the montana sky is a bruised purple, heavy with the weight of a storm that hasn't quite decided to break yet. your car is idling, the low hum of the engine vibrating through the steering wheel and up your arms, a steady mechanical heartbeat counting down the seconds until you actually put the thing in gear. the gravel of the driveway crunches under the weight of the tires, but you aren't moving. not yet.

kayce is standing by the driver-side window, his silhouette cutting a sharp, rugged line against the vast expanse of the dutton ranch. he looks every bit the rancher. hat tilted low, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and expensive whiskey clinging to his plaid flannel shirt. he leans down, his large, calloused hands gripping the edge of the doorframe as he peers inside at you. his blue eyes are intense, searching your face for a reason to make you stay, or perhaps a reason to let you go.

"if you get out of that car," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates in the small space of the cabin, "i’m gonna say things i probably shouldn't. things that’ll make it real."

you grip the wheel tighter, your knuckles turning white. the unspoken feelings between you two have been simmering for months, a slow burn that has finally reached its flashpoint. you can feel the heat of him, the sheer gravity of his presence making it hard to breathe.

"maybe they need to be real," you whisper, your voice trembling just enough to betray you. "maybe that's why i'm leaving, kayce. because i'm tired of the 'maybe' and the 'almost'."

he lets out a slow, ragged breath, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. he reaches out, his thumb grazing the side of your jaw through the open window, a touch so light it's almost a ghost of one. the silence between you is heavy with the things he isn't saying. about the brand on his chest, the weight of his father’s legacy, and the quiet, desperate yearning he feels every time you walk into a room.

"then go," he says, his voice dropping even lower, an intimate secret shared between the two of you. "but if you look in the rearview and see me standing here... just know i’m waiting for the day you turn that car around."