I startle awake when the truck comes to a stop at a gas station. I see mountains and the sunrise. The heat is on, and I let loose a shiver.

Taryn must have really put some distance behind her.

I drove all the way to Albuquerque last night. We arrived around one in the morning. I was tired, so I suggested a hotel room with two beds, assuming we could find one that late. Taryn wanted to keep going, though. She had dozed off in the evening and said she was fine driving for a while. I said I was fine with that, too.

It was probably the longest conversation we managed to have in ten hours. And it didn't end much better than any of the others.

We pulled over and switched sides. I put my chair back, shifted toward the window, and that was that.

Anyhow, I didn't expect her to get this far or for me to conk out to the extent that I did. It'll be no substitute for real sleep, but I should be able to function at some basic level for the time being. At least in theory.

Taryn, despite the hand injury and six hours of driving, looks normal, and I'm still too drunk with interrupted sleep to let that bother me. As an accounting major, fresh out of college, I'm sure she's been through worse.

I catch a glimpse of myself in my sideview mirror and should probably cringe at the ugly crease on my face and my hair every-which way, but I'm also too tired to care. I just rub a hand over everything on my head and leave it at that.

I'm digging for my hat in the back with a stiffness Taryn has never likely experienced while she's pumping gas, gazing longingly at the Rocky Mountains. She's using her own credit card, I guess. After our fight yesterday, I doubt she'll ask for anything extra. We aren't even by any means, but heck, at least she's trying. And by all appearances, the card went through, and that's an added bonus.

She's back in the truck before my body and wits are put back together right. She immediately puts the truck in drive. I'm about to complain about all kinds of things, a full bladder included, when she re-parks it in a spot with a view. It's practically mountainside.

"Where are we?" I wonder aloud.

"About an hour south of Denver," she answers.

Upon closer inspection, there's a dirt path that seems to snake down for a while and a picnic table in the distance. Slightly closer, there's a boulder with a couple of kids climbing on top of it. They look about to leave. Their mother is calling them, and she has snacks and the car started.

There's just something about the scene that pushes the words out of me. "Are you still mad at me?" It's a new day, and a spectacular one at that—there are no storm clouds here—and even if we haven't had the chance to call a truce, the slate seems cleaner somehow.

She shakes her head and looks down at the steering wheel. The knuckles of her right hand go white from clenching it too hard. "I was never that mad. At you anyway. As hard as it may have been to hear, you were right about a lot of things."

"So were you," I admit, and it doesn't bother me to say it, because it's true.

She shrugs. "It was the right thing to do to keep driving last night. I had the chance to do a lot of thinking."

I wish I could say the same. I was either self-destructing or dead asleep. The anger has lifted, but otherwise, I've made no progress.

"I look forward to hearing what you've come up with." I open the passenger side door and step out. I may wish I had the fortitude to sit through the rest of this confession, but the truth is, I can't rub two brain cells together right now in any way that might be of use to her.

"Do you need anything while I'm inside?" I lean back into the truck to ask.

She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile.

Is she all right?

Maybe the shock has finally set in. That's what it looks like from my bonehead perspective, anyway. I suppose it wouldn't be that weird, all things considered.

"I'll grab you a coffee and a hot breakfast." It's a statement, not a question, and I wink when that hits her.

At her nod, which is a bit twitchy and delayed, I shut the door and leave her to her thoughts.

Something tells me she needs a minute, and I do everything I can to drag out this rest-stop visit. Try as I may, though, I'm an efficient shopper and the lines aren't that bad. And I respect her privacy and all, but I'm haunted by all the reasons why she shouldn't be alone.

Strolling back to the truck, carrying two coffees in a tray, fixed the way we like them, and a bag of greasy breakfast food in tow as well, I'm feeling a little lightheaded . . . in a good way. When I catch sight of her sitting on that boulder, facing the mountains, I'm relieved and sort of hopeful.

If we got through yesterday, we can get through anything, right?

The air is crisp, cool, and dry for a change. She's matched her jean shorts with a hoodie I haven't seen before, and she's collected her hair in a fresh bun-like structure I can't put a proper name to. She's not just beautiful in the morning light of the Rockies; she's damn-near hypnotizing. But that's not what stops me in my tracks.

She's talking on her phone, something I haven't actually seen her do. I drift closer, trying to control the sound of my ungainly footsteps on gravel. When I get to my truck, I approach the driver's side, but I don't get in.

We're parked a few feet above the first curve of the walking trail. Taryn is about twenty-five feet away, and a few feet lower in elevation, even on top of the boulder. With my front-end sort of blocking me, I set the bag of food on the hood, lean on top of it, and start sipping my coffee, all without her noticing.

She should be expecting me, but maybe she's too involved to worry about that. It could be her mother or whatever, and maybe she doesn't care if I hear her or not. Maybe she thinks she's too far removed for it to matter.

I'm kind of disappointed, figuring that's the case, when I hear "I'm sorry" fairly loud and clear. "It's my home, and I'm not ready to give up on it."

