Thursday at Boone’s
Every week she swore it was the last time. Every week, he made her forget.
Author Note:
Hey Westonberry residents—
I know you’re waiting on the next installment of Anthony’s Angel, and don’t worry, it’s coming. In the meantime, here’s something I wrote a while back. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so it just chilled on my hard drive for a bit. But you know what? Eff it—why not let it see the light of day. That’s what this space is for. Hope you enjoy this little something while you wait.
Content Warning:
This story contains explicit sexual content, including graphic language and descriptions of oral and penetrative sex, unprotected sex, and erotic power dynamics. It also deals with themes of infidelity, emotional neglect within a long-term relationship.
The first crack of thunder rolled through Juniper just as he slid two fingers inside her, slow like molasses as if he had all the time in the world.
Ruby-Mae Monroe’s back arched off the hood of Boone Carter’s truck, palms braced on the hot metal like it might hold her together. The engine still ticked beneath her bare thighs, heat rising in waves around them like the storm had crawled inside too.
Her blouse clung to her like wet silk — damp, open, barely hanging on to her soft caramel skin. Her pants were long gone, somewhere near the bay door, forgotten in the heat of need. Wide brown eyes locked on his, mouth parted like a prayer. Her panties? Pushed to the side. Just enough for Boone to get to what she wanted to offer.
Boone didn’t speak at first.
He just bent between her legs. A man made of thunder and tension, his broad shoulders haloed in the flicker of a single hanging bulb, the chain above it swaying slightly from the wind outside. The garage smelled like motor oil, rain, and something faintly sweet, probably the open soda bottle sweating on the workbench.
Ink coiled up both of his arms, dark and sharp beneath damp skin, and the white T-shirt stretched tight over muscle and grit, the kind built from years under hoods and under pressure. His forearms were thick, veins raised, hands stained with grease and God knows what, but when he touched her, he did it like she was breakable.
His beard was full, neatly lined, the kind you felt before you saw. And when the light hit just right, she could see the tattoos that climbed his neck like stories he didn’t talk about.
Boone Carter didn’t move like a mechanic.
He moved like a man with intent.
Like every inch of him was a slow burning answer to a question she’d been too scared to ask out loud.
The concrete floor was slick in places, stained with old grease and fresh sin. Rusted tools hung on pegboard walls, everything arranged with the kind of order only a man who worked with his hands and held his silence could manage. A radio sat in the corner, unplugged, cracked open like it had given up trying to drown out the sound of memories.
Boone’s hands, rough from turning wrenches and pulling engines, moved over her skin like reverence. Not gentle, but intentional. Like he was tuning her. Sharpening her.
His mouth dragged up the inside of her thigh, lips brushing skin that trembled under his touch. And all around them, the shop watched in shadows and low light, holding their secret like it had done a hundred times before.
When he reached the edge of her pussy, he paused like a man about to pray.
“You come in here needin’ a tune-up again?” he asked, as his fingers kept moving. “Or just miss me under you?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but a sound—half moan, half sob.
Outside, rain hammered the tin roof in angry bursts. Wind curled through the cracks in the garage door like it was trying to peek inside. The storm was loud, but her need was louder. But Boone didn’t wait for her to get it together for an answer.
He pressed his mouth to her with purpose. Tongue moving like he knew every inch of her, cause he did. He knew what made her writhe, what made her beg, what made her legs shake like the Holy Ghost had caught her by the throat.
Ruby gasped, one hand flying to his head. Her hips bucked, curses tumbling from her lips between ragged breaths.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
She’d promised herself last week — hell, the month before — that she was done. That she’d go back to the quiet ache of motherhood, to a relationship that wasn’t dead but damn sure wasn’t living. Back to cold shoulders and reheated dinners. To library shelves that didn’t ask too many questions. To pretending love and survival were the same thing.
But then the storm rolled in. And Boone Carter had a way of making her forget her own damn name, let alone her own promises.
He groaned against her like her taste was the first real thing he’d had all day. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, pulling her closer, until she was coming undone on the hood of his truck—legs trembling, nails scraping metal, jaw clenched just to keep from crying out his name loud enough to wake the whole damn street.
And still, he didn’t stop.
Didn’t lift his head.
Didn’t give her space to second-guess a damn thing.
She’d been locking up the library when the power cut out. Storm coming in sideways, wind dragging bits of the past down Main Street. Torn flyers, a broken bookmark, a takeout receipt with someone else’s regrets scrawled in blue ink.
Her umbrella flipped inside out before she hit the parking lot. By the time she reached her car, her hair was stuck to her cheeks and her hands shook on the steering wheel.
She could’ve gone home.
Microwaved something pitiful. Watched Martin reruns under a throw blanket and pretended she wasn’t aching from the inside out.
Instead, she pulled into Boone Carter’s gravel lot, headlights cutting through the rain like they were searching for him. He was under a lifted Ford, legs sticking out like punctuation. When he rolled out and saw her, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask why she was there. Just wiped his hands slow on a rag, like he’d been expecting her all along.
“Truck been actin’ up again?” he asked.
“No,” she said, stepping into the mouth of the garage like a woman stepping into sin. “But..I want to.”
Now she was bent over that truck — blouse wrinkled, thighs trembling from the kind of pressure her man at home hadn’t given her in months.
“Boone…” she gasped, the sound catching in her throat like a secret slipping loose.
“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and tight against her flesh as his fingers pumped deep and unrelenting, his mouth locked around her clit like it belonged to him. “Let it out, baby. Give it to me.”
The words vibrated through her, thick and soaked in possession.
His tongue flicked, then flattened. His fingers curled just right. And all Ruby could do was fall apart, every cry pulled from her like prayer in the dark.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered, voice soaked in desperation and something rawer than want.
Boone looked up, lips slick, grin slow, like the devil himself had taught him how to smile.
“My fingers and mouth not enough for you?” he asked, voice thick with gravel and heat, the words dragging across her like sandpaper and silk.
“I—” Her hips rolled back toward him, seeking more, chasing something her man at home hadn’t given her in months, willing to repeat herself she wanted him so bad. “I need you inside me, Boone.”
His grin faded, replaced by something darker. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rough as his palm as he gripped her hip, thumb digging into soft flesh like he was holding back the storm in his chest. “’Cause I ain’t the man you go home to.”
“I don’t care,” she whispered, but it came out broken, more plea than defiance. “Please.”
She didn’t want the warning. Didn’t want the weight of his conscience on a night like this. She wanted the escape. The break. The ruin. Boone’s jaw clenched. He looked down at her, laying over his truck, wet and waiting and so far gone she was shaking.
“Ain’t got a condom, Ruby,” he confessed, like that meant the door should close.
Her whole body stiffened. She could’ve slapped the smirk off his face. He always had one. Didn’t he know by now she couldn’t stay away? Couldn’t he feel it in his damn bones the way she did?
“Just pull out,” she hissed, throat burning.
“You sure ‘bout—”
“Do it,” she snapped, sitting up. “Or don’t. Just—fuck me.”
Boone froze.
