Ooooh its Friday eve and we all need emotional damage! How about;
15: "I'm afraid you will hurt yourself even more."
Hey Shipz!!!! @igodownwithmyshipz I hope you had a lovely Christmas!!! I'm sorry it took longer than I'd liked to fill this prompt, but the words just kept coming and coming. Lol I hope it was worth the wait. đ¤
On a side note, there's a high probably a second part might be coming down the pipe at some point as well. Enjoy!!!!
Thereâs no dramatic decision, no argument that tips the scale. Just a feeling that keeps tightening in Ellie's chest every time she walks Jacksonâs streetsâtoo many eyes, too many memories packed too close together. The walls feel like theyâre closing in. Even the air feels stale.
Long enough for people to stop staring so openly. Long enough for Maria to stop checking in every day. Long enough for the town to settle her into a shape she doesnât fit anymore.
The farm keeps calling to her.
Not in a hopeful way. Not like a promise of fixing anything. Just open spaces. Quiet. A horizon that doesnât ask questions.
So one morning she loads up her sparse belongings on her horse, Pluto, without telling anyone except Maria and rides out before the sunâs fully up. The road out of Jackson feels wider than she remembers. The farther she gets, the easier it is to breathe, even if every breath still hurts a little.
The farmhouse looks the same when she arrives.
Empty. Still. The porch creaks under her weight like it remembers her. Inside, dust has settled in soft lines across the table, the windows, the floor where JJ once crawled. Ellie stands there longer than she needs to, hand braced against the doorframe, grounding herself.
She doesnât unpack much the first day.
Out here, the nights are loud with wind and insects and the kind of silence that doesnât judge her. The land doesnât care what sheâs done or who sheâs hurt. It just exists. It asks for workâmending fences, tending to the overgrown garden beds, keeping things aliveâand thatâs something Ellie understands. Survival.
Some evenings she sits on the porch and watches the sky change colors, hands curled loosely around her knees. She thinks about Dina. About JJ. About the version of herself who believed she could outrun her ghosts.
She isnât running anymore.
Sheâs just giving herself time to stand still.
Dina doesnât hear about the move from Ellie.
She hears it from Seth, of all people, muttering over a crate of produce like itâs nothing.
"Saw Ellie loaded up and headed east, the farm's direction. I guess she moved back out there."
Dina nods like it doesnât land. Like her chest doesnât hollow just a little.
She isnât angry which surprises her. Anger wouldâve been easierâcleaner. Instead thereâs this dull, familiar disappointment. Not because Ellie left. Dina understands that part. Jackson can feel small even when itâs kind.
Itâs that Ellie didnât tell her.
Not a note. Not a heads-up. Not a quiet, awkward conversation that wouldâve hurt but meant something. Dina reminds herselfâfirmlyâthat Ellie doesnât owe her anything anymore. That bridge collapsed the day Ellie walked away from the farm the first time.
She goes about her days the same. Patrol schedules. JJ. Meals that get eaten half-cold because she forgets sheâs hungry. The thought of Ellie living out there alone slips in when she isnât expecting itâwind on open fields, creaking floors, silence big enough to swallow a person whole.
Then one afternoon, there's murmurings from the clinic.
She hears it from a medic this time, voice low like itâs gossip theyâre pretending isnât.
"Ellie came in a little banged up this morning, messed up her leg pretty good."
Dinaâs body moves before her brain catches up.
The clinic smells like antiseptic, familiar in a way she hates. She scans the cots instinctively, heart tripping when it shouldnât. Thereâs an empty bed near the back, sheets rumpled, a single crutch leaning against the wall.
âEllie?â Dina asks anyway, voice quiet.
The nurse looks up, shaking her head. âShe already left, hun. Didnât want to stay. Just said sheâd manage and hobbled in outta here.â
Dina exhales slowly, hand braced on the edge of the cot. She notices the details she wishes she hadnâtâthe faint, small streaks of dried blood on the sheet, the way the remaining crutch has been adjusted to Ellieâs height and gait.
She isnât mad. Sheâs tired. Tired of finding Ellie only in the past tense. In empty rooms. In places sheâs already been and already decided to leave.
As Dina turns to go, she pauses, fingers curling once in on themselves.
For a split second, she considers saddling Japan and riding out to the farm. Saying you couldâve told me or are you okay or maybe nothing at all.
But the thought follows her home, persistent like a bruise being pressedâEllie hurt, alone, and choosing silence like itâs the only thing she still knows how to control.
Sleep doesn't find Dina that night, instead she lies awake, alternating between tossing and turning and starring at the ceiling. She's relieved Robin asked to take JJ for the weekend since the one thing she hates is being distracted around her son.
Their son, her mind corrects itself.
With a huff of frustration, she throws the covers off and starts pulling together her pack and a set of warm clothes.
Dina rides out at first light.
The world is still blue and soft around the edges when she leaves Jacksonâs gates. Japanâs hooves move steadily beneath her, familiar and patient, like he knows this isnât a patrol and there's no rush. Dina barely notices the cold. Her thoughts are louder than the wind.
When the farmhouse comes into view under the late morning sun, she slows, but doesnât go in right away.
Instead, she stops just outside the gate, sitting tall in the saddle while the place settles into view. The fence lines. The tree with their initials carved into the bark. The barn. The porch that once held laughter and bare feet and mornings that felt like they might last forever. It all rushes in at onceâwhat was, sharp and vivid, and what couldâve been, heavier somehow. A version of life that almost fit. A version of Ellie that stayed.