Uh-oh. I shouldn't be eavesdropping, but...

I think she's...

"There is more to it than that..." There's something about the mountain air and the acoustics here. Her voice is carrying, more than she probably realizes.

I look around for her. The people nearby are not as close as I am, and they don't have a vested interest. They can't bother themselves to do more than glance.

"I did love you..."

Oof. Past tense. Poor guy.

Yep, she's breaking up with her boyfriend. And lucky me, I happened to arrive when it was starting to get interesting. I should have grabbed some popcorn inside. If the bag and packaging weren't so noisy, I'd seriously consider going for my breakfast sandwich instead.

"Do," she tries consoling him. "But a lot has changed. You know that, too."

There's a long string of babble on the other side of the conversation. I can't quite make out more than a word or two. She has the phone to her ear. He may be loud and emotional, but he isn't on speakerphone.

"You're right. I have changed," she replies. "I felt like you were making choices for me."

While he yaps his next rant, I take a quiet sip of my coffee.

"I don't remember you asking..." Her tone reminds me of the one she used last night, and I almost feel bad for the guy again. "I did have something to say, but I didn't feel like you were ready to hear it."

They both go silent for a few beats.

It's his turn to talk, and he reluctantly picks it up again. Whatever he says, it's succinct this time around, and it seems to have more of a bite.

"I can do it anywhere, but that's not the point."

I think she's talking about her degree. She could probably get an accounting job in Washington D.C. and make a lot of money doing it, but it was his choice, not hers, and he just assumed she'd be accommodating.

If he's already living in the apartment they were supposed to share, then he's probably saying something along the lines of, you could have mentioned this sooner.

"You're right," she concedes. "I'm sorry. I could have tried talking to you about it, but I didn't really know how I felt until I got here."

He lets the silence linger for what feels like forever. During that time, I'm almost sure Taryn will swing her head around and look for me, but for whatever reason, she remains still and stiff. There's only a wisp of her hair moving around in the light breeze.

"I don't know..." She shifts her weight, drops one leg, and tucks that wisp of hair behind her ear. "That covers most of it."

He says something else, and then she leaves the excruciatingly long pause there.

"There is," she eventually admits, and it's barely audible.

Before, it didn't really make a difference. I didn't care all that much what he was saying as long as I heard her response and got the overall gist.

Now I wish I knew exactly what he'd said to make her so sad and remorseful.

"I do love him," she goes on to say.

From that, I can figure out what question he probably asked. Is there someone else?

And that's when I start holding my breath...

"I will always love him," she confesses. "It was gut-wrenching to lose him the way I did. So out of my control. So final, I thought. He wasn't mine to have or to keep. He didn't even say goodbye. Then, well, I wouldn't exactly call it a second chance. It's a mess if I'm being honest. I'm not even sure he thinks of me that way. But . . . well, I don't know. I need the space to figure it out."

As soon as she puts the period on that sentence, she whips her head around, and she knows exactly where to find me.

And what am I doing? I'm standing with a coffee in my hand like it's some stupid prop in a movie, and I'm so obviously watching her, hanging on every damn word, all dumbstruck and whatnot.

I didn't intend to get snagged this badly. I try to cover it up when I snap myself out of happily-ever-after land, but I admit, it's woefully belated.

"I gotta go," Taryn utters into her phone while aiming a what-the-heck gesture in my direction. "I want only the best for you," she says hollowly. With her eyes back on task, she boosts herself off the boulder and stumbles a little, which I find out of character. "And I assure you, that isn't me." She starts marching up the hill, and she isn't leisurely about it. "This is goodbye. It's over and I'm sorry. I won't change my mind. I wish you the best of luck..."

She may end the call there, but she's certainly not done with me. I can tell by her speed and the color of her face.

For a moment, I'm actually afraid. That I ruined everything. That she's going to kill me.

While I'm juggling the food and beverages, trying to open the driver's side door, and pretending I don't notice, she storms over to the passenger side of the hood to gape at me. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long." I get in the truck and shut the door.

"What did you hear?" she asks as she gets in on the other side.

"Nothing," I reply, bringing the cup to my lips and trying to avoid eye contact.

"Then maybe you should wipe that I-heard-everything look off your face!"

"Coffee?" I offer her while I'm trying not to laugh.

I have it propped for her to grab, but she blasts out a sigh and covers her bright pink face with her hands instead. "I need so much more than coffee right now," she groans.

Her hands then drop and she accepts the olive branch, taking a sip and then resting the coffee on her lap.

I'm very surprised. She didn't slap me, scold me that hard, or wander off. She's simply shell-shocked and staring at the scenery.

"All right. What's your vice of choice, then?" I try changing the subject while I'm backing up the truck. I may be reading this wrong, but I figure, it's something she needs right now. "Name it, and we'll get it done."

Cole Swindell & Lainey Wilson - Never Say Never

https://youtu.be/q1WWi47ff5A