Finally, a new chapter!

I'm so, so sorry for the unexpected month-long absence. The good news is that I'm no longer AWOL and am working my ass off to get back on track. The bad news is that I'm hesitant to make promises about the schedule after this (I hate over-promising and under-delivering). However, the promise I can make? This story WILL be finished. Whether or not the schedule is written in stone, you'll definitely see the end of this fic. No hanging in Shane/Sophia limbo for the rest of your days - cross my heart.

Thank you so much for being patient enough to wait for this, or for continuing to check back if you're not able to subscribe. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate every single one of you.

Sophia woke late Saturday to find herself alone, the sheets crumpled beside her and the smell of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. Her head ached, her mouth tasted like ash, and the disastrous dinner of the previous night flooded her thoughts – but only for a moment. She rolled onto Shane's side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow while morning sunlight streamed down the back of her neck.

He'd been perfect. Beyond perfect, and not just in the aftermath of the dinner, but the dream as well. Throughout hundreds of nightmares in her past, she'd only ever woken to one of two things: Rick telling her to get the fuck over it, or dead lonely silence. But Shane had stayed with her through all of it. He rubbed her back while she was sick. He joined her in that usually-private, post-dream cigarette. And on a cold porch in the middle of the night she told him she loved him, and he said it back.

Well, sort of. The words hadn't been quite in the traditional order, and he'd strictly avoided eye contact while saying it – but it wouldn't be Shane if he'd been too comfortable, right?

For a while she only lay there, snuggled into the bedding and wondering if he'd return with the coffee. It wouldn't surprise her, not after last night.

She was so used to taking care of everyone else. Amy had been her best friend, but emotionally was a full-time job. She'd grown exhausted with her parents, always hitting that brick wall when she tried to help them. And Rick? He'd given such a beautiful illusion of caring at the start, but too soon – or perhaps not soon enough – that illusion was shattered by his narcissism. He took and took and took, giving nothing in return while her existence catered to him.

Of course, she also took care of Shane, but Shane was different. He wanted her care. He needed it, and even loved her for it. She was useful to him beyond a warm body, a wet mouth, or an ego to stroke, and every stride to his happiness was a stride to her own. And he took care of her too.

He always had, but now he was being more overt about it. He was putting her welfare ahead of his own, he was giving stability to her new life in the valley, he was…

…probably not coming back.

Pulling on pajama bottoms and a sweater, she rubbed her eyes and wandered out of the bedroom. Shane was already dressed and sitting on the sofa next to Amber, a cup of coffee in hand and blank eyes staring at the meteorologist on TV. Sophia poured herself a cup too, then shuffled over to plop down beside him.

"You're up early," she murmured, setting the steaming mug on the end table.

"Yeah." His voice was as flat as his expression. "Gonna work on the hutch."

For one sleepy moment Sophia wondered if she'd dreamt it all – a dream within a dream, that she'd never actually woken up in the cold sweat with Shane chasing after her, never actually said, "I love you" to him on her porch steps.

"Hey," she said, cuddling into his side. "You all right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"You don't seem fine…you're never out here this early."

"Is that a problem?"

"Of course not, but—"

"I wanted an early start, okay?"

"Okay, Jesus."

She reached for her coffee, leaning back and watching the dark liquid ripple. Why didn't he understand how needy she felt? Why couldn't he give her a single affectionate touch – a single look of reassurance –to show that she hadn't actually dreamt it? As it was, something suspiciously like dread was drumming into her.

A commercial came on, blasting far louder than the weather report, and she looked up just in time to see Shane mute the TV. Silence followed. Then:

"I'm spending too much time here."

Six simple words, and Sophia instantly felt sick.

"Y-you are?" she trembled, setting her coffee back down.

He stared through the commercial. "I'm abandoning Jas again."

"Huh? That's not true at all. You've never been better to her."

"Like that's saying a whole fucking lot."

"Shane!"

"Marnie's watching her the whole damn weekend." He paused, then snorted. "Again."

"Yeah, because she knows you're staying here to work on my hutch. This was planned, remember?"

"And all the other weekends the past few months?"

"It's—"

"Just fucking like me, shoving her off on somebody else. Every day after work I come here. I pick my girlfriend over my kid."

Had she slept through a whole extra day? What could possibly have happened in the last few hours to cause such an abrupt change? He sounded so angry.

"And I told you not to choose!" she cried. "Jas is welcome any time – I tell you to bring her over here at least once a week. You're the one who ignores that."

"Because I told you." He put his hands over his face, rubbing hard. "I'm not going to force a kid on you. Fuck."

