Chapter Seventeen: The Return

Jack's brother, Daniel Lawson, had always been more myth than memory. In Jack's stories, he'd been a wild-hearted rebel who rode off one summer and never returned. But now, here he was—in the flesh, sipping coffee in their kitchen and warming his fingers on the mug as if he'd only been away for a season.

Daniel looked older than Jack remembered, his once dark hair streaked with gray, a scar cutting just beneath his eye. "Didn't plan on staying long," he said, setting the cup down. "Just wanted to see what became of you."

Jack studied him. "What happened to you?"

Daniel shrugged. "War. Wandering. A woman I couldn't hold onto. You know the kind."

Ellie watched them from across the table, feeling the weight of a brotherhood slowly stitched back together. There was resentment under Jack's skin, but also relief.

Over the next few days, Daniel stayed in the spare room. He helped Jack in the garage, told stories that left Ruthie laughing so hard she cried, and took walks with Ellie, asking questions about her and Jack's life.

"He's softer now," Daniel said one evening as they walked through town. "You did that."

Ellie smiled. "He's always been soft. Just needed space to show it."

But the visit wasn't just nostalgic. Daniel had come with a reason.

"I'm sick," he told Jack one night in the garage. "Not dying today. But it's coming. I wanted to make peace before I ran out of time."

Jack didn't say anything for a long time. Then he handed his brother a wrench. "Well, if we've got time, let's make something with it."

Together, they rebuilt an old motorcycle, just like the one Daniel had left town on years ago.

And when Daniel finally left, a few weeks later, the silence he left behind wasn't heavy—it was full of closure.

Jack stood on the porch as the motorcycle disappeared down the snowy road. Ellie joined him, wrapping her arm through his.

"Closure?" she asked.

Jack nodded. "And a reminder. Time runs out. You hold on tight to what matters."

He turned to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And I'm not letting go of you."

The wind picked up, blowing snow across the steps. Inside, the fire crackled warm and steady.

Love, Jack thought, is built not in grand declarations, but in choosing to stay—even when it's hard. Even when the past comes knocking.

And this time, he wasn't running.