She remembers Ellie on that porch with JJ balanced on her hip, squinting into the sun like she didnât quite trust it. Remembers arguments that ended in apologies, nights that peaked breathless and panting tangled together, the quiet belief that maybeâjust maybeâtheyâd made it out.
Dina swallows and nudges Japan forward.
Ellieâs horse, Pluto, is tied to the hitching post by the porch, grazing on the tall grass nearby.
That shouldnât surprise her, but it does. It makes everything real in a way rumors and empty clinic cots didnât. Ellie isnât a story here. Sheâs present. Close. Breathing.
Dina dismounts and ties Japan beside Pluto, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary on the knotted reins. The porch creaks under her boots, the sound loud in the quiet morning. She pauses at the door, hand hovering, heart doing that annoying thing where it forgets how to beat normally.
The house smells like old wood and something distinctly Ellie. Itâs bright, curtains open allowing the morning sunlight to cut across the floor. Dina takes it in slowlyâthe sparse set-up, the chair pulled close to the table, the sense that Ellie is living here the way she lives everywhere else lately: halfway.
The dining room isnât a dining room anymore, the space converted into a makeshift living room setup that feelsâŚvery Ellie. The futon couch from her old garage in Jackson is shoved against the wall, its cushions permanently sunken in the middle. A chopped-down coffee table sits in front of it, scarred and uneven, stacked with dog-eared comics and a half-empty mug thatâs gone cold. Itâs lived-in in a way thatâs quiet and unshowy, like Ellie didnât mean for anyone to notice the effort it took.
She rests her hand on the back of the couch for a moment, grounding herself. This wasnât thrown together in a night. Ellieâs been here long enough to make it functional. Comfortable even. That thought lands heavier than Dina expects.
âEllie?â Dina calls, voice low and listening for movement. There is none.
Her eyes drift to the small signs she knows too well. A jacket slung over the back of a chair. A pair of boots kicked off unevenly beside the door. A tension in the room that feels like someone bracing for pain.
She steps farther in, every instinct tuned sharp.
Whatever sheâs come here to sayâyou didnât tell me, are you hurt, why do you keep doing this aloneâit all waits, suspended, as Dina moves deeper into the farmhouse, searching for the person who still knows how to undo her without even trying.
She turns toward the old living room.
She doesnât mean to look. Tells herself sheâs just checking for Ellie, that calling out again might feel too intrusive. But the doorway is open, and habitâyears of shared space, shared livesâpulls her forward before she can stop herself.
Itâs now Ellie's bedroom.
A small, thin mattress is pushed into the corner, laid atop a row of hay bails in lieu of a frame, blankets tangled like theyâve been kicked off more than once. Ellieâs pack rests against the wall within armâs reach of the bed, her journal sitting on top as if arranged by muscle memory.
Dina exhales slowly through her nose.
Of course Ellie took the smaller room. Of course she didnât want the bigger space, the windows that looked out over the fields they once planned to grow old in. This room is inward. Protective. Temporary in the way Ellie insists she is.
Her eyes snag on the details she knows too wellâa flannel shirt tossed at the foot of the bed, a small row of worn, canvus sneakers lined up just so, the faint imprint on the pillow where Ellieâs head would rest, the chips in the night stand's surface from her knife.
It was proof of presence. Proof of solitude.
Dina feels that familiar ache bloom in her chest, sharp and unwelcome.
âYou really donât make this easy,â she murmurs, barely louder than the wind outside.
The question hits Dina all at onceâsharp, undeniable.
Why isnât Ellie sleeping upstairs?
She stops at the foot of the staircase.
The banister is dull beneath her fingers, coated in a thick layer of dust that hasnât been disturbed in a long, long time. Same with the steps. No scuffs, no tracks in the dust. Nothing to suggest anyoneâs been up here sinceâ
Dina swallows and starts to climb.
It does it just like she remembers, a soft, traitorous sound that used to make Ellie laugh and tell her she's going to wake JJ. Dina pauses there for half a second, heart stuttering as she bounces lightly making the step squeak again and again, then keeps going.
At the top, the hallway feels closed-in, air stale and unmoving. Both bedroom doors are shut. Dinaâs gaze flicks to the smaller one first, then settles on the master.
She stands there longer than she means to. Her hand wraps around the knob. She draws in a slow breathâsteady, carefulâthen pushes the door open.
The air inside is thick, stale, and musty, untouched. Dust motes drift lazily through the shaft of morning light as Dina steps just inside. Her eyes go straight to the bedâtheir bed.
It looks exactly the same; as if no one has sat or lain there since the day Dina packed up and left for Jackson. The uncased pillow is still at the foot of the mattress beside the neatly folded sheets and blankets where she left them.
Dinaâs chest tightens so suddenly it almost steals her breath.
Ellieâs been living in this house and hasnât touched this room. Hasnât climbed these stairs. Hasnât allowed herself even the comfort of this space they once shared. Dina presses her lips together, the realization settling heavy and quiet.
She reaches out without thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the mattress, disturbing the dust at last. The room exhales around her, still and aching, holding the shape of a life that almost survived.
