Updated Jan 14, 2026 • ~10 min read
POV: Reid
Long distance was harder than I’d expected.
Not because I didn’t love her. Not because I regretted trying. But because—
Because everything reminded me she wasn’t here.
The cabin where we’d been trapped felt empty now. The general store where we’d had coffee felt wrong without her sunshine energy. Even the fucking mountains felt different—less like sanctuary, more like distance keeping me from her.
I was pathetic.
Rose said as much when she found me moping in the store for the third time that week.
“You look like a kicked puppy,” she said, pouring coffee without asking. “How’s Hailey?”
“Fine. Good. Busy with work.”
“And you?”
“Fine.”
“That’s what Hailey always said when she was here. ‘Fine.’ You’re both liars.”
Fair point.
“It’s harder than I thought,” I admitted. “The distance. The—not seeing her. We talk every day but it’s not—it’s not the same.”
“Of course it’s not. Phone calls aren’t the same as having someone there. But that’s what long distance is. It’s hard. It sucks. You do it anyway because the alternative is worse.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Not having her at all.”
She was right. As much as this sucked—as much as I missed her constantly—not having her in my life would be worse.
My phone buzzed. Hailey: Missing you extra today. Victoria’s being impossible. The promotion isn’t what I thought it would be.
Me: What do you mean?
Hailey: It’s just… more work. More pressure. More performing. I got what I wanted and now I’m not sure I wanted it. Does that make sense?
Me: Yeah. It makes sense.
Hailey: I keep thinking about Pine Ridge. About you. About how everything felt simpler there. Realer. I miss that.
Me: I miss you.
Hailey: I miss you too. So much. Can we video call tonight? I need to see your face.
Me: Yeah. 8pm your time?
Hailey: Perfect. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I showed Rose the messages. She smiled—that knowing, meddling smile that meant she was plotting something.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just—she misses you. You miss her. Maybe it’s time for a visit.”
“She’s busy with work. I can’t just show up—”
“Why not? Surprise her. Show up. Remind her what she’s missing. Remind yourself why this is worth the distance.”
“That’s—that’s crazy.”
“It’s romantic. There’s a difference.”
Was it crazy? To drive eight hours to surprise her? To show up unannounced and—
And what? Disrupt her work? Get in the way? Prove that I was needy and clingy and—
“You’re overthinking,” Rose said. “Classic Reid Foster move. Just go. She’ll be happy to see you. Trust me.”
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I needed to stop hiding behind distance and actually fight for this.
Actually show up.
That night’s video call was hard.
She looked tired. Stressed. Her performance smile firmly in place even though it was just us.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”
“Fine! Just—long day. Long week. Long—everything.” Her smile slipped. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m tired.”
“So stop performing for me.”
“I’m not—” She stopped. Sighed. “You’re right. I am. Sorry. It’s habit. Work mode bleeds into everything.”
“Tell me about it. The promotion. Victoria. Everything.”
She did. Talked about increased responsibilities and unrealistic expectations and feeling like she was back to performing happiness instead of actually being happy. Talked about missing Pine Ridge. Missing quiet. Missing—
“Missing you,” she finished. “I miss you so much it hurts. Is that normal? To miss someone this much after two weeks?”
“I don’t know. But I feel it too.”
“This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“Yeah.”
“But I don’t want to give up.”
“Me neither.”
“So we just—keep going? Keep missing each other? Keep trying?”
“Yeah. And we make plans. For visits. For—for something to look forward to.”
“When can you visit? Or when can I come back there?”
I thought about Rose’s suggestion. About showing up. About being brave.
“What if I came this weekend?”
Her face lit up—genuine joy, not performance. “Really? You’d drive here? This weekend?”
“Yeah. If you want me to. If you’re not too busy—”
“Yes. Yes yes yes. Come. Please come. I—I need to see you. Need—need to remember this is real. That we’re real. That—”
“That we’re worth it,” I finished.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll come. Friday night. I’ll drive after work—”
“You don’t have work.”
“After pretending to work,” I corrected. “I’ll be there by midnight.”
“I’ll wait up. I don’t care how late. I’ll—I’ll wait.”
The joy in her voice made the eight-hour drive worth it already.
After we hung up, I texted Wade: I’m driving to Seattle this weekend. Can you check on things while I’m gone?
Wade: FINALLY. About damn time you did something romantic. I’ll handle everything. Go get your girl.
Rose texted next: Heard you’re going to Seattle. Good. Don’t forget flowers. Women love flowers.
How did she know already? Pine Ridge gossip network was too efficient.
Me: I’m not bringing flowers.
Rose: You’re bringing flowers. Trust me.
Parker: Rose told me you’re visiting Hailey. That’s awesome, man. Proud of you.
How many people had Rose told in the last five minutes?
Me: Does the whole town know?
Parker: Pretty much. We’re all rooting for you two.
Great. No pressure.
Friday came too slowly. I spent the week preparing—cleaning the truck, planning the drive, trying not to overthink this.