She took a deep breath to keep her voice measured and free of her bubbling anger. "It's not forcing if I invite her over. I love Jas, and I love when the three of us spend time together. Shane, if this is about those stupid things my mom said—"

"Look," he said, standing abruptly. "Just let me do my own thing today, okay?"

Then he slipped on his coat and shoes and walked out the front door.

Sophia, feeling small and stupid, fought back the stinging in her eyes. What had she expected? For them to immediately say those words again? For him to gaze at her through dark, sleepy lids and pull her on top of him for morning sex? For all their problems to disappear in a flurry of tangled limbs and kisses in light of these newly proclaimed feelings?

Well, yes – for a day or two, at the very least.

She left him alone, respecting his space as he worked on the hutch, hoping the fresh air would lift his mood. At noon she went outside with an offer of lunch, but after being met with a gruff, "No thanks," excused herself to the greenhouse for the remainder of the day. Tending to the berry seedlings, she tried to distract herself from the hurt in her heart; tried to reassure herself that this moodiness was only the dinner catching up to him and had nothing to do with what they'd shared on the porch.

At suppertime she returned to the house to find Shane already inside – and in an even worse mood than before.

He'd committed an irreparable, unforgivable sin.

He'd cut several boards too short.

"I'm sure we can fix it," she said carefully, the room chilled with more than the gust of cold air brought in from outside.

He shook his head, grabbing a soda from her fridge. "It's – I have to buy new ones. I fucked it all up. Your stupid rabbits will get wet and freeze because I cut the boards wrong, because I didn't fucking measure properly. Knew I was going to do something dumb like this. Just fucking knew it."

"Shane… Shane, I love that you're doing this for me, but I don't want it to be a source of stress – I don't want the process to make you hate yourself…"

"Nothing can make me hate myself if I already fucking do."

"You're frustrated, you just need to take a break—"

He interrupted with a loud sigh, then stared at a spot on the floor. "Your gift," he mumbled at last. "I'm ruining it…"

Hurt as she felt, Sophia found it impossible to stay away when he was folding in on himself like this. She smoothed back his hair, wet where the snowflakes had melted since coming inside, then softly kissed his cheek. "You made a mistake. You didn't burn my house down, so stop beating yourself up. Please?"

"Yeah." But he didn't wrap his arms around her; didn't kiss her forehead like usual when she kissed his cheek. Taking a swig of soda, he only stared at their reflection in the black window.

Later that night when they were in bed – after having spent a long evening in strangled silence – Sophia sat up against the headboard.

"What're you doing?" Shane muttered thickly.

"It's bothering you."

"It's fine." He yanked the covers higher to his neck. "I'll pick up new boards tomorrow."

"Not the goddamn hutch. I'm talking about the things my mom said."

"It's fine. Fuck, Sophia, come on…"

"It's not fine! It's the opposite of fine. Last night you tell me you love me, then today you treat me like this?" The last word caught in her throat. "You've barely talked to me all day, you've barely even looked at me..."

He sighed angrily. "What do you want me to do? It's late and I'm fucking tired, okay?"

No, it was not okay. She'd given him space all afternoon, and right now his space could go fuck itself.

"No. No. This is the Shane you give to strangers, not to me. I deserve better – I deserve more of you than whatever the hell this is."

He said nothing, only putting a hand over his face. She had half a mind to keep ripping into him, to tell him what shit it was, acting so cold and distant after what they'd shared. Except when she opened her mouth to do just that, something stopped her.

It was all her fault. It was her stupid dinner that'd done it; he could deny until he was blue in the face, but she knew it was true. Without the dinner they wouldn't have been stressed – she wouldn't have had the dream – he wouldn't have needed to comfort her, and possibly say things he wasn't ready to say—

"I need you," she whispered, voice cracking. "Please, please don't pull away from me. Not after last night…"

He rubbed the hand down his face, but then – to her surprise – pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"Shane?"

More silence. Then, in a defeated voice: "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said, feeling desperate. "Be here." She pressed her body against his. "You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything. Even if you think it'll make me upset, it's so much more important that we're honest."

He lifted his head sharply. "What?"

"Just – if it made you uncomfortable last night. If you regret saying it…"

"Oh," he said, posture relaxing. "Sophia, that's not—"

"I won't be mad. Just please, please don't pull away from me."

He closed his eyes. "I don't regret that."

"You don't?"

"Fuck no."

"Then what is it?"

"I told you, it's nothing…"

Clearly it wasn't nothing. But knowing he didn't regret what they'd said, Sophia's hurt subsided enough to drop it – to focus instead on the fact that he wasn't pushing her away. She pressed into him, feeling her own body language change.