Everything in him went still except his dick, hard as steel and pulsing against his zipper. Her voice hit something inside him, low and primal, something he tried to keep buried most days. But Ruby? Ruby pulled it up like blood from a well.
He stared at her, this woman who didn’t belong to him, who came in shaking and left dripping, who smelled like library books and trouble, who shouldn’t have been here and didn’t give a damn anymore.
Half of him wanted to walk away. The other half? The darker half? Wanted to leave her too full to think.
He clenched his jaw, eyes raking over her—panties soaked and twisted to the side, legs parted just enough to ruin every ounce of restraint he had left.
Ruby was so damn beautiful, it hurt.
Hair wild and falling down her back in thick, dark curls—the kind a man could get lost in, fingers tangled while she moaned his name. Her skin, deep caramel and glowing even in the stormlight, looked like it had been kissed by honey and hard times. Her lips were full, parted now with the kind of breathless hunger that made a man forget the difference between right and wrong.
She had curves like trouble. Thick thighs, a soft waist, and breasts that rose and fell with every sharp inhale, straining against the crop top she hadn’t even bothered to pull back down after he’d pushed it up in the heat of the moment after unbuttoning the other shirt she had on. And her eyes—big, brown, and blown wide with need—stared back at him like she knew exactly what she was doing to him… and couldn’t stop herself either.
There was no pretense left in her now.
No church voice. No mother-tone. No mask.
Just Ruby, raw and open and begging without saying the words.
And God help him, he’d never seen anything more perfect in his life.
Fuck it.
Boone moved.
Fast.
Rough.
He flipped her onto her stomach without a word, yanked her panties down to her knees, and dragged the head of his dick through the slick heat of her folds, groaning at how soaked she was for him—how ready, how reckless.
He didn’t tease.
Didn’t ask again.
He just took.
Drove into her with one brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of her lungs and the spit from her mouth, her body jolting forward with the impact.
“Shit,” she cried out, voice high and sharp, hands scrambling for purchase on the hood of his truck.
Boone gritted his teeth and sank deeper, her heat wrapping around him like a fist. She felt like sin. Like redemption. Like home and hell all at once.
“Ruby…” he growled.
“Boone…” she begged, her voice cracked open in a gasp.
He grabbed her hips, held her still, and started to fuck her with the kind of rhythm that made bones rattle. Deep, punishing strokes that echoed through the metal under her belly.
“Been thinkin’ about this,” he growled in her ear. “Every night you don’t show up. Every time I see you with him.”
Her only response was a moan that cracked halfway out of her throat—half-scream, half-surrender—like she was breaking apart around him and couldn’t hold herself together any longer.
Boone didn’t stop.
Didn’t ease up.
He was in it now—lost in the sound of skin slapping skin, in the slick grip of her body around him, in the way she took every inch like she was made for it.
And despite himself, his mind flashed to a few mornings ago at the farmers market. He’d seen her there. With him. Travis.
Their little boy sat in a folding chair getting his face painted like Spider-Man, while Ruby hovered near a basket of heirloom tomatoes, gently pressing each one like she was cradling a secret. She looked soft. Settled. Like Sunday morning peace wrapped in sunshine and denim.
Boone had stood there, half-hidden by the crowd, watching a life he could’ve sworn he dreamed once. A life where it was him beside her. Him reaching for her hand as they picked out ingredients for the dinner she’d cook in their little kitchen. Or maybe he’d cook, if she was tired. And afterward, they’d eat curled up on the couch—legs tangled, her head on his chest, his world exactly where he wanted it.
But Travis had been there. A few feet away. Pacing. Barking into his phone like whatever was on the other end deserved more attention than her and their child.
Boone’s jaw had clenched then. Just like it did now. Because now? Ruby was bent over his truck. Wet. Shaking. Saying his name like it meant something. And for these moments—these sacred, stolen seconds—she wasn’t theirs.
She wasn’t his.
She was herself.
And Boone? He was the only one she let see her that way.
The only one who held her like she mattered.
The only one who knew how much she needed to be held.
Even if he couldn’t keep her, she was his right now.
Just his.
“This what you came for, Ruby?” he grunted, his voice a low growl against the roar of the rain. “To get fucked?”
She moaned again as she tried to speak, body tightening around him like an answer he already knew.
He grabbed her wrists, pinned them behind her with one hand. The other flattened on her shoulder, holding her still while he drove into her with a rhythm so brutal, so relentless, she could barely stay on her toes.
Her eyes crossed. Vision blurred.
Boone was fucking the soul out of her.
Or maybe the piss.
She didn’t know anymore. Just knew that when he took her like this—hard, focused, merciless—her body broke like a damn and flooded beneath him. The first time she squirted, it scared the hell out of her. Thought she’d literally pissed herself. But Boone just looked at her like she was sacred. And now, he made it happen every time.
The truck groaned beneath them. Thunder rattled the rafters.
His grip tightened.
“Boone, please…” she begged, voice torn, soaked in need.
Her body ached. Not just from the way he moved inside her, but from the years of being untouched. Unseen. Living in a house where silence hung heavier than the picture frames.
“You don’t get to say my name like that,” Boone growled, the words rough like gravel under tires. “Not when you still go home to that man who don’t even touch you right.”
Ruby squeezed her eyes shut.
Not from guilt.
From truth.
From the way his voice burrowed beneath her ribs, tore open all the parts of herself she kept stitched tight. From the way her body clenched around him like it knew him better than her heart did. From the part of her that still flinched at being wanted this badly.
Because he was right.
Boone’s hand slid from her wrists to her throat. His palm settled against the thrum of her pulse like he needed proof she was still there, still his.
“You think he deserves this?” Boone snarled, pressing deeper—slow and brutal, each stroke meant to bruise the memory of her man from her bones. “This body? These sounds? This pussy?”
God, no, she wanted to scream. He doesn’t even look at me.
But she couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.
Because Boone was everywhere. His voice in her ear, his hand on her throat, his dick buried so deep she couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.
In his chest, Boone felt something twist. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something worse.
Possession.
He’d told himself it was just sex. Just a release. But the way she sobbed his name, the way her body opened for him, greedy and desperate, it wasn’t just about fucking anymore. It was about claiming. About proving something to her, to himself, to the storm raging outside and the lies she went home to every night.
He dragged his teeth along her shoulder.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me who makes you feel like this.”
Ruby tried to speak. Tried to lift her head.
But all she could do was shake under him. Surrender.
Because the truth?
The truth was written in the way she arched back into him, the way her walls fluttered around him, the way she whimpered like every thrust was both a wound and a balm.
Boone Carter made her feel alive.
And that scared the hell out of her.
Her knees buckled beneath the weight of it, of him. But Boone caught her like he always did, one strong hand on her waist, the other under her belly, repositioning her exactly where he needed her.
“Stand up and take this dick, Ruby,” he growled, voice hot and hard against her neck. “You came over here for it, didn’t you? So take it. Take it like a big girl.”
