He doesn’t wait for a reply. He closes the distance in two strides and pulls you into a hug so tight it borders on punishment, all hard muscle and denim and the faint scent of leather and sweat.

He releases you just as Beth appears from the side porch, a blur of blonde hair and sharp angles. Her eyes are already glistening, but her mouth is a thin, furious line.

She doesn’t wait for an answer either. She hugs you anyway, her grip fierce, her face buried in your shoulder for a brief, shuddering second before she pushes back, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

John Dutton waits on the porch steps, a silent monument in a cowboy hat. He watches the reunion with a steady, assessing gaze.

The gravity of it hits you then. The offer, the expectation, the unspoken welcome home. But your eyes are already sliding past him, pulled toward the barn.

Avery follows his gaze. Her smile doesn’t fade, but it tightens at the edges. Her hand doesn’t move from his arm.

Kayce doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay locked on you, a silent conversation three years in the making.

Your stomach twists. You didn’t just come home. You walked straight back into the wreckage.