Thoughts swirling, Dina backs out of the room and crosses the hall to Ellieâs old studio. The door sticks for a second before giving way, hinges groaning softly in protest. The room beyond is brighter than the bedroom, a thin band of morning light spilling in through the open window. A gentle breeze moves through the space, lifting the dust, stirring the air like the house is breathing again after too long asleep.
The room hasn't changed much since Dina saw it last. Ellie's sketches and posters are still tacked to the wall, her belongings from what feel like another lifetime are still packed neatly on the desk and floor.
Dina steps inside, her eyes adjustingâand then she sees it.
Itâs propped against the rotting window sill, angled carefully, like it was placed with purpose instead of being discarded. Joelâs guitar. The one that once filled the house with crooked chords and half-sung songs. Now the body is warped beyond repair, the wood split and bowed. Several strings have snapped completely, others curled tight around the headstock from the strain, metallic and useless.
Dinaâs breath catches, sharp and painful.
She crosses the room slowly, each step heavier than the last, until sheâs crouching in front of it. She doesnât touch it. She doesnât think she could without breaking something else. The breeze hums faintly through the open window, brushing past the instrument like itâs trying to coax a sound from it that will never come.
Tears slip down Dinaâs cheeks before she realizes sheâs crying. She swipes at her face once, then again, but it doesnât stop. Her shoulders rise and fall with a breath that stutters. Thisâthis feels like proof of something sheâs been afraid to name. Not just that Ellie is hurting, but how deeply. How quietly. How completely.
Ellie didnât just leave this room behind. She left the part of herself that still believed in music. In its ability to put into words what you couldn't. In its powerful connection to Joel.
Dina presses her fingers to her mouth, eyes blurring as she takes in the way the light falls across something that used to be whole and cherished.
It takes some time, but once composed, Dina goes back downstairs. She checks the gardens firstârows neat but sparse, soil turned recently. Then the barn. Empty stalls, dust and hay and the faint smell of animals that had once lived there lingers. Ellieâs nowhere to be found. The quiet presses in again, thick and waiting.
So Dina sits. She sinks onto the old couch, elbows on her knees, hands laced together like sheâs afraid if she doesnât hold herself in place she might unravel. Time stretches thin. The day crawls by inch by inch, sunlight sliding across the floor, climbing the walls, then slowly retreating as afternoon gives way to evening.
When the sun starts its descent toward dusk, a sound finally comesâthe telltale clatter of the west gate latching. Metal on metal. Familiar. Real. Dinaâs head lifts instantly.
A few minutes pass then another sound: heavy, dragging footsteps, uneven, followed by the gentle bang of the rear screen door closing. Dina rises from the couch, heart pounding, and calls out before Ellie can round the corner.
âEllie,â she says, keeping her voice low and steady. âItâs me.â
The footsteps hesitate in the kitchen.
Then Ellie limps into view.
Her bow is slung diagonally across her body. A pair of rabbits hang from a length of twine in one hand, their weight pulling her shoulder down. A crutch is tucked under her other arm, the rubber end worn and muddy. Her movements are stiff, carefulâevery step measured like it costs her something.
She looks tired, but healthy.
Ellie blinks once. Then again.
Her brow furrows slightly, mouth parting like sheâs about to speak but canât find the words. For a heartbeat, she just staresâeyes flitting over Dina like sheâs trying to make sense of a mirage.
ââŚDina?â Ellie finally says, voice quiet and disbelieving. Like saying it out loud might make her disappear. She shifts her weight and winces, grip tightening on the twine.
She stands in the doorway between kitchen and living room, caught halfway between shock and exhaustion, like the world has just handed her something she never expected and doesnât know how to hold.
âI, uhââ Dina clears her throat, the words carefully measured, like sheâs walking across thin ice. âI heard you were seen at the clinic. I justâŚwanted to check on you. Make sure youâre okay.â
"You mean spy on me," Ellie joked lightly.
With an exaggerated eye roll, Dina tilted her head in her patented way. "I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself even more, out here alone."
Ellie huffs a breath thatâs almost a laugh. âIts nothing, really, Iâm fine. Just fucked up my knee.â
Dinaâs brows knit. âHow?â
Ellie hesitates. Her grip tightens on the twine, knuckles whitening.
âThrowing some hay bales down from the loft in the barn,â she says after a beat. âApparently the floorâs rotten in spots.â
The words land a second too late.
âYou fell?â Dina blurts, the worry breaking through before she can temper it.
Ellie doesnât answer. Her gaze drops to the hardwood floor, suddenly intent on the grain, the scuffs, anything but Dinaâs face. Her shoulders hunch just slightly, the silence stretching, loud with everything she isnât saying.
Before Dina fully realizes sheâs moved, sheâs already crossed the room.
Her hands come up gently, instinctively, cupping Ellieâs face like sheâs done a hundred times beforeâthumbs warm against cool skin, palms steady. Dina searches her face, worry etched deep, eyes flicking over the split lip that never quite healed right, the tired shadows under her eyes.
âAre you okay?â Dina asks softly.
Ellie goes completely still. Ramrod straight, like the contact has short-circuited her brain. For a moment Dina thinks sheâs made a mistakeâcrossed a line that no longer belongs to her.
Just a fraction. Barely there. And she leans into Dinaâs touch, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders for a brief, fragile secondâlike her body remembers something her mind wonât let her have; like muscle memory has taken over before pride can intervene.
Ellie notices that Dina notices.