“Fuck…” she gasped, trembling, hands clawing at the hood of his truck for balance. “Boone… you make me feel so good—”
“Say it,” he demanded, hips grinding deeper, slow and punishing, like he wanted to pull the words from her throat.
“I—” she started, voice cracking as his fingers found her again, sliding through the mess he’d made between her thighs. He moved them with expert cruelty, playing her body like it was tuned for him alone. “I need you.”
“That ain’t what I asked,” he said low, knowing she knew what he really wanted.
Ruby’s jaw clenched. Her breath came in ragged bursts.
And then, she broke.
“He doesn’t touch me like this,” she spat out, the confession half-sob, half-release. “Not even close.”
Boone exhaled like something inside him gave out, a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.
“Damn right he don’t,” he muttered. “Ain’t no one ever gonna fuck you like I do.”
And then he showed her.
He gripped her hips tighter and fucked her like he meant to rewrite her body from the inside out. Like he wanted to erase every cold night, every fake moan, every moment she spent pretending that the man she lived with could ever make her feel this full, this seen, this ruined.
“You love him?” Boone rasped in her ear.
She couldn’t answer.
Didn’t want to.
Didn’t have the breath to lie, or the courage to say no.
Her silence told him everything.
Boone’s chest pressed to her back, sweat slick and heaving.
“But you still go home to him,” he muttered. “Let him sit at your table. Sleep in your bed. Pretend he still owns a piece of you.”
She whimpered.
“You want him to touch you like this?” Boone asked. “You want him to hear you cry like this?”
“Stop,” she whispered, even as her hips rocked back into his.
“Say it.”
“Boone…”
“Say you don’t want him.”
She couldn’t.
But Boone already had the answer written in the way she shook for him. In the way she came undone on his tongue like a hymn she forgot she knew.
Now she was on the edge of something reckless.
And she wanted to fall.
Even if she could speak, she couldn’t.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came, only the wide eyed, shattered silence of a woman who’d held it together too long and finally let go.
Outside, thunder cracked so loud it rattled the windows in their frames. Rain slammed against the metal roof like it was trying to drown the whole damn town. Lightning split the sky wide open, casting Boone’s garage in a flash of white so bright it turned her skin to marble.
Then she broke.
All of her.
Her body convulsed — back arching, thighs trembling, walls clenching down so hard around him he hissed through his teeth. And then came the rush.
A sudden, uncontrollable release that gushed from between her legs in a hot, messy flood, splattering on the concrete floor below them like the storm had made its way inside and found its target.
He’d done it to her again.
It hit the floor in sharp, wet splashes—obscene, uncontrolled, loud enough to rival the rain hammering the roof. The sound echoed off the concrete walls like a confession.
“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, voice ragged, hands slipping against the hood as her legs gave out.
“Shhh…” Boone leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, one hand wrapped tight around her hip to keep her from sliding to the floor. “You want the neighbors to hear you squirting all over my damn garage?”
She whimpered, jaw slack, still trembling.
He didn’t let up. If anything, his voice dipped lower, filthier. “You want them to know you come here drippin’—beggin’—every Thursday night? Want em to know your secret?”
Ruby moaned, her head falling forward, curls sticking to her damp cheeks.
Boone grinned against her neck, voice now just a whisper but sharp enough to slice her in half.
“Let ‘em listen, then. Let ‘em hear what it sounds like when you come for me.”
Ruby tried to speak—tried to form words—but what came out was pure, breathless nonsense. Half-moan, half-plea, full-body surrender. Her mouth opened like she had something to say, but her eyes kept rolling back, lashes fluttering as she gripped the hood like it might hold her together.
“Mmhm… that’s right,” Boone muttered against her neck, voice thick with dark pride. “I’m the only one that makes you do that. Ain’t I?”
He bit her ear slow, possessive, with just enough edge to make her whimper. The sound she made went straight to his dick, pulling a growl from deep in his chest.
“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his palm down her spine before gripping her ass with both hands and thrusting deeper, grinding. “Can’t even talk. Just takin’ it. So fuckin’ pretty when you break for me.”
Ruby tried to look over her shoulder, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She could barely hold herself up, let alone meet his eyes.
And Boone?
He loved her like this, full of nothing but him.
He held her through it, one hand gripping her hip like a lifeline, the other still on her shoulder. He could feel her whole body shaking, sobs caught in her chest, her breath coming in broken pieces.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just watched her fall apart with the kind of reverence most men saved for altars.
Then his voice cut through the chaos, low and rough and cracked wide open.
“That’s mine, Ruby,” he said.
She nodded against the hood, face turned to the side, cheeks wet with tears and sweat and something older than all of this. Her lips parted, soft and wrecked, whispering his name again and again like it was the only thing left she could remember.
The storm outside roared.
But inside the garage, it had already passed.
And she—Ruby Mae—was nothing but breath and skin and soaked surrender in his hands.
And Boone kept fucking her like she was his.
Not borrowed.
Not stolen.
Just his.
And when she finally stilled, lungs gasping, he quickly pulled out with a guttural sound and slapped his hand against the hood, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Then she felt it—him—hot and thick across the curve of her ass, the mark of everything they didn’t dare name.
She turned her head, looking over her shoulder, weak and breathless.
Boone stood behind her, breath ragged, chest heaving, staring down at her like a man who’d just ruined something beautiful on purpose.
His release still dripped from her skin, catching the storm light in slow trails. And for a moment, he just watched her — shoulders trembling, legs unsteady, the raw imprint of him still stretched across her body.
Then he stumbled back.
His spine hit the wall with a thud, one hand braced against rusted metal, the other still wrapped around his half hardened length. His vision blurred at the edges as he tried to catch his breath, sweat cooling too fast on his skin.
Ruby pushed herself off the hood, slow and shaky, like every nerve in her body was still ringing with his name.
Head down.
Silent.
Ashamed.
Boone moved before she could say a word, grabbing a clean rag from the workbench and wiping his release off her backside with a gentleness that didn’t match the roughness they’d just shared. He didn’t speak either. Just cleaned her up like it was part of the ritual.
Then he tossed the rag to the floor like it had no right to stay between them.
Ruby pulled her panties back up with trembling hands, her body still buzzing, raw in every sense. She scanned the garage floor, eyes darting across the concrete like she’d dropped something sacred.
Or maybe she was just trying to find her dignity in the grease stained shadows.
Boone watched her quietly. Chest rising and falling. Mouth parted like he wanted to speak… but didn’t.
Because what the hell could he say to a woman who only ever came in storms and never stayed for the calm?
He watched her find her pants in the corner, her knees buckling slightly as she stepped into them. No eye contact. No thank you. Just the quiet rush of a woman trying to dress fast enough to outrun what she just let happen.
He knew this part.
Knew the script by heart.
She came to him, eyes glassy, voice cracked open, need pouring out of her like the storm outside. And once she got hers? Regret bloomed on her face like a bruise. Every. Damn. Time.
Seven days, tops. That’s how long it took her to come back.
Seven days. Every time.
