Page 21 of Home to You
Frankly, neither could I.
We stood inches apart, caught in that strange, suspended quiet that settles between people who once knew everything about each other but were strangers now and didn’t know what was safe to say and what wasn’t. His gaze moved over my features with quiet focus, lingering a fraction too long on my mouth before meeting my eyes again. His eyes—those dark, steady eyes I used to get lost in—still held the same quiet gravity that had pulled me in all those years ago.
My breath came slower now, more deliberate, as I tried to memorize him back. The faint line at the corner of his mouth that hadn’t been there before. The shadow of stubble along his jaw was now flecked with a few strands of silver.
“Hey.” He stepped back, one hand reaching for the door. It creaked open behind him, spilling warm light across the porch.
I crossed the last step with care, the toe of my boot brushing the welcome mat. I thought I heard a small intake of breath as I passed by him, my arm inadvertently brushing across his chest.
Jake closed the door behind us, the soft click echoing in the quiet.
“You’re really here,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I’m here.”
He gestured toward the direction I remembered the living room being, and we walked silently side by side toward it until the space opened up before us—soaring ceilings with exposed beams, a massive stone fireplace that dominated the far wall, and rich wood floors that gleamed in the lamplight. It was grand but lived-in, a home built to shelter generations of Mercers. The couch was worn, tan leather that invited you to sink in and stay awhile.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admitted as we sat with too much space between us.
“Me either.” I offered a tight smile. “I almost turned around twice.”
Jake tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m scared,” I said, surprising both of us with my honesty. “Of doing this wrong again. Of hurting you. Of getting hurt.” As the confession settled between us, I shifted slightly, tucking one leg beneath me.
His brows drew together, and he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I wanted to call last night,” he said. “But I didn’t know what to say without screwing everything up.”
I nodded slowly. “That would have been nice. I was kind of freaking out … afterward. Wondering what that was. If it meant … I just needed to know it wasn’t nothing to you.”
His eyes met mine. “It wasn’t. Nothing with you ever was.”
The truth of it knocked the air from my lungs.
I looked down at my hands. “Then why did Colt feel the need to warn me off this afternoon? He said I needed to keep my distance.”
Jake exhaled slowly, his jaw working. “Colt’s just looking out for me. And for Cole. He remembers what I was like when you left. I wasn’t exactly a picnic to be around.”
“I get it,” I said quietly. “I do. And I don’t blame him. But I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
“I know.” He leaned back slightly, resting his forearm across the back of the couch, his other hand dragging along his jaw. “But we don’t really know each other anymore, do we? Sometimes, I wonder if I everdidknow you.”
The words weren’t cruel, just honest, and I wasn’t sure which would’ve hurt more.
“That’s fair,” I said after a moment, my voice faltering. “I left before you ever really had a chance to know the whole me. And the truth is, I didn’t give you one. I was too scared of how real everything with you felt. Of how much I wanted to stay when I couldn’t.”
Jake looked down, his hand dropping to his thigh, where his fingers tapped out a restless rhythm.
“I’d already accepted the job in Chicago before I met you,” I continued, my fingers twisting in my lap. “It was everything I thought I wanted—prestigious, high-paying, a foot in the door at the kind of school teachers build their careers on. Mostly, though, it was proving to myself that I had what it took to teach there after having been a student on scholarship and never really feeling like I belonged. But then you came along …”
He looked up again, his dark brows drawing together. His expression was softer now, less guarded than before. The steady rhythm of his tapping stopped.
“I didn’t know how to reconcile those two things: the life I’d planned for, and the one that had started to feel right after only a couple of months. So I did the cowardly thing and convinced myself that what we had wasn’t real enough to be worth staying for.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard. “And so I said things to make it easier on me, but in doing so, I hurt you. Badly.”
Jake shifted forward slightly and braced his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “You did.”
The words weren’t sharp. Just tired sounding. And honest.
I could feel all the words I’d rehearsed piling up behind my teeth, and I knew if I didn’t say them now, I wouldn’t be brave enough to finish.
