Updated Apr 11, 2026 • ~10 min read
Chapter 25: November
Sloane
*November, seven weeks after the rescue*
The hike to Jackson’s cabin is harder than I remember.
It’s November now, colder than it was in October, and there’s already snow on the ground. I’m better prepared this time—proper gear, good boots, a GPS beacon that the park rangers insisted I carry, and enough survival knowledge that I’m not completely terrified of getting lost.
But I’m still nervous.
Not about the wilderness. About him.
It’s been seven weeks since I left. Seven weeks of silence, of not knowing if he’s spent this time convincing himself I’m not coming back, of wondering if he’s already locked his heart away so securely that I won’t be able to reach him.
But I’m here. I made it. I flew to Kalispell, rented a car, drove to the ranger station where Mike Chen looked shocked to see me and then grinned like he knew something I didn’t. He gave me directions to Jackson’s cabin—”in case you forgot the way”—and wished me luck with a knowing smile.
And now I’m hiking the final mile, my pack on my back, his red flannel tied around my waist, and my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
The cabin comes into view through the trees, and I stop, just looking at it.
Home.
That’s what it feels like. Not the sterile apartment I left behind, not the city I escaped. This rough-hewn cabin in the middle of the Montana wilderness feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
I take a deep breath and walk forward.
Bear sees me first. He’s lying on the porch, and when I step into the clearing, his head shoots up. For one second, he just stares like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. And then he’s up and running toward me, nearly knocking me over with his enthusiasm, whining and wagging and pressing against me like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
“Hey, buddy,” I whisper, dropping to my knees to wrap my arms around him. “I told you I’d come back. I told you.”
The cabin door opens, and Jackson steps out.
He freezes.
We stare at each other across the clearing, and I drink in the sight of him. He looks thinner, more tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before, and his hair is longer, more unkempt.
But he’s still Jackson. Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Sloane?” My name comes out like a question, like he can’t quite believe I’m real.
I stand slowly, Bear still pressed against my legs, and I start walking toward him. Toward the cabin. Toward home.
“Hi,” I say, and my voice is shaking.
“You’re here.” He’s still staring, still frozen. “You’re actually here.”
“I told you I was coming back.”
“It’s been seven weeks—”
“I know.” I stop a few feet away from him, close enough to touch but not touching yet. “I had to do it right. Had to quit my job properly, pack up my apartment, sell everything. It took longer than I expected, but I’m here now.”
He’s searching my face like he’s looking for something, and I can see the war happening inside him—hope battling with fear, want battling with self-protection.
“You quit your job?” he asks quietly.
“I quit my job. Effective immediately. Told the senior partner I was choosing my life over my career.” I take a breath. “I sold my apartment. Or rather, found someone to take over my lease. Donated most of my belongings. Kept what fit in my car. And then I drove here.”
“You drove—Sloane, it’s November. The roads—”
“Were fine. I’m not completely incompetent anymore, remember? You taught me how to survive.” I smile, even though I’m crying now. “You taught me how to live.”
“You can’t just—” He stops, running his hands through his hair, and I can see him starting to panic. “You quit your job? Sold your apartment? What if this doesn’t work? What if—”
“Watch me,” I cut him off. “I’m not asking your permission, Jackson. I’m not asking if you think this is a good idea or if you believe I can handle this life. I’m telling you: I’m staying. I’m moving to Montana. I’ve already started looking at places in town, already reached out to some law firms and environmental organizations about work. I’m building a life here. Whether you want me or not.”
He stares at me, and I can see I’ve shocked him.
“Whether I want you?” he repeats, and his voice cracks. “Sloane, I’ve spent the last seven weeks barely surviving because all I can think about is you. I can’t sleep in my bed because it reminds me of holding you. I can’t cook without remembering teaching you. I can’t do anything without you being everywhere and nowhere at once. Of course I want you.”
“Then why did you push me away?” The tears are falling freely now. “Why did you make me leave without fighting for me?”
“Because I was terrified!” The words burst out of him. “Because everyone I’ve ever loved has either died or left, and I couldn’t—I can’t survive losing you too. So I pushed you away first, before you could change your mind, before you could realize that I’m not worth giving up everything for.”
I close the distance between us then, grabbing his jacket and pulling him down so we’re eye to eye.