Boone grabbed a towel off the nearby workbench, wiped his hands, slow, methodical, like he needed something to do besides reach for her. He tucked himself back into his boxers, zipped up his pants, then pulled his jeans over the lingering heat still throbbing in his veins.
And all the while, he watched her.
Watched the way Ruby avoided his gaze, the way she moved like her body had betrayed her. Like she’d already packed the regret in the same bag she’d carried in.
“I guess I’ll be going now,” she said, voice low, almost drowned out by the rain still hammering the roof.
Still not looking at him.
Boone’s jaw flexed. He glanced toward the open bay door, where the storm was still going strong. Lightning cut across the sky like a blade, thunder following so close it felt like the whole garage shook under its weight.
“Ruby Mae, it’s stormin’ out there,” he said, voice quieter now, almost gentle. “And it’s dark.”
He didn’t say I care about you.
Didn’t say stay.
Just: “Come upstairs. Let me get you in some dry clothes.”
She finally glanced at him, soaked curls plastered to her cheek, eyes unreadable.
“I can’t go home in your clothes, Boone.”
He swallowed hard. Because they both knew what that meant. What it would look like. What it would prove to the man waiting in her house.
To the neighbors who’d talk.
To herself.
But still, he stepped forward, something in his chest pulling him toward her like gravity didn’t care about pride.
“I’ll dry yours,” he offered, voice hoarse. “You can stay ‘til the worst of it passes”
Upstairs, in Boone’s apartment above the shop, Ruby sat on the edge of his worn leather couch with bare legs curled under her. His oversized T-shirt clinging to her slightly damp skin, his boxers hanging loose on her hips like an invitation she didn’t mean to accept twice.
She’d never been up here before.
Sex always happened downstairs—usually in his office, where the blinds stayed drawn and the walls kept their secrets. Sometimes in the front seat of her car. Always dark. Always fast. Always followed by her driving away like she hadn’t just left pieces of herself behind.
But tonight?
Tonight, the storm had knocked out more than just the power lines—it had taken out her better judgment too. Still, there was light in Boone’s garage.
This time, they’d done it with the bay door cracked just wide enough for guilt to slip in if it was looking. Thunder swallowed her moans. Rain masked her cries. Or at least... she prayed it had.
No one saw them. Right? No one heard her scream his name?
She glanced around the room, trying not to flinch at how intimate everything felt.
The place was simple—masculine, clean but lived-in. Dark wood floors. A small kitchen in the corner, cast iron pans still hanging over the stove. A single lamp lit the space, giving everything a golden warmth that felt too tender for what they’d just done.
His boots were lined up by the door. A denim jacket was slung over the back of a chair. On the wall above the TV, there were two framed photos—one of an old black truck in a field of tall grass, and another of Boone with a boy who looked just like him. Younger. Lighter.
She didn't ask.
Didn’t want to know if that boy was gone or just grown.
Boone moved through the space with quiet purpose, tossing her soaked clothes into the dryer in the hallway behind the kitchen. She listened to the heavy thunk of wet denim, the soft clink of her jean jacket buttons, the low whir of the machine starting up.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. And in the hush that followed, Ruby realized this was the part that always scared her most.
Not the sex. Not even the aftermath. But the silence. The space between what they’d done and what it meant stretched long and quiet, filling the apartment like smoke.
Boone came back into view, wiping his hands on a towel, trying not to look at her like she was more than what they’d agreed on. But he failed. He always did.
“Want somethin’ to eat?” he asked, voice low but casual, like the words might land softer if he didn’t push them too hard.
Ruby shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Boone watched her for a second, then tilted his head.
“You came straight from work,” he said, like he was doing the math out loud. “So you ate what, lunch time? Noon?”
She let out a dry laugh, curling further into the couch like maybe it would swallow her whole. “You know I ain’t got no real job. Just volunteer at the library a couple hours a week. Work the register at the thrift store when they call me. I ain’t been out that long.”
“Still honest work,” he said.
“Still broke work,” she muttered. “Juniper’s a dead end. Soon as I can, I’m leaving.”
“To go where?”
She shrugged. “Anywhere.”
Boone leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Your family’s got the diner. Why not work there?”
Ruby’s eyes snapped to his, sharp. “You asking too many questions.”
Boone nodded once, jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched beneath his skin.
“Right,” he said, but his voice was barely there—more gravel than words. “Forgot the rules.”
He looked down at his hands, still stained with…her. Rubbed his palm against his jeans like he was trying to scrub something off that went deeper than skin.
“I’m not supposed to kiss you,” he murmured. “Not supposed to ask if you made it home safe, or if your boy liked that book I saw you pick up at the library. Not supposed to wonder if you cry when you’re not here…or if it’s just with me.”
He looked up at her then, eyes heavy, wounded. “I’m not supposed to want more.”
He laughed, bitter and small, like it surprised even him. “Hell, I ain’t even supposed to talk to you, really.”
A pause.
A breath.
Then the truth:
“Just supposed to fuck you, right?”
He said it low. Not loud. Not angry. But it hit like a gut punch anyway, the kind of blow you didn’t see coming ‘til the air left your lungs.
“Don’t make me the enemy here, Boone,” Ruby Mae said, her voice thin, frayed at the edges. “We’re both in the wrong.”
“You come in here,” he said, eyes on the floor like looking at her might break him. “Fall apart in my hands, cry on my damn chest, and I let it slide. Tell myself maybe next time you’ll stay. Maybe next time you’ll look me in the eye and not pretend this don’t mean something to you.”
He looked up then, finally—eyes dark, jaw tight, every inch of him holding back more than he wanted to.
“But you don’t. You never do. You just zip yourself back into your life and walk out like I’m not standing here, still bleeding from the last time.”
Ruby shook her head, not wanting to deal with this. This—right here—was why she didn’t let them talk. Because talking always led to him getting upset about something she couldn’t give. Like he hadn’t known the rules from the start. Some Thursdays, he followed them. Other nights, like this one, he acted like they’d ever been anything more than what they were.
“Never mind drying my clothes,” she muttered, pushing to her feet. “I’ll go.”
Boone stepped back, hands on his hips, chest rising like he was struggling to catch his breath.
“You hungry or not?” he asked again.
But the way he said it this time—rough, worn-out, like the question cost him something—made her pause.
Ruby turned her eyes to the window, where the storm still dragged itself across the glass in long, wet streaks.
“Yes,” she said softly, and sat back down.
It slipped out before she could dress it up with excuses. Boone blinked. She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t try to soften it. But in her mind, a reel of tired moments played: the empty kitchen she was about to walk into, Travis sitting in the dark, arms crossed, with an attitude.
He never made dinner. That wasn’t his job. That was hers. And now, coming home after the storm, after this, he’d be even colder. He’d be hungry and waiting.
Boone could see something shift behind her eyes. Not guilt. Not shame. Just… resignation. He didn’t say anything after that. Didn’t press her. Didn’t try to fix it with words.
Instead, he walked back into the kitchen, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound besides the low hum of the dryer and the rain still clawing at the windows.
“Ain’t even got your glasses on,” he muttered under his breath. “Know damn well you can’t see when it’s dark and stormin’.”
