Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Bruce Springsteen owns "Thunder Road."

With a chance to make it good somehow

Hey what else can we do now

Except roll down the window

And let the wind blow back your hair?

Well the night's busting open

These two lanes will take us anywhere

December 30, 1969

"He sure looks happy."

Ponyboy nodded, watching Soda bring Shar into a walk. He took a drag of his cigarette, the palm of his other hand pressing into the cool wood of the fence. Ella was seated beside him, her arms wrapped around her middle to keep warm. Boy howdy, was it surely cold out, and the brisk breeze, though it was only slight, wasn't doing much to help any of them. Ella's feet pushed against the slab of wood beneath them so that she could steady herself, and Ponyboy was almost certain he could hear her teeth beginning to chatter a little. He didn't blame her, though, because he was about freezing to death, too, but he had agreed to go with Soda and Ella to the ranch so Soda could see Shar for the first time since he had gotten home. He seemed at peace riding along the property, and even Ella had admitted that he seemed real different since the Summer.

The teen glanced at his older friend, taking in her overly pale face and shaking form. "I've got an extra coat in the truck, if you want," he offered, even though he felt too cold to want to move.

But Ella merely shook her head, probably feeling the same. "No, that's okay, Ponyboy."

"If you're sure," he replied, even though he was internally grateful. At least he had made the gesture, even if it was done with slight reluctance. Another drag and he stubbed the finished cigarette, his gaze following his brother and Shar around the pen. "Think this is what he needed."

"I'll say," Ella agreed, and smiled gingerly. "I'm glad he's home."

"Me, too."

Her lips curved downward after a few seconds as she recalled hearing who else was back, and her heart seemed to sink in her chest. The news had come directly from Ponyboy, who had relayed to her that Darry had run into Dallas Winston in the store the other day. Ponyboy himself could hardly believe it, but apparently, Two-Bit had bumped into him Christmas Eve, so he had been in town for quite a few days. Ella wondered where he was staying, and figured that he was trying to keep a low profile again so that he didn't attract unwanted attention. That was just like Dallas to do, too, she thought almost bitterly, and when Ponyboy told her the rest of it—what Two-Bit had said to him, according to Darry anyway—Ella had been stunned. Well, it was probably about time someone had the brass ones to say something like that to Dallas . . . high time, too.

She was still angry with him for what he had done to her, for how he had treated her, and even though that she was hurt, it didn't reduce the vexation lingering through her veins. No, in fact, Ella was more than determined to punch him in the mouth if she ever saw him again. When she had revealed that bit to Ponyboy, he merely stared at her for a good moment, not saying anything. He didn't blame her in the slightest, though, and that much was understood—and respected. Dallas Winston might have been his friend, an old buddy, and of course you took up for them no matter what, even if they were wrong, but Ponyboy couldn't bring himself to side with Dallas for what he had done to Ella, and it wasn't just because he felt sympathetic toward her because of what Julia had done to him.

Still, there was a part of Ella that was almost tempted to hunt Dallas down and give him a good piece of her mind . . . not that she would. But she wanted to, and sometimes, she even fantasized doing it. There was another part of her that didn't think she would be able to . . . because of the way she felt, but she was unable to keep her anger at bay . . . and what Dallas had done to her had really hurt her. And for the first time, Ella wasn't sure that she could ever fully forgive him.

To make matters worse, Darry had invited him to the New Year's party that would be taking place at the Curtis house. Of course, Ella didn't open her mouth there, because it wasn't her house or her invite, and she would only be a mere guest . . . a friend on the outside of friends. She would be more comfortable if Mary DeVaney decided to show up, as she too was invited, but Ella assumed that the younger girl probably wouldn't . . . and she wasn't about to hold that over her head. Of course, she knew that Mary was still heartbroken over Soda, even if she was unable to admit it out loud, or to herself. Ella knew, though, for she could see it in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned, or whenever anyone said anything relating to him. A forlorn expression would blanket her face, and whether or not she was aware of it was one thing, but it was like she would somehow retreat into herself, becoming more quiet and reserved . . . as though she would never be able to face him. Or herself.

But Ella was going to the party either way, and she doubted that Dallas would even show up. She hadn't shared those thoughts with anyone, but that was how she felt.