Dinaâs eyes search Ellie's, the concern doesnât leaveâit sharpens.
âAt the clinic⌠there was blood on the sheets," Dina says quietly.
Ellie hesitates, jaw tightening for just a beat. âItâs nothingââ She exhales. âI scraped up my arm and my back.â
Before Dina can say anything else, Ellie hooks her thumb under the hem of her shirt and lifts it, just enough.
The sight steals Dinaâs breath.
Bruising blooms dark and ugly along Ellieâs ribs, varying shades of purple bleeding into each other. Scrapes rake across her skin, angry and raw, disappearing around her side and onto her back where the fall mustâve twisted her hard. It looks painful in a way Ellie didnât bother to name.
âOh shitâŚâ Dina murmurs, before she can stop herself, her hands rise, gentle as breath, fingertips barely grazing the damaged skin. Ellie stiffens immediatelyâevery muscle locking, breath hitching like sheâs braced for something.
âIâm sorry,â Dina says at once, hands freezing in place. âI didnât mean to hurt you.â
Ellie shakes her head, small but sure. She lifts her gaze and catches Dinaâs, green locked with brown, steady and intent.
âYou didnât,â Ellie says quietly. âNot even a little.â
The words land between them, soft but firm. Dinaâs hands remain where they are for a second longerânot pressing, not movingâjust there. Ellieâs breathing slows. The tension eases, just enough.
For a moment, neither of them pulls away.
Then Ellie lets the hem of her shirt fall back into place and steps back slowly, carefully, disguised as shifting her weight to favor her other leg. Dina lets her hands fall, fingers curling slightly at her sides, heart thudding too hard in her chest.
âIâll be okay,â Ellie says quietly. She adjusts the crutch under her arm and lifts the rabbits slightly, like proof of function. Proof of survival. âDidnât break anything. JustâŚneed to be careful for a bit.â
The words are meant to reassure and silence settles between them for a beat. Not awkwardâjust heavy. Like a held breath neither of them is ready to release.
Dina watches her, worry still etched into her features, but thereâs something else there too. Relief. Care. The quiet, unmistakable truth that even after everything, her touch still matters.
Ellie felt it. They both did.
Dina lifts one brow, voice dry but threaded with concern. âSo you spent the day hunting instead of, oh I donât know, resting after skydiving off the barn?â
Ellie shrugs with a faint smile. She pivots toward the sink, easing the rabbits down with care that contradicts her tone. âI gotta eat.â
She turns back to face Dina and thumbs over her shoulder toward the kitchen.
âAre you hungry?â she asks. âBetween the hares and the veggies from the garden, Iâll have plenty of stew.â
âIf you want to stay for dinner.â
The words hang thereâcasual on the surface like the offer isn't a big deal and loaded underneath. Not please. Not I want you to. Just an open door, left deliberately unguarded.
Ellie waits, weight carefully off her injured leg, eyes fixed on Dina like sheâs bracing for either answer.
âSure,â Dina says, already moving toward the counter, tone calm but immovable. âBut Iâm helping so you can rest.â
Thereâs no edge to it. No challenge. Just finality.
Ellie opens her mouth like she might argueâhabit more than intentâthen thinks better of it. She nods once, resolute, and limps into the kitchen, resting has never been a strength of hers, but she's so goddamn tired and sore. She sets herself up at the sink to start butchering the rabbits, movements economical, practiced.
Dina steps in beside her, tugging the elastic hair tie from her wrist and pulling her long curls up into a bunâquick, efficient, beautiful in a way that still drives Ellie insane.
Ellieâs eyes flicker up despite herself, catching on Dina's tan slender neck and her mouth waters involuntarily, recalling the feel of the tender skin beneath her lips and the gentle moans they could elect. She shakes her head and forces her eyes back down to her work like sheâs been caught doing something dangerous.
Dina grabs a knife and starts chopping vegetables, the steady thock thock thock of the blade filling the space between them.
They fall into a rhythm without meaning to.
Ellie rinses, trims, sets aside. Dina chops, slides, reaches for the bowl without looking. They pass things back and forth with murmured here and thanks, shoulders brushing, timing so in sync itâs muscle memory rather than thought.
It feels like before. The realization lands softly, almost reverently.
Gradually, Ellieâs shoulders ease. Dinaâs breathing evens out. The house seems to exhale with them, kitchen filling with the comforting aroma of simmering onions and herbs, the low hum of something steady and known.
For a while, neither of them speak.
The rhythm carries themâfamiliar, practiced, and achingly gentleâa reminder that even after everything, some things between them were never really lost.
When the stewâs finally ready, they carry their bowls into the living room.
Dina takes the couch, settling back against the worn cushions. Ellie lowers herself into the chair across from her with a careful hiss, stretching her injured leg out straight in front of her like the clinic probably instructed her to. Steam curls up from their bowls, filling the room with the smell of something hearty and grounding.
For a few minutes, thereâs only the sound of spoons against ceramic before Dina breaks it first.
âI like what youâve done with the place,â she says, swallowing a bite before dipping back in. Her tone is sincere. âItâs a nice, cozy home.â
Ellie shrugs, eyes on her bowl.