“I can see just fine,” Ruby Mae lied, even though she knew good and well she’d clipped a couple curbs on the way over. Half the streetlights were out. Hell, she did that on a clear night, storm or not.
Ruby watched in silence as he opened the fridge, pulled out a container of something, and unwrapped foil like it was a sacred ritual. He moved without looking at her, but every motion was deliberate, careful. He wasn’t throwing something in the microwave to pass time. He was feeding her.
That realization settled heavy in her chest.
He scooped two plates, heated them up, then pulled out two glasses from the cabinet. Poured sweet tea into both like it was second nature. No fanfare. No question.
He pulled a tray table from beside the wall, opened it in front of her like it was just another night, like they did this all the time.
Ruby stared at the plate he set down in front of her. It was steaming, fragrant, the kind of food that made you feel warm before you even took a bite.
Boone settled on the other end of the couch, his own plate in his lap. He didn’t look at her, but his body was close enough that she could feel the heat coming off of him.
She picked up the fork.
Took one bite.
And for the first time in a long time, felt the kind of full that had nothing to do with food. yea, this seemed simple but she couldn’t remember the last time someone did something for her, took care of her.
Boone cleared his throat softly. “Ain’t much. Wasn’t expecting nobody. Leftover red beans and sausage. Made it last night.”
Ruby didn’t respond at first.
Just nodded.
Chewed.
Swallowed the ache behind her eyes.
“It’s good,” she said finally, voice barely above the sound of rain.
He nodded once. “Glad you like it.”
They sat side by side, having dinner, the storm still roaring like it hadn’t taken a breath. Thunder rolled low in the distance, wind brushing against the windows like it wanted in.
The sex was done. Her clothes were drying. But somehow, Boone had done it again.
Without a single touch, he’d slipped beneath her skin. Settled into the quiet parts of her she kept guarded. And maybe, without saying it, she wanted him to stay there.
But Boone was tired.
Not from the sixteen hours he’d put in rotating tires and replacing busted radiators. Not from the storm rattling the roof or the ache still settling low in his gut from being inside her.
He was tired of falling.
For a woman who didn’t belong to him.
Who never would.
A woman planning to leave town the first chance she got, leave him behind like he was just another greasy stop on the road she couldn’t wait to forget.
So, as much as it hurt, he did what men like him learned to do a long time ago.
He protected himself.
“This your last night coming over here, Ruby Mae,” he said, flat and unbothered, before shoveling another bite of food into his mouth.
Ruby froze mid-chew. Fork in one hand. The other fisted in the hem of his boxers she was still wearing. Her eyes flicked up, wide and stunned.
“What?” she asked, already knowing damn well what she heard.
“You heard me,” he said, not even looking at her.
“Boone.”
He chewed. Swallowed. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like he wasn’t gutting both of them with every word. Then he set his plate down on the coffee table and finally turned to her.
“This was fun at first,” he said, voice low. “But I don’t wanna be your Thursday fuck buddy anymore.”
Her voice cracked before it even left her mouth. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, leaning back like he needed space, but still watching her like she held the answer in her silence. “You come over on Thursdays, we fuck, you say it’s the last time, then run outta here like I’m poison. And seven days later... you’re back.”
She said nothing.
Because what could she say that didn’t sound like a lie?
Boone shook his head, a bitter laugh catching in his throat. “Last week, you said it was the last time. Said the guilt was eatin’ you alive, keepin’ you up at night. You cried. And I told you I didn’t wanna be the one hurtin’ you, so let’s end it.”
He paused, eyes locked on her like the silence between them was louder than the storm outside.
“And now you show up, actin’ surprised I ain’t got a damn condom ready.”
His jaw flexed hard, voice dropping.
“You said, ‘fuck me anyway,’ like that ain’t a whole-ass decision. Like lettin’ me be inside you raw don’t mean a damn thing.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at her like he was tired of being the only one telling the truth.
“You keep running to me for the fire, then act shocked when you feel the burn.”
The air between them tightened. Thick with all the truths she never dared name. All the feelings she’d swallowed between moans and door slams.
Thunder rolled low outside the window.
Inside, Ruby stared at Boone like she’d just been caught stealing something she hadn’t even realized she wanted to keep.
And maybe she had.
Maybe every Thursday she came here looking for relief, she’d been pocketing pieces of him. The sound of his voice in the dark. The way he touched her like he wasn’t afraid of the mess.
She just never thought he’d notice.
But Boone wasn’t a fool.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, shaking his head and going back to his plate like he hadn’t just shattered her with five words.
The scrape of his fork against ceramic filled the space where her apology should’ve gone. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Shame crawled up her throat and settled behind her ribs.
The silence pressed down like a second skin.
Boone kept eating like nothing had changed, but Ruby could feel it. Something between them had snapped, and if she didn’t say something now, it might stay broken.
She set her plate down with trembling hands.
“I never meant to use you,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Boone didn’t look up. “That what you came up with?”
“No,” she said, louder now. “That’s not—” She paused, swallowing past the knot in her throat. “That’s not what this is. I didn’t plan any of this, Boone.”
His fork scraped the plate again, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I came to you ‘cause I was lonely,” she started, voice barely holding. “At first. Yeah. Just lonely. Just needed to feel something.”
Her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers twisting Boone’s t-shirt like it could anchor her through what she had to say next.
“But then it turned into something else,” she whispered. “And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.”
Her voice cracked, thin as glass.
“Still don’t.”
Boone didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, all quiet muscle and unspoken heartbreak.
“But you knew, Boone… you been knowing,” she went on, tears threatening now. “You know I can’t be yours all the time. Even though I wish…”
She stopped herself, like the rest of the sentence might kill her if she let it out.
And then he looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And the weight of it—his eyes, his silence, his everything—nearly unmade her right there on the couch.
“I care about you,” she said, almost begging him to believe it. “I think about you when I’m folding laundry. When I drive by the shop. When I see your truck parked out front. I hear your voice in my head when I’m laying in bed next to him and it’s your name I want to whisper.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it. Boone stayed quiet, but his grip on his fork eased, like maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t expected that.
“I feel something for you,” she said again, softer this time. “But I can’t act on it, Boone. I can’t let it grow too big. ‘Cause if I let myself want more…I can’t want more.”
The truth didn’t just settle. It cracked through the silence like thunder.
Boone leaned forward, shaking his head as he put his plate down. “So what you think’s gonna happen, Ruby? Huh? You think the more we have sex, the easier it gets?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “Not if we just…”
He cut her a look. “Just what?”
“Don’t talk,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip like it might swallow the shame.
Boone barked a bitter laugh. “Don’t talk? You think this is a joke?”
She didn’t answer.
He leaned back, jaw tight, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to rub the hurt clean off.
“This ain’t sustainable, Ruby. We’re diggin’ a deeper hole every time.” His voice was rough now, final. “That’s why tonight? Tonight’s your last time here. I mean that. No more back and forth. Don’t show up next Thursday.”
Ruby flinched.
