Page 20 of Home to You
I let him go and headed for my room, peeling off my shirt on the way. In the bathroom, the shower steamed up fast, hotwater pounding against my sore muscles, but it didn’t chase the tension from my shoulders. Eden filled my thoughts—her flushed skin, the way her fingers had curled in my shirt, the look in her eyes when we’d parted ways.
I’d meant to call her last night to check in, but I’d stared at her name on my screen so long the words dried up in my throat. Then Gage and I had ridden out at dawn, the farther we rode, the worse the signal got, and by the time we made it out past the fence line, my phone may as well have been a brick in my pocket.
It wasn’t a good excuse, but it was the truth.
I dried off, tugged on a clean shirt, and stood there staring at my phone like it might bite me. Just call her, you coward. My thumb hovered over her name when the screen lit up with an incoming call. Eden.
I stared at the screen for half a second before swiping to answer.
“Eden?”
Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Hey,” she said softly. “We need to talk.”
My heart kicked against my ribs. I closed my eyes for a second, relief and dread tangling in my chest. “I know. I was gonna call, but I’ve been out riding all day. No cell service past the hilltop.”
There was a pause on the other end. “You were gone all day?”
“Since sunrise,” I said. “Just got back about an hour ago. Got pulled into a conversation with Nash, then had a run-in with Colt.”
Another beat of silence.
“So you weren’t ignoring me?”
“No,” I said quietly. “But I did do a hell of a lot of thinking today, and you’re right. We need to talk.”
“I’d rather not have this conversation over the phone,” she said. “Do you mind if I come over?”
I hesitated, running a hand through my damp hair. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice even as it shook slightly. “But I’ve been thinking all day, too, and if we don’t do this now, I’m going to lose my nerve.”
The honesty in her voice made my chest tight. I thought I knew what conclusions I’d come to out there on that ridge, but knowing she’d been wrestling with this too suddenly made me question everything I thought I’d decided.
My grip on my phone tightened. “All right. I’ll leave the porch light on.”
“I’m already in my car,” she said quietly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes felt like twenty hours and twenty seconds all at once. I stood on the porch, hands braced against the railing, watching my breath cloud in the frigid air. The night was dead quiet except for the wind in the trees, and then—there. A gentle rumble grew steadily closer until twin beams swept around the bend, cutting through the dark like searchlights hunting for something lost.
CHAPTER NINE
My fingers tightenedaround the steering wheel as I drove down the long, winding gravel drive, the crunch of my tires sounding overly loud in the still, quiet night. The porch light was on, just like Jake had promised. About one hundred yards from the house, I slowed to a stop, letting the engine idle as I stared at the Mercer home. A porch swing that hadn’t been there ten years ago swayed in the breeze while the porch steps—the ones I used to sneak down barefoot on the mornings I slept over, hoping his parents didn’t know I’d been there—were bathed in a soft yellow light. Looking through my windshield felt like a memory and a dream all at once.
I should have felt confident about being here. I’d made my choice when I called Jake. I’d made it again when I grabbed my keys. But now, with the house looming in front of me, I was nothing but nerves.
I blew out a shaky breath and nudged the gearshift into drive, easing forward one slow yard at a time.You’ve already come this far, I told myself.Don’t back out now.
When I finally pulled to a stop in front of the porch, movement caught my eye.
Jake rose from the swing, his large frame silhouetted by the light, and my breath hitched. I hadn’t even seen him sitting there. His hair looked damp, curling slightly at the edges. He wore a plain gray t-shirt that clung to his chest and a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips. His dark eyes locked on mine through the windshield, and suddenly I could breathe.
My pulse fluttered high in my throat. Then, for one suspended moment, all the doubt and noise in my head went absolutely silent. This was just Jake. The man who’d once made love to me under a vast summer sky, who used to lift my chin with two fingers and look at me like I was the only thing in his world that ever made sense. And just like that, the fear about being here, about telling him how I felt, loosened its grip on me.
I pushed the car door open with a trembling hand and stepped out into the cold, gravel crunching beneath my boots. The night air bit at my skin, but it was the way Jake looked at me that sent a shiver running through me. “Hi,” I said, my voice soft and tentative.
The porch steps were wide and worn in the middle where boots had passed over them for decades. With each one I climbed, I felt the weight of ten years settle more firmly in my chest. As I reached the landing, the scent of him hit me full force—soap and pine and something warm and earthy that had always driven me wild. That scent had lingered in my memory far longer than it should have. Longer than I’d ever admitted.
He watched me cross the last few feet like he couldn’t believe I was actually here.