"Sophia…"

"We don't have to talk right now, but please stay close. Please?"

Even as her hand slid to his groin, she felt guilty. She knew she used sex to bring him closer, and maybe they did rely on it a little too much. But was it really so wrong, using her physicality to get through to him? He was so goddamn frustrating, so stubborn and closed off and unwilling to talk about the important things. At least, not without the softness that followed lovemaking, when for a few precious moments Sophia had access to the whole of who he was – a few soft, precious moments that never lasted long enough.

"Soph—"

"Not for sex sex," she whispered, slipping the hand into his pajama pants. "Just to be close."

He sighed. "I'm not in a good place right now, okay?"

"Then let's get you into a better one."

God, she was being pushy again. Had she always been this pushy? She only wanted everything to feel right again, but there had to be a better way…

Then – just as she was about to pull back – Shane's hand slid over her thigh.

She wore only a t-shirt, and as she climbed on him his hands continued to stroke her thighs, then glide along the curve of her ass.

"Forget everything about today," she said, sinking onto his lap. "Please? Just let it go, just be close…" Leaning in with breath close enough to tickle his ear, she whispered, "Get hard for me, Shane."

There was the slightest movement beneath her.

"Please," she whispered again. "Please get hard for me. Please, please get hard for me…"

This was a first. He'd never let on that he was into having her beg for it, but with each please that left her lips his body reacted more, and Sophia latched onto it.

"Please," she repeated, over and over, pressing into him. "Please…"

As small, excited ribbons streamed through her body, she realized something – she loved feeling desperate for him. No matter that he almost always took the lead during sex. This was different; it was intoxicating needing to beg her way in. She pleaded, grinding against him, certain he was already there and making her wait on purpose.

Then without a word, one hand reached up to scoop the side of her neck. Then the other. At first they remained still, but a moment later they wrapped around, encircling it.

Gently, they squeezed.

It wasn't hard. It didn't hurt. It was just enough; through the dark she could make out the shape of his head, the darker spots where his eyes were, and she stared solemnly into them, her face growing hot from the hold.

"Shane…" she whispered, voice constricted.

His hands closed tighter, the pulse in his thumbs against her throat.

She loved when he led, always. And it was quiet like this, always. But until the moment his grip tightened, she had no idea she was into this. The heat in her lips and forehead began to tingle. Her head swam, and all the worries of earlier in the day seemed to disappear. Right now it was only Shane and the implicit trust between them, and she silently willed him to grasp tighter.

Instead, he let go.

"Fuck," he mumbled.

She continued to stare at the dark spots of his eyes. "Shane."

"Fuck. Should've asked…"

"I liked it."

"I'm sorr—"

"I said I fucking liked it."

"Well maybe you shouldn't, okay? Maybe you should find somebody who's not a complete dick to you all the time."

She half wanted to strangle him back.

"Do you hear yourself? Did you listen to a single word I said last night? I love you! What more do you need me to say? Because I swear to god, I'll say it. Whatever it is, I'll say it – I'm willing to sound desperate, I'm willing to make a fool of myself – I'm fucking yours." She reached down, pulling his cock free from his pants and guiding it into her. "I'm yours, Shane," she whispered, sliding slowly to its base. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours…"

She couldn't be close enough right now. He was inside her but it wasn't enough – it was never enough – and it was a crazed feeling that ran through her as she rocked on his lap; obsessive and wild and probably not entirely healthy at its core.

"Forget everything else," she whispered. "Just make me yours."

December shaped into a rough month for Shane's mental health. His moods became unpredictable.

That Monday after work he burst through Sophia's door just as she'd returned from working in the greenhouse. Not bothering to let her change from her work clothes – nor changing from his – he took her against the wall of her kitchen, lifting her entire weight off the floor, her back pressed against the paneled wood and his hands under her hips as he pushed into her saying, "I love you Sophia, I love you Sophia," over and over, as if each thrust were determined to prove that.

He continued working on the hutch each day. Some days he came inside grinning and teasing her, others only silently grabbing a soda and remaining moody until he left. At first Sophia tried to cheer him up on those days, but she quickly learned her efforts made it worse.

"Maybe you ought to take a break, just for awhile," she said.

"Great. Then I'll never finish and you'll always have a half-built hutch to remind you what a fuck-up I am."

Another time she ran a hand down his arm. "It doesn't have to be perfect, Shane. Cut yourself some slack."

But he only shook her hand off. "You mean the way I've done my whole fucking life and never accomplished anything?"

It broke her heart over and over. Saying I love you was supposed to strengthen their bond, not diminish it, but ever since that night he'd been coming apart at the seams, and Sophia felt like she could do nothing to fix it.