Her eyes dropped to the tray between them, to the chipped plate and half-finished meal like maybe it could soften what he’d just said. Like maybe, if she stared at it long enough, she could find a reason to stay.
But the food had gone cold.
And so had Boone.
Boone’s voice wasn’t raised, but it carried the weight of something deeper, hurt layered with heat, disbelief wrapped in desire. A man scorned not just by her choices, but by her refusal to choose him.
“You can’t leave him,” he said, leaning back on the couch, arms stretched wide like he was holding himself together with the frame. “But you can crawl into my arms, let me taste every place he neglects.”
“That’s not fair,” Ruby snapped. “I can’t just leave him and come play house with you. I love my son. I have him to think about.”
Boone didn’t flinch. “I never questioned that.”
“I just want him to grow up feeling safe. Like his world isn’t broken. He needs his parents in the same house.”
Boone’s voice dropped, quieter now, but sharp with truth. “And what about you, Ruby? When do you get to feel safe? Loved? Or is that something you decided you don’t deserve ‘cause you picked the wrong man one time?”
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her speak.
“You actin’ like people don’t break up every day. Like havin’ a child with someone means you’re obligated to stay miserable.” His voice edged harder now, heat behind the restraint. “Y’all ain’t even married. You been with that man how long, and he ain’t even given you his name?”
Boone stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.
“If you were mine?” he said, low and firm. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d let you carry my child and still walk this town without my last name. If you want out, leave him. He’s your boyfriend, Ruby. That’s not a covenant. That’s just a choice you keep making.”
She looked up at him then—really looked—and for the first time, Boone saw it. Not anger. Not guilt. But fear. Not of him. Not of the storm still rattling the windows.
Of herself.
Of what she wanted.
Of what it might cost to finally reach for it.
Boone exhaled, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep it together.
“I never asked you to leave him for me,” he said, voice ragged now. “I just asked you to stop pretending you’re happy with that man.”
“I never pretended,” she whispered.
“Then what the hell would you call this?” he shot back, motioning to the space between them, to the couch, to the silence she always left him in.
She didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know.
Because the truth was… what they had wasn’t just sex. And it hadn’t been for a long damn time.
She just didn’t know how to call it love without setting fire to everything else.
“Look…” Boone started, voice rough like gravel under tires, “I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t want you with me, Ruby. But I ain’t stupid. I know the stakes. And I know you ain’t ready to let me in the way I want.”
She looked down at her lap, fingers twisting the hem of his T-shirt like it held answers she couldn’t speak out loud.
“I’m not askin’ you to leave him for me,” Boone continued. “I’m sayin’—leave for you. And if you ever decide to, I’ll help however I can. Because whether or not I should, I care about you.”
And he did.
More than he ought to.
More than made sense for two people who only ever knew each other in the dark.
But he was right—they didn’t know each other well enough for her to blow up her life and run into his arms. That wasn’t how she was built. And even if she wanted to… where would she go? Her bank account was a joke. Her work? Patchy at best. She was stuck in Juniper like a car with a busted axle—she might want to move, but she wasn’t goin’ nowhere fast.
“I’m gonna get me a real job,” she said after a long beat, her voice low, steady—like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was convincing him. “And when that happens—when I finally get somethin’ solid—I’m leavin’. That’s the plan. Like I said earlier.”
Boone didn’t argue.
Didn’t try to sell her a dream.
He nodded, slow and quiet—not in agreement, but in resignation. The kind that settles deep in a man’s bones when he finally stops hoping for something he knows he can’t keep.
He was willing to let her go. Not because he didn’t want her, but because he wanted her happy, even if it didn’t include him.
“If that’s the plan,” he said softly, “I need you to stick to it, Ruby. ‘Cause right now? You livin’ smaller than you have to. All ‘cause you let him get in your head about what you can and can’t do just ‘cause you a mother.”
He looked at her hard, but not unkind.
“You got that home health aide certification. And he got the nerve to tell me he won’t let you use it. Like he the boss of your life. Like he ownin’ your choices.”
Boone shook his head, voice rough. “I’d never clip your wings, Ruby. Never.”
Ruby blinked fast, fighting the burn rising behind her eyes—because she knew it was true. Boone wouldn’t cage her.
Not like Travis.
Not like the man who treated her desire to work like betrayal, especially when they needed the money.
Like ambition was a threat to the house he refused to build right.
“You was with me?” Boone went on, his voice gentler now. “I’d support your dreams—whatever they looked like. Whether that meant you workin’ full time, or stayin’ home with my kid. But it’d be your choice. Your life.”
And just like that, the tears came.
Slow. Quiet. Inevitable.
“I’m gonna get there,” was all she could manage, voice barely more than a whisper.
Boone watched her carefully.
“So you just gonna survive ‘til you can run?” he asked, soft but serious. “That it?”
“I am surviving,” Ruby said, her voice cracking open. “That’s all I got right now.”
She didn’t mean to sound bitter. Or broken. But the truth was, it felt like the only thing she had left that was fully hers.
Boone looked at her for a long time, the weight of everything they’d shared pressing down between them. Her damp hair. His old T-shirt hanging off her shoulder. The empty plate between them. The dryer buzzing low in the back, like even the house was tired of waiting on them to figure it out.
“Then let me help you really survive, Ruby Mae,” he said, quiet now. “Not just with…sex. I mean help you find somethin’. A job. A way out. Somethin’ that don’t leave you beggin’ to be seen once a week.”
She swallowed hard, throat burning.
“Why?”
“Because you’re worth more than the way you’re livin’. And I care. Even if I wish I didn’t.”
Ruby blinked fast, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. Her chest tightened, but this time, she didn’t let it fold her. She sat up straighter, spine stiffening beneath the weight of everything she hadn’t said until now.
“I’m gonna do this on my own,” she said, voice low but sure. “You’ll see.”
She looked down, her hands twisting in her lap, then forced herself to still them.
“I need to prove I can stand on my own two feet. For my son. For myself.”
A pause. A breath.
Then softer, like a truth she wasn’t quite ready to let go of:
“But…I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
“Then don’t let it be,” Boone said. “But if you come back, don’t just come for the storm. Come when the sky’s clear too.”
Ruby let out a shaky breath, her eyes stinging. He wasn’t talking about the weather and she wasn’t sure she knew how to show up any other way. Not yet.
Boone stood and grabbed their plates, taking them to the sink. The silence that followed wasn’t cold. Just full. Like a field after the rain—muddy and raw, but starting to breathe again.
She watched him rinse the dishes, shoulders broad and sure under the soft cotton of his shirt. The man had grease in his nails and heat in his hands. He was solid in ways Travis never had been. And that scared her more than anything.
“Your clothes’ll be dry in ten,” Boone said, not looking at her.
Ruby nodded, even though he had his back turned.
He turned off the water, dried his hands, then leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. When he finally looked at her, her face was soft—tired, yes—but something else flickered there too. Something braver than she knew how to name.
“One day…” Ruby said quietly, voice shaky. “I’ll be brave enough.”