Soda walked Shar over to them a minute later, his eyes bright, posture relaxed. "You got yourself quite the pony, Ella," he remarked, and grinned down at her. "He's really somethin', you know? He's got a bit of a spunky personality."

Ella returned the gesture, leaning forward to pet Shar's face. "I know," she replied, a casual tone to her quiet voice. "He's come a long way. I wouldn't trade him for anything."

"Better not," Soda said, giving her a pointed look, although it was teasing. "If you do, you'll have to sell him to me." A chuckle. "He's somethin' else."

A shrug. "Well, I'm sorry," she laughed. "But as much as I like you, Soda, I don't think I'd ever sell him, even to you."

Before Soda could respond, though, he spotted a truck pulling up the driveway, a familiar head of blond hair visible through the driver's side window. Neither Ponyboy or Ella seemed to stir, and Soda figured that they both must have thought it was Buck Merril, or his cousin Joe. But the twenty-one year old was able to see that it was, in fact, none other than Dallas Winston, and his brows furrowed as a surge of bewilderment welled up inside of him. It wasn't that he was so shocked to see his old friend, as he recalled Darry mentioning a few things about him the day or so before—he couldn't remember—but he also knew from Ponyboy that there was some tension on Ella's end aimed at him, and from what Soda had been informed of, he couldn't exactly say he could blame her.

Then again, he wouldn't blame Mary if she turned out to loathe him for what he'd done. He figured he would deserve her hate more than anything, might even find it to be a relief in some way. But his gaze was fixed on Dallas as he climbed out of the truck only a moment later, a cancer stick dangling off his bottom lip. It took only a second or two before his own eyes met Soda's, and neither one of them made the move to wave or acknowledge the other. If anything, Soda could quite clearly see that Dallas was stunned to see him there, probably not even knowing that he was home, but even though Soda felt just a little out of place, he figured Dallas probably felt it more than he had.

Ella lifted her gaze to Soda, seeming to pick up on his awkward silence, and she followed the trail of his eyes until she found exactly what, or who, he was looking at.

Speak, or think, of the devil . . .

She could feel Ponyboy's own gaze following after her own, and for a moment, the three of them didn't make a move to do anything, until suddenly, Dallas started walking toward them, a slight swagger in his steps as he made his way over. Instead of feeling anger like she thought she would, Ella felt innate irritation swirling in the very pit of her stomach, and she didn't even know what she should say or do, or how she should even act. Would she look like he had finally gotten to her if she acted so put off? Would he think that he had gotten over on her if she showed him just how much he had? No, Ella wasn't going to let that happen, not this time, and she certainly wasn't going to give him the right time of day, either.

In her eyes, she had every reason to not want anything to do with him.

"Army had enough of you?" Dallas quipped, nodding toward Soda, before shifting his eyes over to the youngest of the group. "How's it going, kid?" And then he simply looked at Ella, offering her a small smirk, which wasn't returned in the slightest.

Ponyboy merely nodded, as Soda was the one to reply. "Somethin' like that. What are you doing back here? Thought you hated slumming it around these parts . . ." Despite his words, they were spoken with a rather calm disposition, a common trait of Soda's.

Dallas cracked a grin, all teeth. "Somethin' like that."

"Staying with Buck again?"

"No," Dallas answered, smoke flowing out of his mouth. "Not staying anywhere, really. I don't plan on staying too long . . ." He gave a short nod toward Ella, who looked about as interested in him as one would a bag of spiders. "Or maybe I will." Another grin. "How've you been, Ella?"

Before she could respond, the cool expression on her face turning to one of disgust, Ponyboy stood up, taking a step down off the fence as he turned to face the blond. "Leave her alone, Dallas."

His voice wasn't threatening, nor was it menacing, but it was firm enough. Dallas, for a split second, was a little stunned by the kid telling him what to do. Sure, time on the road had changed him a bit, made him a bit more laid back, but that didn't mean he appreciated anyone telling him what the fuck to do—and certainly not where it concerned the likes of Ella Mitchell. He had nothing against the girl, the same girl who was causing him trouble to begin with . . . the only fucking reason he had—

No, he stopped himself there.

What the hell did he want with her?