âItâs just a house,â Ellie replies simply. âSomething to keep me dry and warm.â
Dinaâs brows knit together. âI donât understandââ
âItâs okay,â Ellie cuts in, not unkindly, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth like she doesnât want to linger there. âI donât expect you to.â
She watches Ellie over the rim of her bowlâthe loose way sheâs holding herself, the absence of that sharp, coiled tension Dinaâs grown used to seeing in Jackson. Out here, Ellie seems⌠steadier. Quieter. Like the edges have dulled just enough for her to breathe.
It unsettles Dina more than the anger ever did. Because this version of Ellie feels real. And maybe worseâshe wonders if itâs a version that doesnât need Jackson at all.
They donât talk much after that. They eat in comfortable silence, the kind that doesnât demand filling. By the time their bowls are empty, the last of the sunlight has slipped away, leaving the room washed in blue-gray shadows. Dina gathers the dishes despite Ellieâs half-hearted protests and disappears into the kitchen.
When she comes back, Ellie is coming in the front door to crouch by the hearth, coaxing a fire to life as the chill creeps in. Flames catch and throw warm light across the room just as thunder rumbles low and distant.
âShit,â Dina mutters, glancing toward the window. Clouds are rolling in fast, dark and heavy against the dimming horizon. She slips her jacket on, already resigned. âIâm going to be drenched by the time I get back to Jackson.â
Ellie straightens slowly, the firelight dancing across her face, sharpening and softening her all at once.
âYou can stay,â Ellie offers casually like itâs no big deal. âHead back in the morning.â She hesitates, eyes dropping, then lets out a quiet, sad chuckle as she points down the hall. âBedâsâŚnot upstairs anymore. Itâs in the living room now.â
Dina turns from the window to look at her. Thereâs hesitation in her dark eyesânot at the idea of staying, but at the thought of displacing Ellie, of taking space Ellie has already shrunk herself into. She shakes her head gently.
âThatâs really sweet, but I can take the couch. You need the rest more than I doââ Dina gestures toward the crutch, ââespecially with your leg.â
Ellieâs jaw sets immediately. She shakes her head, stubborn as ever, and Dina recognizes it for what it is a wall sheâs not going to climb tonight.
âOkay,â Dina says softly, letting it go.
The air between them thickensâwarm from the fire, charged with familiarity and something neither of them is brave enough to name yet.
Dina thumbs over her shoulder toward the front door. âI should put Japan in the barn. Keep him out of the rain.â
Ellie snorts, turning toward the kitchen.
âAlready done,â she calls back over her shoulder.
She watches Ellie disappear down the short hallway, understanding clicking into placeâEllie slipping out earlier while Dina washed dishes, taking care of it without a word, without asking. Of course she did.
Dina exhales, something in her chest loosening.
She slips her jacket off and drapes it back over the arm of the couch, the thunder rolling closer outside as the farmhouse settles around them, warm and alive againâfor tonight, at least.
From the living room, Dina can hear Ellie moving around in the kitchenâcupboards opening, bottles shifting, the soft clink of glass against glass. A flash of lightning splits the sky, brilliant enough to momentarily flood the farmhouse with white light, thunder cracking close on its heels.
Ellie reappears a moment later with two mismatched glasses, each filled with three fingers of whiskey. She offers one without ceremony.
Dina takes it, fingers brushing Ellieâs for just a second too long, sending an electric current up her arm. She lifts the glass and takes a sip, eyes never leaving Ellieâs as she drinks, the familiar burn rolling warm through her chest. Green eyes meet hers steadily, unreadable and entirely too close to home.
Ellie jerks her chin toward the screen door.
âFeel like watching the storm roll in over the plains?â she asks quietly. âAlways was your favorite.â
Dinaâs gaze flicks to the door, then back to Ellie. A slow smirk curves her lips before she turns and heads outside, settling into one of the rocking chairs on the porch. She breathes in deep.
The air smells like rain and earth and electricity. Lightning flickers low on the horizon, illuminating the fields in brief, ghostly flashes. Dina remembers nights just like thisâafter JJ was finally asleep, the house quiet except for the storm. Ellieâs arms around her from behind, solid and warm, Dina leaning back into her chest like it was the safest place in the world.
It was. And God, she misses it.
The screen door bangs open behind her, pulling her sharply from the memory.
Ellie steps out, glass in one hand, the whiskey bottle tucked into her belt, the blanket from the couch slung over her shoulder. The rain hasnât started yet, but the wind is picking up, tugging at her hair, at the hem of her shirt.
âShit,â Dina says, starting to stand. âIâm sorry, I shouldâve taken your glassââ
Ellie waves her off with a huff. âNah, its ok.â She limps over, setting the bottle down on the old tree stump theyâd decided to use as a table last year. âPretty sure I was a pack mule in another life.â
She steps closer and drapes the blanket around Dinaâs shoulders, tucking it in like itâs instinct. Dina looks up at her, fondness softening her features.
Ellie shrugs. âYou always get cold when the wind kicks up.â
Thunder rolls again, closer this time, and Dina pulls the blanket tighter around herselfânot just against the chill, but against the quiet, aching truth settling in her chest.
Some habits never really die.
The storm reaches them all at onceârain crashing down in great, thundering sheets, lightning forking across the sky so bright it turns the plains silver for a heartbeat at a time. They sit side by side, shoulders nearly touching, whiskey warming their chests as the porch fills with the steady roar of it all. The wind tugs at the blanket but doesnât chase them inside. Not yet.