Boone exhaled, slow and rough. He knew what she meant. Knew how heavy the weight was she carried every time she left. He didn’t need her to say it. But damn if he didn’t still want more.
“I’m sorry if I… if it felt like I was pressuring you,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know you got a whole world on your shoulders. I ain’t tryin’ to add to that.”
He looked at her again, and something cracked open in his voice.
“It’s just…you’re an incredible woman, Ruby.”
She blinked, lips parting like she wanted to respond but didn’t know how.
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” Boone said, a little softer now. “You don’t even believe that, do you?”
She shook her head no.
He took a step toward her, voice low but sure. “You get up every day and love your kid the way he deserves to be loved, even when you feel empty. You stay in a situation that don’t feed you ‘cause you’re scared of letting anybody down but yourself. You keep going, even when it’s quiet, even when nobody claps for you.”
He paused, eyes dark and full of every word he hadn’t said over the last few months.
“You’re smart. Funny when you let yourself be. Stronger than you know. And beautiful in a way that makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes.”
Ruby looked down, lip trembling, tears rushing up before she could catch them.
“Don’t cry,” Boone whispered. “Ain’t say all that to make you cry.”
“I just…” Her voice broke. “I didn’t know anyone saw me like that.”
“Well, I do,” Boone said simply. “I see you, Ruby Mae. Always have.”
And for a moment, she just sat there—silent, breath caught in her throat, letting his words wrap around her like the first warm thing she’d felt in years. Not lust. Not need. Not escape.
Recognition.
He broke the silence again, voice lower now, almost shy. “First time you came into my shop, I played it cool…but I was checking for a ring. Realized you didn’t have one.”
Ruby’s face flushed with quiet shame. It had been eight years, a whole child, and Travis still hadn’t talked marriage. Not once. Not even when the world expected it. Not even when she’d hoped he might.
“But then Travis walked in behind you,” Boone continued, easing back onto the couch. “And I knew whatever I felt, I had to bury it.”
Ruby gave a small, humorless laugh, eyes wet. “Only for me to show up here one day, huh?”
She remembered it vividly—the day she stopped pretending. Stopped driving by just to get a glimpse of him. Stopped lying about something being wrong with her truck. She was tired. Tired of swallowing feelings she never asked for. Tired of pretending Travis’ silence didn’t hurt.
And Boone—he’d been tired too. Of holding back. Of biting his tongue. That day, when she walked into the garage, he saw her. Really saw her. And when she didn’t stop him, he didn’t stop himself.
He’d taken her on his desk. She thought it’d end there. Scratch the itch. End the fantasy.
But instead, it made it worse. Because Boone didn’t just fuck her—he cracked her open. Spoke truth into her while he touched her like he was trying to memorize her skin.
And even when she tried to keep it cold—just body on body, just need—Boone wouldn’t let her. He never let her.
He’d touch her like he was reading scripture off her skin. Slow. Reverent. Ruinous. Made her feel things she hadn’t dared name in years. Things she thought were buried for good.
And then he’d talk—God, he’d talk.
Not just dirty. Not just coaxing. But truth-telling. Pulling confessions from her lips while he was still buried inside her. Whispering questions against her neck like “Does he touch you like this?” and “You think about me when you’re with him?” until she broke—again and again—not just from the way he moved, but from the weight of what he already knew.
Boone didn’t just fuck her.
He stripped her bare.
And that’s what scared her more than anything else.
Because he wasn’t just good in bed—he was good. A good man.
The kind of man who worked sunup to sundown at his own garage, who never once complained about being tired. The kind of man who fixed Miss Irma’s brakes for free just because she was on a fixed income and needed to get to church. The kind who stopped on the side of Country Road East to put gas in Miss Williams’ car in the pouring rain, then followed her home just to be sure she made it.
The kind who asked her questions she didn’t want to answer—How’s your heart, Ruby? You sleeping okay? You eaten today?—and didn’t take silence for an answer.
She hated how much he talked about his feelings, how he always seemed to feel everything out loud.
But maybe she hated it because no one ever asked her to do the same.
And when he touched her…Lord. It wasn’t just sex. It was sanctuary. Like he was trying to remind her she was more than just somebody’s mother. More than someone’s woman. That she was still herself. Still worthy. Still wanted.
“...Can we just sit for a little while?” she asked quietly, voice small, afraid the moment might crumble if she moved too fast.
Boone didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded once. And then he reached for her hand. Held it like it meant something. Because to him, it did.
Boone eased back onto the couch beside her, slow like he didn’t want to spook her, like he knew how close she was to bolting again. But she didn’t. Not this time.
Ruby leaned into him, tentative at first, like her body was testing the temperature of safety. Then she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Let her hand settle on his chest. Let herself be held.
And Boone? Boone wrapped his arm around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he’d been waiting all damn year just to do this.
Outside, the storm kept on. Rain tapping the windows in a steady rhythm while thunder rolled low in the distance like the sky was exhaling with them. The dryer buzzed softly in the background, a reminder that time was still moving—even if, for just a second, they weren’t.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek—steady, like a promise he wasn’t allowed to make. And for once, she didn’t pull away. Didn’t retreat from the kind of intimacy that asked for nothing but her presence.
Boone didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held her like he knew she wasn’t staying. Like he was memorizing the shape of this moment before it vanished.
So they sat there—two tired people wrapped in the hush after ruin, clinging to a softness they could never keep.
Held together by the storm...
and everything it hadn’t managed to wash away.
Yet.
Six Months Later
The first chill of late autumn rolled through Juniper, carrying with it the scent of turned leaves and something shifting in the bones of the town.
Boone Carter was closing the bay doors at the shop when he heard the familiar rattle of a tired engine pull up the gravel lot. He knew the sound before he even turned around.
Ruby.
He turned around and watched her step out slow, like she wasn’t sure if she should’ve come, but she was here. That had to mean something.
Her hair was tucked into a simple braid. She wore jeans, boots, and a burgundy cardigan that made her look like she belonged in a town bigger than this one.
“Didn’t think you still remembered the way,” Boone said, wiping his hands on a rag, not moving toward her yet.
“I never forgot,” she said, voice soft but steady. “I just didn’t know if I was still allowed to come back.” She looked up at him, eyes wet but clear. “You told me it was my last night. Said not to show up again unless I was ready to mean it.”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t come back ‘cause I didn’t wanna keep cutting you open just to watch you bleed for me.”
Boone blinked at her, stunned silent. Was she ready now? he couldn’t help but find out.
“You still with him?” Boone asked, cutting straight through the silence, carring the kind of weight that only came from a man bracing for an answer he wasn’t sure he could survive.
Ruby met his gaze, didn’t blink.
“No,” she said softly. “I left. A few months ago.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with his hand gripping the rag so tight his knuckles turned white.
“Left for good?” he asked, quieter this time. Like he needed to hear it again to believe it.
“For good,” she confirmed, voice soft but steady. “It took me a while. I didn’t even know how to be on my own at first…but I got through it.”
Boone let the rag drop to the floor. Stepped forward but didn’t touch her. Just studied her.