He wanted to say something to the kid, tell him to mind his own damn business, but he wasn't exactly itching to get into it with Soda, who was watching the exchange with a blank countenance. Ella hadn't even so much as looked his way, and for some reason, it irked him. Fuck. Well, it wasn't like he really wanted her attention, or— Good Lord, he wanted to shut his fucking mind off, not think about a damn thing for a few minutes. But Ella Mitchell was right there, in his very presence, and the very sight of her was stirring a pot of emotions inside of him that was beginning to boil over the edge. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph . . . If there was anyone he was going to throw any sort of blame on, it was going to be Ella, and if she had a fucking beef with him, she could blame herself for it, too.

But now he was determined to get her riled up, determined to piss her off as much as she had him, and there was no way Ponyboy Curtis was going to get in his way.

His eyes flickered back to the kid, his face smoothing out. "I wasn't talking to you."

But Ponyboy remained stubborn. "I know, but—"

Ella jerked around, hopping down off the fence, a hard look in her blue eyes, one that Dallas had never seen before, and he could tell that she was . . . she was something. Either she was really annoyed that he had shown up, or someone had seriously took a shit in her morning coffee, and he couldn't really tell which it was. There had been a time when getting Ella all worked up had been amusing to him, had been the absolute highlight of his day, but right then . . . something about the look she was giving him made him feel . . .

He wouldn't say it, but he was put-off, and very much so.

She was glaring, then. "I want nothing to do with you, so don't bother trying to talk to me." And then she said something to Soda about her horse, before he hopped down and helped her up, trailing along beside Shar as they walked out of the pen.

Both Ponyboy and Dallas watched them go, and suddenly, Ponyboy felt bad. He didn't feel bad for what he had said, but some part of him felt bad for both Ella and Dallas. It was a surreal feeling to have at that moment, but he couldn't help it. He glanced back over at Dallas, who dropped his cigarette butt on the ground, before he shoved his hands inside his jean pockets.

"Is there a reason you came back?" he decided to ask, the question not coming out with indignance.

The former hood's eyes were sharp as he looked at the kid. He wasn't about to answer him honestly, because quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to explain. He wanted to tell him that there wasn't any real reason for returning, but Ponyboy wasn't exactly stupid—and neither was Darry. What had actually caused him to feel annoyed was that Ella hardly seemed to look his way, her posture tensed, though she didn't appear to feel any form of discomfort with seeing him. Dallas actually assumed that Ella would at least do something, or have more of a reaction, only she hadn't . . . and now that Ponyboy was prying into his personal business, he felt on edge.

He remained firm. "Just passing through, laying over for a few days." He made sure to give him a straight look. "I'll be outta here soon." Hell, it wasn't like he had planned on running into the three of them—no, he was there to meet Buck, help him out with a few mediocre things . . . his charge for staying at Joe's for however long . . . not that Joe minded in the least. And then he shrugged easily, as if he wasn't bothered at all by the question, or running into them. "Maybe I wanted to talk with Ella."

That drew Ponyboy's curiosity more than anything. "I wouldn't, Dallas."

Pulling out another cigarette and lighting it, Dallas stared out across the field, his focus on both Ella and Soda. He wondered what they were talking about, and his irritation only grew all the more. What further pissed him off was the fact that he wasn't even sure why in the fuck he was feeling like this to begin with. He couldn't bring himself to truly admit that Ella Mitchell was the one who was stirring the pot, unbeknownst to her, but seeing her, having her not even so much as look at him, drove him up a damn wall and then some. And then there was Ponyboy, who had told him to leave her alone, and now he was basically telling him not to bother with her at all. But Dallas Winston did what he wanted, and he wasn't about to listen to the kid—no way in hell. No, he did as he pleased, and he always got what he wanted . . . and right then, he wanted to talk to the stupid broad. There was a reason, though, even though he couldn't understand it . . . but he had to find out, or else what everyone had been telling him would be true, which would make him—

No.

Dallas would talk to Ella, and she was going to talk with him whether she liked it or not. He would get her . . . one way or the other, even if he had to wait until they were in private.

Down the path, though, Ella directed Shar toward the trail, Soda aimlessly walking beside her. He kept glancing up at her, as though he wanted to say something, only he wasn't sure how to. Well, for starters, he wanted to ask her if she was okay, because he knew how she felt about Dallas, as well as what had happened between them. Soda couldn't blame her for not wanting anything to do with him, especially because of how he left her. He figured that, maybe, Ella was still trying to put it behind her, or at least get over him, but the way he continuously popped in and out of her life was most likely making that difficult for her. Soda had always tried to be understanding with everyone, and right then, he was able to truly understand both sides of the spectrum where it concerned Dallas and Ella. He was observant enough to know that there was something there, but whatever happened between the two of them was their business, and he didn't want to include himself in that affair.