On Friday – exactly one week after the dinner – Shane arrived a little after nine, and she stopped him on the porch before he could step inside.

"You warm enough?"

"Huh?"

His tone, his expression – it was clearly not one of his good days. She tried to ignore that fact, saying, "Are you warm enough to keep walking? We have a date tonight."

"Since when?"

"Since now." She shoved the stack of blankets she'd been holding under one of his arms, then grabbed the flashlight from the canvas bag on her shoulder. "Come on."

"I thought we'd just relax tonight…"

"We'll relax when we get there," she said, grabbing his free hand and wrapping the cold fingers in her own.

The beam of the flashlight swung over the dark, snowy property, the world silent but for their crunchy footsteps and the whistling wind through the trees. A lump formed in Sophia's throat as she gazed at the blanketed farmland, at remembering how lush it'd been only months ago – how snarled and overgrown only months before that.

How different everything would have turned out if she hadn't met Shane.

In the distance was the fire pit, and she lamented how few times they'd used it before the snow came. Next year. Next year they'd have more fires. She'd invite Jas over for s'mores, or to go swimming in her pond. Maybe she could buy a small tent and the three of them could camp in her yard. And the city – she definitely had to take Shane to the city more often, he'd been so at home on those sidewalks, and the change of scenery would be good for him…

If he still wants to be with you next year.

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut. They would be together. He loved her. That wouldn't change because of a few bad moods. Just look at Amy – she'd cycled through terrible spells of depression for years, often cranky and shutting Sophia out, but even during the worst times she'd never stopped loving her. Even during the worst times, Amy never hesitated to call Sophia her best friend.

Whatever life threw at Shane, she'd be there for him. She'd be patient. She'd do whatever she could to make him happy again.

After what felt like ages they reached a section of forest along the edge of her property, and Sophia came to a halt. Shane paused too.

"The treehouse?" he said, realizing where she'd led them.

"Yes." She passed him the flashlight and began to climb. "We have good talks in here."

He snorted. "Once."

"After tonight it'll be twice. Now hand me those and come up."

Once inside she propped the flashlight on its end and laid out the blankets. They sat with their backs against the wall, just like they'd done in early summer – only this time Sophia wormed her way under Shane's arm.

"Remember being here with me last time?"

He snorted again. "You mean when I came over drunk."

"I mean when we had one of the best conversations we've ever had."

"Because I was drunk."

"I was drunk," she whispered. "You barely were, and you know it."

A pause.

"Look," she continued. "I know we never talk about it anymore. And I know you're having a rough time lately. You are," she insisted, when he opened his mouth to deny it. "I hate to say this because I'm terrified it'll come out condescending, but – I'm so, so proud of you Shane. It's been ages since you drank last. It can't be easy, but you're doing so well, and after everything you've gone through—"

She stopped talking as he yanked his arm free of her, dropping it to his lap.

Oh, god. She'd offended him.

"I swear!" she said quickly. "I'm not blowing smoke up your ass. I'm proud of you, and I mean that with all my heart…"

Silence.

"It hasn't been ages," he spat.

"Huh?"

"I drank, okay?"

"You what?!"

"I drank, Sophia, with your dad. And he knows I'm a fucking alcoholic, and now your mom probably does too."

The wind howled outside, but tucked into this little pocket of stillness in the trees Sophia felt removed not only from the wind, but the world as a whole. It was the first time either of them had ever used that word aloud. Alcoholic.

"You were," she said, biting her lip. "You were an alcoholic. You've been better for months…"

"Yeah? I was also better for years, at one point. Bunch of fucking good that did me."

Though she spoke in a whisper, her voice seemed to amplify through the treehouse. "Y-you told my dad?"

Shane dragged his hands down his face, looking like this was the last thing on earth he wanted to discuss. "He brought up wine from your cellar. I drank two glasses and then freaked out. Dumped the rest of it down the drain, right in front of him."

Sophia briefly remembered the last time she'd seen him drink in person. They'd been at the Stardrop Saloon, he'd looked miserable, and when she pointed out that he was drinking beer again, he'd responded by heading to the bar to down shot after shot.

It hadn't been a lie, telling him she was proud of him just now. And hearing the rest of the story, that pride soared even higher.

"You dumped it out," she repeated softly.

"So?"

"So? You dumped it out!"

"Yeah, after I already drank some…"

"And that was probably even harder to do! That's huge, Shane. Are you going to hate me if I keep telling you I'm proud of you?"

"Honestly? Yes. Knock it off."