Same woman…but different now. Lighter. Stronger. Her face no longer folded under the weight of someone else’s silence. Her eyes no longer asking for permission.
“You disappeared,” he said finally. “You let me hold you that night, let me love on you like I’d been wanting to… and then you were just gone. Ain’t seen you nowhere round town.”
“I know,” she whispered, guilt flickering behind her eyes. “I had to be. I couldn’t risk needing you to do what I needed to do for myself.”
Boone nodded once, jaw tight, lips parting like he had more to say, but he swallowed it.
“I just… I needed to tell you in person,” she added. “I got a job in Oak Hill. Home health aide. Finally putting my certification to use that Travis had me sitting on for years.”
“And you’re movin’ there?”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “It’s not forever, just…I gotta live at the clients house for a time. Something I earned on my own.”
They stood in the dirt, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth from the earlier rain, the air still thick with petrichor. Just standing there—close but not touching—like the space between them held every secret they’d ever exchanged. Every stolen moment. Every regret.
Boone looked at her then. Really looked at her.
Not like the woman who used to show up after dark, fractured and flickering like the tail end of a flame. But like someone whole now. Rooted. Lit from within. And God help him, she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Someone he had loved in silence. In stolen moments. In the way a man loves something he knows he can’t keep.
“Proud of you,” he said finally, voice rough around the edges. “You did it. You’re as brave as I always knew you were.”
And just like that, he was doing it again. Seeing her. Pulling at the part of her that still felt too soft to touch.
She didn’t want this to get complicated. She needed it to be clean, like the goodbye she’d rehearsed in her head on the way over. So she blinked back the tears rising uninvited, tucked her hands into her coat pockets, and forced a small smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” she said, trying to lace it with lightness.
But it didn’t land the way she hoped, not when his name tasted like longing in her mouth.
Boone didn’t flinch. He just looked at her the way he always had when he thought she wasn’t looking, like she was something he could’ve built a life around. He let his eyes drag over her, not hungry, but reverent. Taking inventory. Proof she was real. That he hadn’t made her up.
“You look good, Ruby Mae,” he said, low and quiet like confession.
“I feel good.”
Boone’s hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her but knew better. Or maybe just didn’t know how anymore. The tension wasn’t bitter, it was bittersweet. The kind that tasted like goodbye but lingered like hope.
“Your hair’s longer,” he said, almost to himself.
She tucked a piece behind her ear, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah… haven’t had time to get it done. Been working, saving.”
“You glow different,” he added.
“I sleep now,” she said with a small laugh. “No more tiptoeing around someone who resented me for breathing too loud.”
A breeze kicked up, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and motor oil. Familiar. Heavy with memory.
“I didn’t come back to restart anything,” she said gently. “And I don’t wanna hurt you. Just to say thank you. For seeing me when I couldn’t. For letting me fall apart. And for holding me without asking me to explain.”
Boone’s throat worked. His hands twitched at his sides like they were used to catching things before they broke—but this? He couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t patch it or weld it or hold it together.
“You gon’ be alright? In Oak Hill?” he asked again, softer now. “Kinda rough out there.”
She nodded, but it was the kind of nod you gave when your legs were still shaking and you didn’t know if you were walking away from something or toward it.
“I think I will,” she said, voice tight but steady. “But I’ll miss you.”
His jaw ticked. He gave a short, tight nod—like if he said anything more, the whole dam might break. “You ever wanna come back to me…”
“I know,” she interrupted gently, stepping in close.
She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek—slow, lingering. The kind that carried every word she hadn’t been brave enough to say until now.
“But this time,” she whispered, “I won’t come back unless it’s for more. I know what you need, Boone. And you don’t deserve anything less.”
“Neither do you.”
That did it.
Boone dropped his gaze to the ground between them, like maybe if he stared long enough, he could find a way to bury how much he wanted that. How much he’d always wanted that. Her. Fully. Without the hiding, without the half-steps. But both of them knew this still wasn’t the time.
“I missed you,” she added, softer now. Like a secret. Like a sin. “More than I should’ve.”
Boone swallowed hard, every muscle in his body tightening with restraint. “Me too,” he said. It was all he could give her. All he had left.
The wind stirred around them, crisp and quiet. No thunder this time. No storm to cover the sound of what was breaking.
Just the ache of almost.
And the courage of goodbye.
And that was it.
There was nothing more to ask. Nothing more to say. Just two people who'd loved each other in silence and thunder, now standing in the soft ache of a parting neither of them wanted, but both understood.
She stepped forward. Placed her hand on his chest, right over his heartbeat.
“I’ll think of you,” she said. “Not the way things ended. The way you made me feel. Safe. Seen.”
He closed his eyes at that, fighting the urge to fall apart right there in front of her.
Then she pulled away. Slowly. Reluctantly.
And walked back toward her car without looking back.
Boone stood there in the fading light, hands in his pockets, dust on his boots, watching the only woman who’d ever truly wrecked him walk away, not because she didn’t care.
But because this time, she finally cared about herself.
He watched her get in the car, sunlight catching on her curls as she shut the door gently, like she didn’t want to wake what they used to be. The engine turned over, quiet and smooth, a sound that felt too final for a morning like this.
Boone wanted to move. To stop her. To say all the things he’d swallowed for months. That he loved her. That he’d drive her to Oak Hill every day if it meant keeping her close. That he’d help raise her boy like his own. That he’d build them a life so steady and sure she’d never have to run from it again.
But she didn’t need saving.
Not this time.
She needed space. And this moment—this breath between goodbye and what’s next—belonged to her.
So Boone didn’t move.
He just stood in the mouth of the garage, the cool morning air wrapping around him, the scent of her still clinging to his sweatshirt. The trees had started to change, reds and golds curling against the sky, and the gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled away.
He watched until the dust settled. Until her taillights disappeared past the bend. Until the sound of her engine was just a ghost in the wind.
And then, he just stood there. Still. Like if he moved, it’d hurt worse.
He let it settle in his chest, heavy and hollow. Let it wrap around his ribs and sit behind his eyes. The kind of pain that didn’t wail. Didn’t beg. Just stayed.
Because he didn’t know if he’d ever see her again.
Didn’t know if this was goodbye for now, or goodbye for good.
But what he did know, what he was sure of, was that he’d loved her.
Quietly. Entirely. Patiently.
And he’d keep loving her in the spaces she used to fill, until either she came back…
Or he figured out how to let her go.
The End…Or Is It?
Reader Reflection Questions
What do you think held Ruby back the most—fear, love, guilt, or something else?
Do you believe Boone was right to draw a line and walk away when he did? Why or why not?
When Ruby says, "I won’t come back unless it’s for more", do you believe her? Would you have made the same choice in her position?
Do you think they’ll find each other again when the timing is finally right—or was this goodbye the ending they needed?
WOOOW! AMAZING OUTTA THIS WORLD....MY SENSES WERE IN OVERDRIVE!! LAWD...May We ALL Experience a 'Boone' in our Life Before We Leave This World!!
There's no way you've been sitting on this!