Still, he decided to ask Ella if she was okay, making sure to keep his voice at ease, as to not piss her off anymore than she already was.

The young woman simply nodded. "I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting—" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter, honestly. I just don't want to see him."

"I can understand that."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing down at him. "Can you?" It had come out before she even had time to consider her words, and she instantly felt bad. A sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes for a brief second or two, collecting herself. "I didn't mean that," she said, almost sounding solemn. "I suppose I'm just in a mood."

But Soda forced a grin. "Reckon I deserved it." A shrug. "I had it coming . . . probably for a long time, too." He chuckled lightly. "I'm glad you said it to me."

"Why's that?"

They walked on ahead for a minute as Soda tried to come up with the right words to say. He reminded himself that this was Ella Mitchell he was talking to as well, and she was incredibly close to Mary, not that it was a big deal or anything, but because . . . well, something about her still made his heart clench inside of his chest. He figured if anyone could understand that and relate to it, it would have to be Ella, and maybe Ponyboy, too . . . considering what had happened with him and Julia. But there was a large difference where it concerned both Ella and Dallas, and Soda and Mary.

He inhaled deeply, making a sound like feathery hum as he exhaled. "I reckon I felt awfully guilty for a while, you know . . ." A shrug. "I mean, I never meant to hurt her—Mary—the way that I did, and some part of it hurt me, too. And then afterward . . ." He made a face, a reflection of agony. "I never meant to do any of it . . . so it feels good to have someone scold me for it, instead of sweeping it under the rug."

Ella couldn't help but recognize something in his voice, something she knew all too well. "Do you miss her at all?" she boldly inquired.

"Sometimes," he admitted, and reached up to pet the side of Shar's face as Ella pulled him into a stop, her eyes gazing down at him.

"Maybe you should go and see her . . . before she leaves."

Soda's eyes met her own, a baffled expression in them. "Isn't she coming to the New Year's Eve party tomorrow night?"

And Ella's shoulders dropped as she looked down, pursing her lips. She knew that Mary wasn't going to show up, or at least, had no plans of doing so, and she knew exactly why. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put it all together, and Ella figured it would be pretty painful for Mary to see Soda right before she left for however long she would be gone, and not feel . . . something. It was understandable enough on its own, and even though Ella felt bad, she wasn't about to cast blame on the younger girl, either. She was surprised, though, that Soda had even bothered to ask about Mary in the first place, and for a mere second, she thought she might have detected a hopeful sound in his voice.

She shook her head. "No, she isn't."

"Oh," came the low response. Soda stared off in the distance for a moment, a faraway expression on his face. "She knows I'm home, then."

There was a hint of a frown on her mouth as she nodded. There were several thoughts crossing her mind right then, and one particular thought that kept surfacing. It was a bad idea she told herself, she shouldn't tell him, but there was a part of her that desperately wanted to . . . or rather, needed to. Mary would hate her for sure if she did it, there was no doubt of that, but Ella felt an overwhelming emotion that this might be the exact thing that both Soda and Mary needed. Was it so wrong? Yes, yes it was, and it would be.

A sigh. "I think you should go and see her."

The young man's brows pressed together. "What good would that do?"

And before she could stop herself, Ella spilled the beans. She didn't mean to, really she didn't, but the more she spoke, the more that came out, and pretty soon, she was telling Soda everything. She told him everything that Mary DeVaney had told her in confidence—save for a few details—but she told him all about Albert Webberly and Vera DuPres, the non-accidental death of Aunt Vera, and everything that Mary had endured afterward—from the drinking, to the depression, to . . . everything. Ella wasn't sure what she could have left out, if there was anything at all, but for some reason, a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, one she hadn't even known was there. But she also felt incredibly guilty now, and rightfully so. She had betrayed Mary's confidence, told Soda Curtis her most prodigious secret, the one thing that had led to everything that had occurred after it had taken place . . . Oh Lord.