Ellie lets out a quiet chuckle, eyes tracking the horizon as another flash blooms. âYou remember the first storm after we moved out here?â
Dina doesnât even hesitate. She throws her head back with a full-body laugh and smacks Ellieâs arm playfully. âYouâre still a dick for scaring the shit outta me!â
Ellie laughs too, lifting a hand in half-hearted defense when Dina threatens another hit. âHow was I supposed to know you'd lean forward with your nose practically pressed to the window?â
âOh please,â Dina shoots back, tryingâand failingâto glare at her. âYou went outside in the pitch black, storming weather and then called my name, you ass. You waited until I was right up against the screen before you jumped up and yelled boo.â
Ellieâs laugh breaks free, bright and unguarded. âOkay, okayââ
âYouâre lucky you didnât scare me into labor right then and there,â Dina adds, dissolving into laughter again.
Ellie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, shaking her head. âJesus. Fair.â
The rain pounds harder, thunder rolling low and deep overhead.
âWe did have some good times out here,â Ellie says quietly once her laughter fades.
Dina nods, the smile lingering as they lift their glasses and sip in unison. The moment stretchesâsoft, nostalgic, fragile.
Dina is quiet for a moment, then shifts slightly in her chair. âCan I ask you something?â
Ellie snorts softly, lifting her glass. âLike Iâve ever been able to stop you before.â She takes a sip, eyes glinting with a familiar, crooked smirk.
Dina smiles despite herself.
âWhyâd you move back out here?â she asks. Not accusing, just wanting to understand.
Ellieâs smirk fades. She rolls the glass slowly between her palms, watching the amber liquid catch the light seeping through the livingroom window. For a few seconds she doesnât answer, eyes drifting back out toward the fields.
âJackson felt like a tomb,â Ellie says finally.
Dinaâs breath stills, but she doesnât interrupt.
âEverywhere I went, there were ghosts,â she continues quietly. âPeople I've lost. Things I did. Things I didnât.â Her jaw tightens. âEven the good memories feelâŚheavy there. Like theyâre stacked on top of each other and Iâm buried under them.â
Thunder rolls, low and distant.
âThe walls started feeling like they were closing in,â Ellie adds. âI couldnât breathe. Couldnât think. Iâd wake up and feel like I was trapped.â
She shrugs, small and tired. âOut here, at least the skyâs big enough to remind me Iâm still alive.â
Dina nods slowly, eyes never leaving Ellieâs profile.
âYeah,â she says softly. âI get that.â
âAt least your neighbors are much more respectful out here,â Dina says lightly, the corner of her mouth tipping up.
Ellie huffs a laugh and nods. âI don't know. Thereâs a couple raccoons nearby that are real assholes. They're on my shitlist.â
Dina chuckles, shaking her head. âYeah, but at least they donât gossip nonstop. I swear, word travels faster now than it did when people had those mobile phoneâŚthings.â She makes a vague circling gesture with her hand, like sheâs trying to summon the memory out of thin air.
Ellie snorts. âYeah, I definitely donât miss the gossip train.â Her expression shifts, just a touch, not bitterâjust rueful. âLord knows my return gave them plenty to talk about for a few months.â
Dina glances at her, careful.
âPeople talk,â she says quietly. âThey always will.â
âYeah,â Ellie replies, staring out at the rain-soaked fields. âDoesnât mean I have to stick around and listen it.â
The thunder rolls again, softer this time, and Dina bumps her knee lightly against Ellieâs in silent agreement. The storm keeps coming, the plains stretching wide and dark beyond themâno whispers, no prying eyes. Just rain, wind, and the small, shared comfort of being understood.
Then Dina speaks again, voice gentler now. "Can I ask you something else?"
Ellie nods, not bothering with wit.
âWhy are you sleeping in the living room?â
Ellieâs eyes widen just a fraction as thunder cracks above them. She takes a beat before answering. âItâs easier with my leg right now.â
Dina doesnât look at her. She watches the rain instead, the rhythmic drops pattering against the overhang and spilling into the flower beds beyond the railing. She exhales slowly, steadying herself.
âWhen I got here, I looked for you...I went upstairs,â Dina says at last.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ellie stiffen.
âI know you donât go up there, El,â Dina continues softly. âEven when your knee isnât messed up.â She finally turns her head, meeting Ellieâs gaze. âI know you haven't slept in our bed...and I think I know why, but...â
The surging storm around them fills the space when Ellie doesnât immediately answer. She stares out into the darkness, jaw tight, fingers curled around her glass like it might anchor her. After a long moment, she swallows.
âBecause it feels like yours,â Ellie says quietly, truthfully. âAnd I donâtâŚI donât feel like I deserve to be there.â
The words settle heavy between them, carried on the roar of the raindrops, honest and raw and said without lookingâlike that makes them easier to survive.
Dina turns toward her fully, voice soft but certain. âEllie, this house is yours. You deserve to be comfortable in your home.â
Ellieâs gaze drops to her own hands. She picks absently at her fingers, skin rough, nails bitten short.
âItâs not thoughâŚitâs not my home,â Ellie starts, the words catching in her throat. She stops, jaw tightening.
Dina doesnât rush her, she just waits.
Ellie draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, like sheâs bracing herself for something painful.