It felt like a smack to the face. The words could have been a joke, but the seriousness in his voice was anything but.

"It doesn't matter." She looked at her lap, growing equally serious. "It's my fault anyway."

"Oh, fuck off."

"It is. I put you in that position to begin with. My mom – everything she said – leaving the room to fight with her—"

He tilted his head back against the boards with a frustrated groan."How many times do I have to tell you, it's not what your mom said? Fuck. I thought you said this was a date? Why the fuck are we talking about this?"

"Because we need to!" she cried. "Because I need the person I love to be honest with me! You're not alone anymore, so why do you insist on acting like you are? If you slip up and drink I want to know, because I support you! And if you're upset about the stuff my mom said, I want to know so I can tell you I feel the exact fucking same. She was way out of line, and if I could rewind time so you'd never have to hear that shit, I'd do it in a heartbeat!"

Shane stared at her. One side of his face was illuminated by the pale yellow beam of the flashlight, the other in harsh shadow, and he said nothing.

She took a deep breath. "Shane, my mom's had some kind of break with reality. Ever hear those stories about people who have strokes that affect their brain? Like, they come out a different person, blunt or vicious or angry all the time. Ever since Amy…that's my mom. She's a different person. I already told you, it's not you. If she met you before, if I dated you before it all happened…"

"I'd still be an alcoholic," he said quietly.

"You'd still be you, and my mom wouldn't have said those horrible things."

Shane picked up the flashlight, playing with the clasp on its side. After a long moment of silence he said, "Do you remember the dance?"

"Of course." Sophia braced herself; this was clearly not going to be a pleasant trot down memory lane.

"You asked me what my 'thing' was. I didn't answer, because I didn't have a thing. I got shitfaced, that was it." He continued to fiddle with the clasp, avoiding eye contact. "At dinner when your mom was grilling me you told her to stop – told her to ask me what I like to do instead. Well, I'm fucking glad she didn't. What would I have said, Sophia? I don't do anything. I don't have hobbies or a career or any of that shit. I'm not good at anything. All I've ever done is drink and stock groceries and sit around on my ass—"

"Oh come on! That's not true."

"Yeah? You don't know who I was before all this – you don't know what I was like."

"Fuck, Shane, I know at least a little b—"

"Do you have any idea what it's like to drink like that?"

Fighting the stinging behind her eyes, she whispered, "No."

He began snapping the flashlight clasp so hard it looked like he was trying to break it. "You get off work, you drink. You wake up on the weekend, you drink. You drink before you go anywhere. Nothing to drink at home, you go to the bar. Too early for the bar, you go to the liquor store and stand there like a jackass waiting for it to open. If you're not drunk you're either hungover or only thinking about when you'll get your next drink. You blow your whole paycheck and then wonder where the fuck your money goes. You sleep like shit. It's your whole goddamn life."

The flashlight fell with a clatter, and Sophia jumped.

"What kind of idiot wants to go back there?" he muttered, dropping his head in his hands. "What kind of idiot has one drink and then can't stop thinking about going back to that miserable fucking place?"

Trembling, she said, "You can't stop thinking about it?"

He sank against the boards. "Do you know what it's like going to work now? Passing that stupid liquor wall twenty times a day?"

She shook her head.

"I'm nothing. No goals, no ambition. You're the most ambitious person I've ever met. It's fucking terrifying trying to keep up with you. Why the fuck are you with somebody who doesn't have a future?"

Sophia sank against the boards too, resting her head on his.

"Because I don't think it's true," she said quietly. "I think you're just shit at seeing what you're capable of. Look at everything you do. You work full-time. You help Marnie on the ranch, and that chicken coop is basically yours. You were here every Saturday for months, working all day long for free. You take care of Jas, you're building me a rabbit hutch, and you're an amazing boyfriend – you aren't lazy or stupid, Shane, and you don't have bad moods. You're chronically depressed. Doing everything you've done, being that way? None of that is easy."

In their time together, Sophia thought she'd learned all the different inflections of his voice. But when he spoke next, it was a sound she'd never heard before – bruised and desperate.

"Sophia, I don't want it to come back."

"It won't," she said, knowing she had no authority to make such a promise.

"It will. I can't do it."

"You can. You are, right now. Look, you've had a shit lot in life—"

"Doesn't matter. Could've been born into a family like yours, I'd still end up like this. If Garrett hadn't died, it would've been something else that made me go back, I fucking promise you. I can't do it. I can't. It's who I fucking am."

Cold wind whistled through the cracks of the treehouse, and the dropped flashlight illuminated a circle of light on the far wall.

Sophia wiped the corner of her eye and whispered , "But I love who you are."