By the time she had finished, Soda was merely staring at her, a blank expression on his face. He didn't so much as even flinch when she told him the worst part of it, and Ella almost feared that he would suddenly hate Mary because of her. Oh, hell, she thought, but she would deserve that . . . And the fact that she had mentioned Dallas knowing made things that much more worse. She still didn't know why she had done it, and the innate feeling of disgust with herself was creeping around in her gut.

After a minute, Soda spoke up, his voice barely audible. "Make sure that Ponyboy gets home . . . I'm gonna take a walk . . ."

Evie leaned against Steve, his arm heavy around her shoulders, but also comforting to her. She dreaded the fact that he would be leaving again in a few days, and she was desperately trying to soak up as much time as she could with him. She knew that, since he had taken a longer leave this time, he wouldn't be coming home for a good, long while . . . and she hated it. She kept telling herself that he only had a year left—just one more blasted year of this, and then he would be home free. And then they would get married, they could be together, and no longer would Evie be spending her days worrying about him and his safety. Well, of course she was always going to worry about Steve, but he would be there with her, like old times . . . like how things used to be.

It was a fantasy that crossed her mind often enough, and she allowed herself to revel in it, as it was the one thing that kept pushing her forward, that gave her the courage to do so.

"I can't wait until all of this is over," she remarked, speaking her thoughts. "I hate when you have to leave."

Steve's fingers curled around her shoulder, his grip tightening ever so little. "Me, too." He shifted as he gently pulled her into his side, a sigh escaping his lips as he inhaled the faint aroma of her perfume and whatever she used in her hair. "I'm glad Soda is out, though."

A nod. "Yeah, he seems to be doing better."

Steve wanted to tell her that she really had no idea, but he wasn't about to reveal any of that to her, and not because he didn't want to or because he didn't trust her, but that was Soda's business, and it wasn't up to him to go around divulging it—even to Evie. No, there was still a brotherly code of honor that they lived by, and Steve would be damned if he broke his word. There had always been a mutual respect between the two of them, and quite honestly, Steve didn't want to ruin it. But he did agree with Evie—Soda was doing a lot better, better than Steve thought he would in such a short time span. It was as if knowing that he would be going home had sped up his progress, and Steve couldn't fault him.

"Mm," he hummed in agreement. His lips curved upward as he looked at the ring on Evie's finger, and he knew that he had something even more special to look forward to once he was home again. Some part of him wished that he could just marry her right then and there, but he honestly wanted to do right by her, keep things traditional. He once feared that marrying her while he was still away wouldn't be a good idea, in case something happened to him, but now he wasn't so sure. Well, part of him wasn't. But still, he wanted to do it right, and instead of jumping right into things, he figured he and Evie could take their time . . . even if it meant there was one more year left. He turned his head to press a kiss against her forehead. "You know I love ya, right?"

Evie grinned, flushing just a little. "Of course," she answered, and gave him a teasing look. "But I love you more."

"Doubt that," he chuckled.

"Do you?" she asked playfully, leaning up to peck his lips, her hand moving through his hair. "Steve," she suddenly said, her expression becoming thoughtful, "where do you think this road will take us?"

Paradise is what he wanted to say, but truthfully, Evie's question had caught him off guard. Many times he had thought about them and their future together. Where would they end up? How would things be for them? Well, he always imagined himself opening up a shop or something like that, and Evie had plans of eventually taking over her mother's salon business . . . Maybe they would have kids in the future, but that wasn't something Steve was thinking about yet. Really, he didn't mind where he ended up in life, so long as Evie was by his side—and that he was certain of. As far as he was concerned, he was simply going to enjoy the ride, come what may.

But he answered her anyway, a side of him that was reserved only for her coming out. "Well, I don't know where the lanes will take us along the way, Eve, or where we might end up, but I got a pretty solid feeling that something like Heaven is our destination together."

Ella leisurely sat on Jan's front steps, her elbows on her knees as she stared straight ahead, a distant look on her pale face. She was so upset with herself for conveying what she had to Soda earlier that day. In fact, she felt worse than upset, Mary's disappointed and hateful expression appearing in her mind. Ponyboy had been baffled, too, although he didn't know exactly what was going on, but he had made the attempt to pry it out of Ella what she and Soda had discussed that had caused him to walk off, not bothering to say anything to him. Ella had told him that it was nothing, really, that they had merely gotten into a brief conversation about Dallas and Mary . . .