âItâs not my home because youâre not here,â Ellie blurts, the words tumbling out before she can stop them. âAnd I know thatâs not fair to say. I know itâs my fault, that Iâm the reason weâre notââ Her voice breaks. âI left.â
She inhales again, sharper this time, eyes clamping shut. She wants to look at Dina, wants to see her, but she canât. Canât face the hurt she knows lives thereâthe hurt she caused.
âBut I donât want to lie to you anymore, Dina,â Ellie says quietly. She finally forces her eyes open and finally looks at her. "I won't..."
Dinaâs gaze has fallen to her lap, eyes shining and dangerously close to spilling over.
âYouâre my home,â Ellie says, simple and devastating all at once.
The words hang between them, fragile, but honest.
Dinaâs breath catches. Not sharplyâjust enough to hurt.
âAnd I know I don't have the right to say that,â Ellie adds quickly, quietly. "I just, I promised myself I wouldnât lie to you, not anymore. And I intend to keep it.â
Ellieâs words hang between them, heavier than the thunder rolling overhead, heavier than the rain beating down around the porch. Youâre my home. Itâs not said to convince. Itâs not said to fix anything. Itâs said like a confession Ellieâs been carrying alone for far too long.
For a long moment, Dina doesnât speak.
She stares down at her hands, knuckles pale. Rain splashes against the railing, wind tugging at the blanket around her shoulders. Her throat tightens, emotions stacking up so fast she canât sort through themârelief, grief, love, resentment, longingâall tangled together.
Dinaâs thumb shifts against her glass, slow and thoughtful.
âYou know,â Dina says quietly, eyes still forward, âwhat one of my favorite memories is from our time out here?â
Ellieâs breath catches just a little, but she doesnât look at her. She lets Dina talk.
âI was so pregnant,â Dina continues with a faint, almost-smile. âLikeâŚunreasonably whale-sized pregnant. Everything hurt. I cried if you left the room too long.â She chuckles softly. âGod, I was so clingy.â
Ellie huffs a quiet laugh. âYeah, I noticed.â
Dina smiles at that, then her voice softens. âYou didnât complain, though. One night you justââ She gestures vaguely with her free hand. âYou dragged a bunch of the couch cushions out here, onto the porch like you had some grand plan. Sat down and pulled me in between your legs.â
The memory sharpens as Dina speaks it aloud.
âI leaned back against your chest,â Dina says, her voice growing steadier, more intimate. âAnd you wrapped that stupid blanket around us like you were afraid the wind might steal me away.â She swallows. âYou held me there. Hands on my stomach. Chin on my shoulder, like that was exactly where I belonged.â
The rain picks up, louder now, but Dina barely seems to notice.
âI felt so safe,â she continues. âSoâŚloved. Like nothing bad could touch me as long as you were behind me.â Her fingers tighten briefly around her glass. âI didnât have to be strong. I didnât have to worry. I could just..be.â
Ellieâs jaw tightens. She stares out into the yard, eyes bright, throat working.
âI miss that,â Dina admits quietly. âThat sense of security...being held like that...knowing you had me no matter what. Like I could finally stop bracing for the worst.â
She finally turns her head, just enough to glance at Ellieâs profile lit by distant lightning.
âAnd I know,â Dina adds, voice trembling but honest, âIâll never find that again.â
Ellieâs breath hitches, eyes closing.
Dina exhales, slow and deliberate, like sheâs steadying herself before stepping off a ledge.
âBut the truth is, I donât want to find it with anyone else,â she says. âI donât want it if it isnât you.â
Ellie turns to her then, really looks at her. Guarded hope flickers in her green eyesâcareful, afraid to flare too bright, like sheâs learned what happens when hope gets reckless. The rain drums on, thunder rolling low, but the world feels quieter somehow.
âDinaâŚâ Ellie starts, then stops, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
âI spent a long time,â Dina says slowly, âtrying to make peace with the idea that I wasnât enough. That JJ wasnât enough. That we werenât enough to keep you here.â Her voice wobbles despite her best effort. âSo hearing that Iâm your home after all of thatâit still hurts, Ellie.â
Ellie nods, eyes shining now, jaw clenched tight. âI know...â
Dina finally looks at her.
Rain-slicked light flickers across Ellieâs faceâopen, raw, terrified in a way Dina hasnât seen in a long time. Not guarded. Not angry. Just honest.
âBut,â Dina continues softly, âthat doesnât mean I donât feel it too.â
Ellieâs breath stutters.
Dina shifts slightly on the chair, turning more fully toward her. She doesnât reach outânot yetâbut her voice is gentler now, steadier. âHome isnât just a place, Ellie. Itâs trust. Itâs safety. Itâs knowing someone will stay even when things get unbearable.â
Ellie nods again, tears finally slipping free.
âI know. And I donât expect you to give that back to me. Not now, maybe not ever.â Ellie scrubs at her face with the heel of her hand, frustrated. âI just need you to hear what I'm about to say, loud and clear," she says, voice low and steady in a way that costs her something. âAnd I need you to believe me because I've never meant anything more in my life...â
Dina looks at her fully now. Attention completely focused auburn hair and green eyes.
âMe leaving had nothing to do with you not being enough,â Ellie continues. âYou wereââ Her voice catches, and she swallows hard. âYou were always everything to me...you still are.â
Dinaâs breath stutters, but she doesnât interrupt.
