“Obviously,” I snort. “You counted on me being helpless.”

“… I just wanted you to be far away from that final moment. And I failed at that too. I didn’t save you when you were sixteen and I didn’t save you the other day. I made you save yourself both times. I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. So I’ll leave, but I left more than just cash in that drawer. If you ever want to see me again, you have a way.”

And then he puts his hat on and walks towards the back room. He stops just before he passes through into the dark hallway, but he doesn’t turn. “Can I ask you one thing? And you can tell me the truth, no matter what.”

I swallow down so many things I want to say right now. I want to stop him from leaving. I want to scream at him for leaving me when I was counting on him to save me. I want to run away and run into his arms at the same time.

“Are you looking for the hard truth or the soft truth?”

I mean it as a joke, but he looks over his shoulder at me and I can tell I just cut him deep. But he recovers and turns his body a little to answer me. “Both. If you have time.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you still have wanted me if I did save you?”

“What?”

“You know. If you hadn’t made me out to be some hero and lived for the day that I came back to kill you. If I never gave you the hush. If none of this ever happened and we didn’t spend those weeks together the way we did. Would you still have wanted me?”

I think about this for a moment, and I have the hard truth on the tip of my tongue. But he came here and put himself out there. Took it back. And I made him a promise of sorts, back at his house in the mountains. I told him all he had to do was say it and I’d believe him. He could’ve said it then and he didn’t. But people can change.

I give him the soft truth instead. Because I can change too. It’s my only hope and I’m gonna hold on to it. So I walk over to him and take his hand. And then I lean up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “No,” I whisper softly.

He drops my hand and walks out.

“Judge a man by how he treats his children.”

– Sydney

For some reason my little act of revenge doesn’t feel as sweet as I thought it would, and the emptiness he leaves behind—both in the bar and in my heart—is overwhelming. Maybe I really did love him? Maybe he does have feelings for me? But how in the hell am I supposed to sort that out now?

It’s unwinnable. I cannot win. If I trust his word right now and I’m wrong? Then what? How many pieces will I break into then?

But if I let him walk away and he really is sorry. If he is the man I truly love and I don’t at least try to find my way through these feelings of betrayal… how many years of regret and sadness will come from making the wrong decision because I’m scared?

I sit in the chair at the table where he waited for me to come back. I have no idea how long he waited here. It could’ve been days for all I know. It took me long enough to get home.

And after I wallow in sadness I brought on myself for what seems like hours, I remember that he said he left me something besides money in the cash register. So I get my ass up and walk back behind the bar. I take out all the stacks of twenties and count it up in my head as I go. Twenty-five thousand dollars.

He didn’t really leave me money. He left me another chance. Maybe to make up for the one he took away from me that night eight years ago. Maybe just to ease his guilt a little. But it’s more than nothing when I add in the way he delivered it.

Humble.

Apologetic.

Sincere.

There’s a phone in the drawer too. Maybe the one he gave me back at the cabin when he wanted me to take the Snowcat and leave. I had in my coat pocket, but when I remembered it when I was on the road in Garrett’s truck, it was gone. Must’ve fallen out when I was running through the woods.

I flick my fingers across the screen and it comes to life.

It’s just a generic background picture with all the standard icons on it. But the green messages icon has a little number one up in the corner.

He had something more to say. Something he didn’t want to say in person.

It scares me a little, if I’m being honest. There’s a very good chance it’s bad news.

But there’s no way I can’t read it. My finger tabs the icon and the message appears.

It’s a video of Merc.

I press play and he gives me a weak smile. “I know the hush made you think you loved me when you didn’t. I can’t change that. I can say I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I’d be lying. Because I love you so much right now and I wish you still felt the same. And I lied about something we talked about back at my house too,” he says, looking down so his dark hair covers his eyes. “No surprise there, I guess.” He looks up again and all I see is pain. “I can do more than kill and cook, Sydney. So I’m gonna show you something genuine. And no matter what you choose to do from here on out. This is real.”

He reaches out of the view of the camera and pulls a guitar in his lap. “I’m a pretty good player.” He smiles and I smile with him. “And I can sing. So I’m gonna sing you this song, and then, just so there’s no misinterpretation of what it means from me to you, I’m gonna tell you.”

He clears his throat, something I now realize he does when he’s nervous, and begins to strum the guitar. His voice is… well, it’s hard to believe that that hard man can sing so soft.

The song is Daughters by John Mayer.

I start crying in the first verse and by the time he’s done, I’m a sobbing mess. He sets the guitar down and folds his hands in his lap. Another gesture of nerves. And then he looks straight into the camera. “Those Company people, Sydney. They did this to you. They took away your right to a childhood. Your right to a father. I don’t have any daughters, Syd. But if we had daughters, I’d be good to them.” He stops for a moment, just enough time for my chin to start trembling as I try to pull myself together. “I’d be good to you too. I’d make everything up to you by breaking this cycle. And your daughters would never, ever have to have a conversation with a brutal killer like this. I would lay my life down for them.” He shrugs apologetically. “It’s all I’ve got to offer so I’ll understand if it’s not enough.”

He reaches out and turns off the recording.

And I have never felt so misled in my entire life. Have I been wrong about him all this time?

Another message makes the phone vibrate in my hand. He must have seen the delivery notice when I opened the video.

It says:

I swear to God, I’d be good to you.

“A real man knows how to treat a woman softly.”

– Case

I watch the message screen for several minutes, just hoping she will write something back. I hope, but I don’t expect it. Because nothing can make up for what I did.

And I’m just about to put the truck in gear and give her the space she needs when the back door of the bar opens. She peeks out and I know immediately that she’s crying.

She takes a step outside and sees me, waiting in my truck down the alley. I get out and walk towards her.

“Syd,” I say, stopping when she’s a few feet away. “I can’t prove myself unless you give me a chance to be the man I know I am. And you can’t know if you love me until I give you a chance to experience it.” I hold out my hand to her. “I don’t have a guarantee and I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I want one, Sydney. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I take it back.”