For some reason, that had seemed to perk the teen's interest, but Ella remained fixed on staying silent, simply telling Ponyboy to let her know when Soda got home. She wasn't trying to be nosy, and he knew that—they were both a little concerned.

But still, Ella didn't know what to think. Had Soda gone to Mary's? Did she know by now that Ella had revealed her darkest secret to the one person she never wanted it to get back to? Would Ponyboy hate her just as well when he found out that she had been hiding the secret for as long as she had? And . . . would Dallas despise her for involving him?

Oh glory.

Before she could bother to question herself anymore, or feel sorry for herself more than she already did, Dallas's truck pulled to a hard stop in front of the property, the front passenger side wheel slushing through the small hill of snow at the end of the driveway. Ella's eyes narrowed as she glared at him through the window, her nostrils flaring back in annoyance. Oh, no, she told herself, but this was most certainly not happening. She figured he had quite a pair of brass ones to come anywhere near her when she was already in a mood with him to begin with—had been for a while, too. She swore that she would take a swing at him for what he'd done to her if she ever saw him again, but there still remained the other part of her that wanted to act completely nonchalant to piss him off, like he had done to her.

Two could play that game.

She sat there on the step, debating on if she should walk inside or not. Jan wasn't home from work yet, so she wouldn't have any company for a while, and there really wasn't any place to go. It took all of a few minutes for Dallas to realize that she wasn't going to budge—like hell she would—and he got out of the truck, slamming the door closed a second later. Ella's bitter gaze only magnified as he walked closer to her, a pressed look on his own otherwise impish face.

"What do you want?" she half bit out, attempting not to show her emotions.

Dallas, though, merely shrugged. Truthfully, he didn't know why in the fuck he was there, but he knew inwardly that the answer to his troubles was the dopey broad sitting on the steps in front of him. Just being there, seeing her up close again for the first in . . . a long time, made him feel irked. It irritated him to even look at her, to remember what she had said to him that night in the car before he'd taken off, and just . . . Fuck, but everything about her pissed him off. So why was he there? What about her reeled him in so much that the idea of being in her presence both excited and aggravated him?

"Wanted to talk to ya," he answered as casually as he could, his eyes raking over her form. He could tell that she was doing her best to remain calm, but it was a poor attempt. No, he knew her too well, and he was able to see that his presence alone was stirring her emotions. Well, good, he thought. "That gonna be a problem?"

Ella's jaw clenched, her teeth grinding together. "It's a little too late for that, don't you think?"

But Dallas's voice turned almost condescending. "Don't think so. 'Sides, sweets, I'm not the one with my panties in a bunch."

There, that did it. She stood up in one fluid motion, hands on her hips, a harsh expression looming in her darkening eyes. Oh, she was pissed alright, and he could see it. He liked her when she was like this, though, liked riling her up . . . because he knew he was the one doing it to her. Nobody got under her skin the way that he did, and he was very acutely aware of that fact. His smirk only further angered her, and her teeth bared for a second as she tried to come up with something to say. But there was too much that she really did want to say, a lot of things that she had even imagined saying to him, or telling him, but now she couldn't think . . . It was as if her mind went blank of anything that she once told herself she would do or relay to that blond-headed devil. Damn.

Finally, after a decent amount of time, she spoke. "I have every right to not want to see or talk to you, Dallas Winston, especially after what you pulled." Her voice was rising, and it was obvious that she was beginning to lose her cool. "You're . . . despicable showing up here and thinking that I'm even going to give you the right time of day. You don't deserve anything from me, and I want nothing to do with you." She was beginning to tremble, and if she was aware of it, she didn't do anything about it, or she just didn't care. "I don't ever want to see you again."

Dallas nearly froze at the iciness in her voice, something he had never heard from her before. Oh, he had seen her get angry plenty of times, knew when she was about to blow her top, or crack, but this was something new altogether. There was a certain look about her, a blossoming strength that seemed to rise to the surface, reflecting through her eyes and directed at him. She was determined to make him leave—and maybe she could—but he wasn't going to give her the benefit. No, he knew Ella "Dopey" Mitchell better than that, and if she was going to get rid of him, fine. So be it. He knew when he wasn't wanted anyway.

But he was going to make her force him. Because he knew then that it would be the final straw for her, to see her crack like she had made—

No.

He wasn't going to go there.

