Page 25 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack

"You had every right to be." Riley stands, moving around the desk but stopping short of approaching me. "What Dad did—what I let him do by leaving—it's unforgivable. I know that."

"But?" I sense there's more he wants to say.

"But I'm asking anyway." His voice roughens with emotion. "For forgiveness. Not because I deserve it, but because you deserve peace. Because we're brothers, and life's too damn short for twenty-year grudges."

"I don't know if I can," I say honestly. "Forgive you. Not all at once."

Riley nods, disappointment evident on his face but also understanding. "I get that. But maybe... maybe we could start somewhere else. A beer sometime. Dinner. Just talk."

I consider this, the possibility of building something new from the ashes of what was lost. It would be easier to walk away, to maintain the walls I've built over time. But then I think of Elisa's sons, of the future she wants for them, of the chance to break cycles instead of perpetuating them.

"Yeah," I say finally. "We could do that."

The relief on Riley's face is palpable. "That's... thank you, Josh. Seriously."

An awkward silence falls between us—twenty years of unspoken words, of separate lives lived in parallel, of shared blood but divided hearts. Too much for one conversation to bridge.

"I should go," I say, already feeling the need for space, for air, for time to process.

Riley nods, not pushing. "My number's still the same. When you're ready."

"I'll call," I promise, and I'm surprised to find I mean it. "Soon."

As I turn to leave, Riley speaks again. "Josh? This woman and her kid... they must be pretty special."

I pause in the doorway, considering this. "They are," I say finally. "More than I expected."

"I'm glad," Riley says softly. "You deserve that. Always have."

I nod once, not trusting myself to speak further and walk out of the garage into the bright afternoon sunlight. My chest feels strange—lighter, as if something heavy has been set down, but also raw, like skin exposed after a bandage is removed.

The walk back to my cabin is long, the uphill climb steeper than usual. But with each step, each breath of pine-scented air, I feel something settling within me. Not resolution—that will take more time, more conversations, more healing—but perhaps the beginning of it. A willingness to try.

As I near my property, the sun is beginning to set, painting the mountains in shades of gold and purple. Through the trees, I can see lights glowing in my cabin windows—warm, welcoming, alive in a way they've never been before.

For twenty years, I've defined myself by what I lost, by who left me, by the walls I built in response. But standing here now, watching this woman and her son in my home, waiting for me as promised, I'm confronted with the possibility of defining myself by what I might gain instead.

By who might stay, if I let them.

Chapter 9 - Elisa

The shadows lengthen across Josh's cabin as afternoon slides into evening. I've made dinner—a simple pasta with vegetables—but covered it when six o'clock came and went with no sign of him. Now it's past eight and worry gnaws at me despite my best efforts to suppress it.

I tell myself there are countless innocent explanations for his absence. The conversation with his brother went well, and they're catching up over beers. Or it went terribly, and he's walking it off somewhere in the mountains. Either way, he's a grown man who lived alone until two days ago. He doesn't owe me his whereabouts.

Still, I find myself moving restlessly through the cabin, straightening things that don't need straightening, peering out windows at the darkening forest. Mason fell asleep an hour ago, worn out from our day in town and the excitement of the park. He barely made it through dinner before his eyelids drooped, and I carried him to the guest room—our room now, I suppose—and tucked him in with Hoppy.

I've been alone with my thoughts ever since, and they're spinning in directions I'm not sure I'm ready to follow.

Because the truth is, I'm not just worried about Josh. I'm missing him. Missing someone I've known for all of forty-eight hours, someone who was a complete stranger the day before yesterday. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't follow any of the strict rules I've set for myself since escaping Jordan.

And yet, here I am, watching the clock, listening for footsteps on the porch.

I press a hand to my belly, feeling the slight roundness there. "What are we doing, little one?" I whisper. "Is this crazy? Too fast? Too risky?"

The baby offers no answers, of course, but the question remains. In two days, I've gone from fleeing one man to moving in with another. On the surface, it sounds like exactly the kind of reckless behavior Jordan always accused me of—impulsive, naive, asking for trouble.

But this doesn't feel reckless. It feels... right. Like finding a path I didn't know I was looking for.

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