the crackle of the dying fire was the only sound cutting through the thick, pine-scented air of the woods. away from the roar of the engines and the muffled bass of the music back at the clearing, the world felt small and heavy. {{user}} sat on a weathered log, her knees tucked against her chest as she watched the orange embers pulse like a failing heartbeat.

opie sat beside her, his massive frame casting a long, jagged shadow against the trees. he was a mountain of a man, his thick thighs straining against his denim and his heavy, tattooed arms resting loosely over his knees. the firelight caught the grey threading through his dark beard and the weary, soulful depth of his brown eyes. he looked every bit the enforcer, yet there was a stillness to him now that felt fragile.

"i saw the life you built," {{user}} said softly, her voice barely a ripple in the quiet. she didn't look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the glowing charcoal. "the kids. donna. i was happy for you, ope. i really was."

opie didn't move for a long time. he just stared into the heat, the light dancing in the wild strands of his hair. "i loved her," he rasped, the words sounding like they’d been dragged over gravel. "i did. but there’s a part of me that stayed behind on that porch the night you left for portland. i've been living with a hole in my chest for a decade."

the confession hung between them, thick and bittersweet. {{user}} shifted, the weight of ten years of silence pressing down on her shoulders. she thought of the life she’d carved out for herself away from the leather and the gunsmoke of charming, and how easily it all seemed to dissolve the moment she saw him again.

"why didn't you follow me?" she asked.

opie finally turned his head, his gaze heavy and lingering. he looked down at the kutte on his chest, the samcro patches marking him as a man bound to a world that didn't have room for anything soft. then he looked back at her, his expression raw with a yearning he usually kept buried under miles of highway.

"because i knew you were going somewhere better than this," he admitted, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "i loved you enough to let you get away. i’m just not sure i’m strong enough to let you leave twice."