"That so?" he challenged, voice lethal. He took another step toward her, egging her on. "Is that what you mean when you tell someone you love them?"

Ella internally winced. "Dallas," she said, trying to maintain whatever piece of cool she had left, "I'm telling you to leave." She watched him move toward her, and even though she desperately wanted him to go, she stayed practically frozen in place, unable to move. "Dallas—"

But by then he was right in front of her, his eyes burning into her own. "You gonna make me, sweets?"

She looked away from him, her heart pounding inside of her chest. Her breathing was coming out much quicker than before, and she reached up to steady herself against the porch rail. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see him up close like that. Oh, why couldn't he just leave? Why did he have to come back? Good Lord, but what could he possibly want from her? It wasn't like she had anything she could offer him anymore anyway. She had given him everything of herself and then some, and he had simply walked away from her as if she meant nothing, as if she didn't matter to him in the least.

Her lips pinched together as she exhaled slowly. "Dallas," she tried again, eyes beginning to brim with tears. How was it possible that he exhibited this power over her emotions? Was she so stupidly weak that she couldn't stand up to him? Did she want to? But it was too much, and Ella couldn't handle it or herself. "Please."

He reached forward, placing his hand on the rail beside her own, his body within inches of hers. "I told you, I came to talk to you," he repeated.

And then she finally looked up to face him. "Why? What do you want from me that I haven't given to you already?"

His eyes bore into her own as he tried to come up with an answer to her question. He didn't know what he wanted, honestly. He wasn't even sure why he had shown up in the first place, and that was what seemed to drive him up a fucking wall and then some. Whenever it came to Ella Mitchell, there never seemed to be a real and true excuse for anything. He didn't know how to answer her, because he wasn't even sure of it himself. She was right, though, he figured . . . she had given him everything, and then some, and he was pretty sure that she had nothing to give him. Or maybe it was what he had to give her that he didn't understand. Fuck, now he was beginning to sound like Ponyboy. He licked his lips, eyes still staring at Ella as he considered responding to her. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was standing right in front of him.

Her.

He wanted her.

"You," he said lowly, leaning in toward her. "I want you."

Her eyes widened at his sheer boldness, her chest tightening even more. "You left, though," she replied, inhaling sharply. "Or did you forget that?"

Dallas figured that he had one last chance to make it right between them, to make it good. He had come back for her, hadn't he? Wasn't that enough? What the fuck else did she want from him? His own mood was souring by the second, but he was determined, his mind set on only one thing right then. Glory, but he wished he had a fucking cancer stick to calm his aggravated nerves, but he didn't, and he was getting more and more pissed.

His jaw tightened for a second as he glared down his nose at her. "And now I'm back, ain't I? I'm here, and I—" He paused suddenly. He what? Ella was staring at him, a stunned expression on her face; she knew what words rested on the tip of his tongue, though he couldn't bring himself to say them, or tell her. He wasn't sure why, because he had told plenty of girls he loved them before. It was easy, simple. But something about Ella made it more . . . real. And it . . . made him feel emotions that he wasn't used to feeling, because this was all new to him. He never gave a shit before, didn't bother to care about anyone else . . . because it was easier that way. Nothing could touch him. Nothing. The only person he had ever given a rat's ass about was dead, six feet under . . . and this stupid broad thought she could just waltz into his life and make him— No, he didn't. But the words were there, and something inside of him wanted to tell her. But did he care to? Fucking hell. Ella was still looking at him, and before he could even consider the words, or bother to think straight, they fell from his lips before he could stop them. "I love you."

Ella's mouth practically spilled open, but Dallas appeared disgusted. The words weren't said gently or even nicely for that matter, but he was sincere. They had come out direct and somewhat monotone, as if there was no feeling to them whatsoever. For Dallas himself, it felt like vinegar on his tongue, and he scowled to himself. What a fucking pansy he felt like. Jesus Christ almighty.

A minute of silence passed between them, before Ella was able to gather herself, a fraction of her lips barely curving upward.

"You want to take a ride?" she asked in a quiet voice, nodding toward the truck as her arms fell loosely at her sides, a distinct look on her face.

Dallas jammed his hands inside his pockets. "Where?"

"Anywhere."

Oh-oh come take my hand

We're riding out tonight to case the promised land

Oh-oh-oh-oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road, oh

Thunder Road

One chapter left . . .

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