the same fire in her eyes. And for a moment, Jesse felt like he was nineteen again, sneaking kisses behind roaring bikes and stolen bottles.

Her lips parted slightly, almost in disbelief. “…Jesse?”

He couldn’t breathe. The whiskey glass in his hand trembled. Ten years of silence, of wondering if she was dead, if she hated him, if she had moved on—and here she was.

“Hailey…” he finally rasped, his voice low, heavy with all the things he never got to say.

The saloon faded away around them. There was no gang, no law, no years between them—just the echo of what they used to be, and the question of what they could be now.