Trying not to panic that showing up would be too much. That she’d see me and realize the distance was easier than the reality. That—
That I was still broken and she deserved better.
Wade found me packing Friday afternoon. “You look terrified.”
“I’m not terrified.”
“You’re absolutely terrified. It’s written all over your face.”
“What if this is a mistake? What if I show up and it’s weird? What if—”
“What if you stop spiraling and just go? She loves you. You love her. You’re driving eight hours to see her. That’s romantic. That’s—that’s what people who love each other do.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what? Driven eight hours?”
“Been in love. Real love. Not—not the performance version Vanessa and I had. But actual love. Where you miss someone even though they’re exhausting. Where you want to show up even though it’s inconvenient. Where—where you choose them every day even when it’s hard.”
Wade’s expression softened. “That’s real love, brother. That’s the kind worth fighting for. Now get in your truck and go fight for it.”
I left at 5 PM. Eight hours to Seattle. Eight hours to think and panic and convince myself this was either the best or worst idea I’d ever had.
Hailey texted updates:
Hour 1: Drive safe! Miss you!
Hour 3: You’re halfway! I’m cleaning the apartment. Mostly freaking out. But also cleaning.
Hour 5: SO CLOSE. I can’t sit still. I’ve cleaned everything twice.
Hour 7: Almost here! I’m waiting outside. It’s cold but I don’t care.
When I pulled up to her apartment building at 11:47 PM, she was indeed waiting outside. In pajamas and a coat. Bouncing on her toes. Ridiculous and beautiful and—
And mine.
I barely had the truck in park before she was at the door, yanking it open, pulling me out, kissing me like I’d been gone years instead of weeks.
“You’re here,” she said between kisses. “You’re actually here. You drove eight hours. For me. You—”
“I love you,” I said. “I had to see you. Couldn’t go another day without—”
She kissed me again. Deeper. Desperate. “I love you too. Come inside. It’s freezing. Come—come inside.”
Her apartment was small. Studio. Neat and organized and somehow very her—colorful throw pillows, plants in the windows, photos of Morgan and people I assumed were from her foster care years. A life. Her life. One I wasn’t part of yet.
But I wanted to be.
“I know it’s small,” she said nervously. “Not like your cabin. Not—”
“It’s perfect. It’s you.”
“Is it too much? Me being this excited? I feel like I’m too much. I’m always too much—”
I pulled her close. “You’re not too much. You’re exactly right. And I drove eight hours because I missed you this much too. Because—because two weeks was too long. Because I needed to see you. To—to make sure this was real.”
“Is it? Real?”
“Yeah. This is real. We’re real. Even with eight hours between us. Even with—with all the reasons this shouldn’t work. It’s real.”
She pressed her face into my chest. “I’ve been so scared. That the distance would kill this. That we’d drift apart. That—that you’d realize I’m not worth the drive.”
“You’re worth every mile. You’re worth—everything.”
We stood like that for a long time. Just holding each other. Breathing each other in. Making up for two weeks of phone calls and texts and missing each other.
“How long can you stay?” she asked.
“Sunday afternoon. I have to be back Monday.”
“That’s not enough time.”
“I know. But it’s what we have.”
“Then let’s not waste it.”
We spent Saturday together—I met her Seattle. Her favorite coffee shop. Her office building. The park where she went when work stressed her out. Her life. The one I wanted to be part of.
And she met my willingness to try. To show up. To choose her even when it was inconvenient.
That night, lying in her small bed, both exhausted and happy, she said: “Thank you for coming. For driving all this way. For—for showing me this is worth fighting for.”
“It is. We are. And I’ll keep showing up. As often as I can. Until—until we figure out how to not be eight hours apart.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet. But I know this—this long-distance thing is temporary. Eventually one of us has to move. Eventually we have to—to choose a place. Together.”
“That’s a big conversation.”
“I know. But I wanted you to know—I’m thinking about it. About us. About—about how we make this permanent. However that looks.”
She turned to face me, eyes shining in the darkness. “I’m thinking about it too. About—about what I really want. What matters. And I keep coming back to you. To Pine Ridge. To—to feeling real instead of performed. I don’t know if I can do Seattle forever. Don’t know if—if this life is the one I actually want.”
“Then we figure out what you do want. Together. No pressure. No rush. Just—just thinking about futures that include each other.”
“I like that. Futures that include each other.”
“Me too.”
Sunday came too fast. The drive back was hard—leaving her standing in that parking lot, waving, trying not to cry.
But it was different than last time.
Last time felt like ending. This time felt like—
Like planning. Like building. Like figuring out how to make temporary into permanent.
Like we were both willing to change, willing to move, willing to—
Willing to build a life together instead of just surviving distance.
That was progress.
That was hope.
That was—
That was worth every mile.
Every call.
Every text.
Every moment of missing her.
Because she was worth it.
We were worth it.
And eventually—eventually we’d figure out how to be in the same place.
Build a home. Together.
Whatever that looked like.
Wherever that was.
As long as it was together.
That was all that mattered.
That was everything.
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