âI just⌠I didnât feel safe around you anymore,â Ellie admits quietly. âNot because of you, but because of me.â She shakes her head, frustrated. âThe panic attacks were getting worse. I could feel them coming on and I couldnât stop them, and every time they hit, Iâd see it in your face. How tired you were. How scared.â
Ellieâs eyes gloss over, fixed on some memory Dina wishes she could erase.
âAnd JJ,â Ellie says, voice breaking. âThat day in the barnâŚthe way he looked at me.â She squeezes her eyes shut. âI terrified him, Dina. I could see it. And I knew in that moment that if I stayed, I was gonna keep hurting the two people I loved most without meaning to.â
The rain fills the silence she leaves behind.
âI thought the best thing I could do was remove myself,â Ellie continues. âGive you both peace. I justâŚdidnât know where to go. Didnât have a plan. Just knew I couldnât keep falling apart in front of you.â
She laughs softly, humorless and bitter. âThen Tommy shows up with that fucking map and a guilt trip and suddenly running felt like it had a direction.â
Ellie finally looks at Dina, eyes red but unwavering.
"I thought about you every day,â she says. âEvery single one. I never stopped loving you, not for a second.â Her voice drops to something raw and bare. âI just didnât think I deserved you anymore.â
Dinaâs eyes shine, tears finally slipping free. She shakes her head slowly, the weight of Ellieâs confession settling into something heavy and fragile all at once.
Ellie watches her, terrified and hopeful in equal measure, like sheâs laid her heart out on the table and doesnât know if itâll be taken or shattered into a million pieces.
âI, ah...I needed you to know that,â Ellie finishes quietly.
The storm rages on, thunder cracking so close it rattles the porch boards.
Dina closes her eyes briefly, then opens them again, resolve settling in her chest alongside the ache. She doesnât speak right away. She stares out at the darkness, jaw tight, like if she looks at Ellie too soon she might shatterâor worse, say something she canât take back.
When she finally does turn, her eyes are wet but steady.
âDo you have any idea,â Dina says quietly, âhow many nights I replayed all of that in my head?â
Ellieâs breath catches.
âI saw the panic, Ellie. I saw how hard you were trying.â Dina exhales shakily. âBut you didnât give me a choice. You decided what was best for us without trusting me to stand with you.â
Ellie nods, shame written all over her face. âI know.â
Dina softens at that, just a little.
âAnd yeah,â Dina says, voice breaking, âJJ was scared that day. But he was scared because you were hurting, not because youâre dangerous. Not because you donât belong with us.â
The word "us" hangs between them, fragile and terrifying.
Dina reaches out with her free hand, hesitates, then gently rests it over Ellieâs knuckles.
âI wonât pretend that what you did didnât break me,â she admits. âIt did. You broke my heart, El. You broke our life. And I donât know if Iâll ever fully forgive you for that.â
Ellie flinchesâbut Dina isnât done.
âBut hearing you say this?â Dina continues softly. âKnowing you didnât leave because you stopped loving us⌠that matters more than I can explain.â
Dina's gaze meets Ellieâs, unwavering now and she squeezes her hand, just once.
âAnd for what itâs worth,â Dina adds, voice gentle but firm, âyou donât get to decide youâre unlovable or unworthy of coming home. Not on your own.â
Thunder rolls overhead as if to punctuate Dina's point.
Dina exhales, leaning back in her chair, exhaustion and relief tangled together.
"I can't promise anything, El. I can't promise forgiveness, I can't promise a future," Dina says quiety. "But I'm willing to try because despite everything, I still love you."
Ellie lets out a breath sheâs been holding for what feels like years. She doesnât trust her voice for fear she might shatter this fragile thing Dina just placed between them. So instead, she sets her glass down on the stump and pushes herself to her feet, weight unsteady on her good leg.
Dina is up instantly, like sheâs been waiting for this moment.
Thereâs no hesitation, no second-guessing. Dina wraps her arms around Ellie, pressing her face into Ellieâs shoulder as if sheâs afraid Ellie might vanish again if she doesnât hold on tight enough.
Ellie freezes for half a heartbeat. Then instinct takes over.
Her arms come up slowly, reverently, like sheâs handling something sacred. She holds Dina against her chest, one hand splaying wide between her shoulder blades, the other curling into the back of her shirt. She holds her carefully at firstâafraid of hurting her, afraid of taking too muchâbefore the restraint cracks and she pulls her closer, breathing her in.
Dina smells like vanilla and whiskey and something achingly familiar.
The storm fades to background noise. The thunder, the wind, the world beyond the porch all dissolve as they stand wrapped around each other, clinging like survivors to driftwood.
Dinaâs body trembles. Not with fear, but relief. The kind that comes after holding yourself together for too long. Her fingers curl into Ellieâs shirt, grounding herself.
Ellie feels it, she feels everything.
The weight of what she did. The ache of what she lost. The fragile, terrifying hope of what might still be possible.
Her throat burns. Her eyes sting. She presses her forehead into Dinaâs hair, breathing shakily, as if every breath is proof sheâs allowed to be hereâallowed to hold her like this.
Ellie doesnât say I've got you, but her arms do.
They stand there longer than either of them realizes, swaying slightly as the wind shifts, rain misting the porch. Ellieâs grip tightens whenever Dinaâs breath hitches, grounding her the way Dina once did for her through nightmares.
They don't know what the future holds, their hearts are still bruised but they no longer have to pretend there isnât something real between them.
They're not fixed, not healed, but they're no longer alone.