“You are worth it,” I say fiercely. “You’re worth every single thing I gave up. You’re worth the career and the apartment and the city and all of it. Because you’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like I’m enough exactly as I am. You’re the first person who taught me what living actually feels like instead of just surviving.”
“Sloane—”
“I love you,” I continue, not letting him interrupt. “I love you, and I’m not leaving. I don’t care if it’s hard. I don’t care if winter is brutal or if I miss coffee shops or if I have to shower from a bucket for the rest of my life. I don’t care about any of it because I choose this. I choose you. I choose us.”
“What if you change your mind?” He’s crying now too, and it breaks my heart to see how much he’s been hurting. “What if six months from now, you realize you made a mistake?”
“Then we’ll deal with it when it happens.” I cup his face in my hands. “But I’m not Sarah, Jackson. I’m not someone who’s going to slowly wither away in the isolation. I’m someone who’s been withering away in civilization and bloomed here. With you. In this cabin. In this wilderness.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “Don’t know how to believe that you won’t leave.”
“Then I’ll prove it to you.” I press my forehead to his. “Every single day for as long as it takes. I’ll prove that I’m here, that I’m staying, that you can trust me with your heart.”
For a long moment, we just stand there, foreheads pressed together, both of us crying, both of us shaking with emotion.
And then he kisses me.
It’s desperate and relieved and full of seven weeks of longing, and I kiss him back with everything I have, everything I feel, everything I’ve been holding onto through the weeks of separation.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.
“I love you,” he says, and it sounds like a confession, like a surrender. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
“Then be terrified with me,” I whisper. “Be terrified and try anyway. Be scared and love me anyway. Be broken and let me love the broken pieces.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” I smile through my tears. “I’m here, Jackson. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to have to kick me out if you want me gone, and even then I’ll probably just camp outside until you let me back in.”
He laughs, and it’s watery and broken but it’s real. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” I kiss him again, soft and sweet. “But I’m your insane. If you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll—” He pulls back to look at me, and there’s wonder in his eyes now, mixing with the fear. “Sloane Whitmore, I would be honored to have you. Terrified and uncertain and convinced I’m going to screw this up, but honored.”
“Good.” I grin. “Because I have a car full of stuff parked at the ranger station that I need help hauling back here.”
“You’re moving in?” The hope in his voice makes my heart ache.
“If you’ll let me. Or I can get a place in town and visit on weekends until you’re comfortable with—”
“Move in.” He says it firmly, certainly. “Move in with me. Please. I can’t—I don’t want to spend another night without you.”
“Okay.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Okay, yes. I’ll move in.”
We stand there in the clearing, holding each other, and Bear circles around us whining happily, his tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles.
“I can’t believe you came back,” Jackson whispers into my hair.
“I told you I would.”
“I know. But I didn’t believe it. Didn’t let myself believe it.”
“Believe it now.” I pull back to look at him. “I’m here. I’m staying. And you’re going to have to get used to having someone around who reorganizes your stuff and cooks too much food and reads poetry badly.”
“You don’t read poetry badly,” he says, and he’s smiling now, really smiling. “And I’ll learn to live with the reorganizing if it means I get to wake up next to you every morning.”
“Deal.”
We go inside, and the cabin is exactly as I remember—rough-hewn and rustic and absolutely perfect. Jackson makes coffee while I unpack my daypack, pulling out the things I brought.
Including his red flannel.
“You kept it,” he says quietly, watching me fold it.
“I told you I would. Told you I’d bring it back so you’d know it was really me.” I hand it to him. “I’ve been sleeping in it for the past seven weeks. Hope you don’t mind.”
He buries his face in it, breathing in, and when he looks up, his eyes are wet again.
“Thank you,” he says. “For coming back. For believing in us when I couldn’t. For being brave enough for both of us.”
“Always.” I move into his arms, and he holds me like he’s never going to let go. “I’ve got enough bravery for both of us. And eventually, you’ll believe it too. Believe that I’m not going anywhere. That this is real. That we can make this work.”
“I want to believe it,” he admits.
“Then start now.” I tip my head up to kiss him. “Start believing now, and every day we’ll prove it together.”
“Together,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word.
“Together,” I confirm.
And as the sun sets over the Montana mountains, casting the cabin in golden light, I know I’ve made the right choice.
This is home.
He is home.
And I’m never leaving again.
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