Bearclaw Valley and heaven knows,

Cole stood steady as the younger man spoke, the weight of his words settling between them. The sorrow in Frederick’s voice, the vulnerability, was hard to miss, even with the raw edge of frustration lacing his tone. Cole wasn’t sure what to make of it at first—what kind of man was Frederick to come forward like this? And what was he looking for in this conversation?

Milana? Cole raised a brow, his voice slow and calm, but tinged with curiosity. He let the name roll off his tongue, testing its weight in the moment. His gaze was steady, studying Frederick’s face. There was a deep sadness there, tangled with something else—regret, maybe. I don’t know much about what’s gone on between y’all, but if she wanted to see you, wouldn’t she be here? His words were gentle but firm, a truth that wasn’t easy to swallow.

There was no malice in the statement, just an honest question. Cole shifted his weight slightly, the ever-present southern drawl softening the edges of his tone. I’m not saying you shouldn’t try, if it’s really sittin’ heavy on you. But folks make their choices. And if she’s out there, not here... well, maybe she’s got reasons of her own.

His gaze softened a little, though he still held firm. You want to apologize, make it right, then maybe it’s on you to take that first step. But if you’re hopin’ for her to come to you... He let the words trail off, shaking his head slightly. Might be waitin’ a long while, boy.