Page 58

LEVI

The porch creaks under my boots as I shift my weight, cigarette burning down to the filter between my fingers.

It’s one of too many tonight, but I can’t relax without it.

The stars are obnoxiously bright, and the only sound is the occasional coyote calling out in the hills.

Everyone else is inside, grabbing what sleep they can before sunrise. But I can’t sleep.

I’ve got this gnawing in my chest. Been there since the day Grace left, and I let her walk away without saying what needed to be said. I keep telling myself she forgot it. That night, the way I bailed. It seemed like she forgave me. But what if she didn’t?

What if she’s carrying it like a bruise I gave her?

I was scared, plain and simple. Scared of feeling too much. Of never being enough. Scared that if she saw the real me, she wouldn’t want me.

I keep my eyes on the long gravel drive, like maybe if I look hard enough, the truck will show up sooner. The only light out here is from the porch and the smiling moon overhead, but I know the shape of that truck even in pitch black.

I’ve been playing and replaying that day she left like it’s stuck on a loop I can’t stop.

I was out working while her heart was breaking.

I’ve never believed I was a man who could hold on to something good, and maybe I’m still not. But if she’s coming back and if she’s willing to give us another shot after everything, then I sure as hell better figure out how to be the man she needs.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel snaps me upright. Headlights flare across the yard as the truck pulls in. I grind the cigarette into the railing and stand, my heart pounding so hard it makes my throat tight.

Conway’s at the wheel, Dylan beside him.

Brody climbs out from the back, grabbing a duffel from the backseat.

Dylan swings out of the passenger side, reaching for a backpack and the satchel Grace always kept for her notebooks and laptop.

Conway shoulders the tote that’s way too heavy to be full of anything but books.

None of them say anything. They move like they already know she’s staying. Like this is right. Like she’s ours.

And she’s there. She’s really there.

Grace.

She slides out carefully, her head turning as she takes in the house, the porch, the night wrapped around her like a memory she isn’t sure she’s allowed to step back into. She’s silhouetted against the truck’s lights, her hair loose, and wearing a linen blazer. I can’t even breathe right.

I take the steps two at a time.

I can’t wait. I jog across the gravel and close the distance between us.

“Grace,” I say, but it comes out raw like it’s torn through too much regret to sound like anything else.

She’s turning toward the porch when I pull her into a hug, fierce and fast like my ribs might cave if I don’t get her in my arms. For a second, she freezes. Then she melts against me, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt.

“I didn’t think I’d get this chance,” I whisper. My voice breaks in the middle, but I don’t care. “I was praying like a goddamn fool you’d come back because I needed to tell you how sorry I am.”

She pulls back enough to look up at me, her eyes wide, guarded.

“I hurt you, and I know I did. That first night, I walked away because I was scared. Scared of what I felt, of what you might notice in me if you looked too long. But I hate what I did. I hate that I made you feel small or disposable or anything less than what you are.”

She reaches up and cups my face, her thumb brushing across my cheek like a balm. I close my eyes at the touch, wanting to hold onto this feeling forever. “Levi. I already forgave you.”

My throat tightens. “Yeah?”

She nods, her soft smile breaking through. “You and me, we’ve both been good at doubting ourselves. You run, and I hide. But I’m tired of hiding.”

My chest caves in the best kind of way.

“Yeah?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah.”

I dip down and kiss her slow and certain, laced with the promise I should’ve made from the start. Her hand tightens in my shirt, and when I pull back, she’s breathless and smiling a little. My world narrows to her lips, her breath, her forgiveness, and the quiet pounding of my heart in my throat.

“Then let me show you what coming home means.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and tuck her against me like she belongs there because she does. “Come on,” I say, voice thick. “Let’s go inside.”

The door creaks as I push it open. The warm air of the house wraps around us like a quilt. She hesitates in the doorway, then steps in slowly like she's worried the walls might reject her .

I take her hand. “We’re waking the others.”

She looks surprised. “Now?”

“Damn right,” I say, grinning. “They’ve waited long enough.”

The other men file in behind us, setting her bags down by the door. Dylan brushes her arm with a look that says more than words. Brody ruffles her hair, earning a swat and a watery laugh. Conway passes by and presses a soft kiss to her temple, saying quietly, “Welcome home.”

One by one, I nudge the rest awake, and they rise from sleep, stiff from their positions on chairs and sofas and the damn den rug, rubbing eyes, blinking at the light. Then they notice Grace and the room breathes differently. Relief floods every face.

Jaxon says, “You came home.”

And she says, “Yeah. I did.”

Corbin hugs her like he never wants to let go.

McCartney wipes his eyes and kisses her cheek.

Even stoic-ass Harrison gives her a one-armed squeeze and mutters, “Good to see you, darlin’.

” One by one, they wrap her in a welcome filled with love.

The rest step forward, one by one, to claim their place with our woman and show her how much we missed her.

This time, she knows what she means to us and where she belongs.

This is a second chance at building the life and love that we’ve been craving, and I know for certain that we’ll do our best to hold on tight to the woman who came here to write a story and, instead, wrote her name across our hearts.